#i am never writing for graves again

[n0cturna1-m3]

Bunny | Bottom Phillip Graves x Top Male Reader | Smut

Warnings; Fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, anal sex, no after are, this is probably bad, i did not reread this.

Request; "bottom graves"

A/N; @j-hauke you're lucky i like you bc i hate this mf. NEVER EVER REQUEST A GRAVES FIC BC I WILL NOT WRITE FOR HIM. this is a ONCE in a lifetime opportunity. enjoy. idc that its short and not good i want it AWAY from my google docs.

1.2k words. enjoy.

Graves clasped his hand over his mouth tightly and gripped the edge of the table, his back pressed against Y/N’s chest. Muffled moans were let out into his hand, his pants pooled around his ankles and his shirt was pushed up slightly to put his ass on display, pale and smooth. He had a scar above his hip, and Y/N’s hand was resting on it while he kissed the back of Graves neck.

“God, fuck,” he moaned, cock drooling precum on the floor. He let go of his mouth to grab the edge of the table with both of his hands, his head hanging forward as he panted. Y/N kissed the side of his neck and brought his hand up to shove two of his fingers into Graves mouth, the blonde choking on them from his bad gag reflex. Y/N pressed the pads of his fingers onto his tongue, slowly pushing them further into his mouth until he started sucking on them.

Drool spilt past his lips and dripped down his chin as well as Y/N’s palm. Tears welled in his eyes at the heat pooling in his stomach from Y/N’s fingers working him open so nicely, consistently pushing against his prostate and massaging the sensitive gland.

“You gonna cum?” Y/N asks, adding another finger.

“Ah! Uh-huh,” Graves moans and clenches around his fingers, knees wobbly. He digs his nails into the table, choking slightly on the buildup of saliva in the back of his throat accompanied by Y/N’s fingers shoved into the back of his mouth.

He let do of the table and grabbed Y/N’s forearm, tapping it thrice. He ceased all of his movements and pulled his fingers from Graves mouth, cupping his jaw and tilting it to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting across Graves' flushed face. He nodded, looking at Y/N’s face with half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t wanna cum if you're not inside me,” he whispered. Y/N’s breath caught in his throat. “And I want you to fuck me til I’m beggin’ you to stop.”

Y/N stared at Graves a moment before pressing his lips against his roughly, pulling his fingers from his ass before beginning to fumble with his belt. He quickly shoved his pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh, his erection springing out and resting against Graves' ass as he began to grind on him slowly.

As he began guiding the tip of his cock to Graves entrance, pressing the head to his hole and slowly pushing inside, he shoved his tongue into his mouth, the blonde gagging and reaching up to grab at his forearm.

“Take me nice ‘n slow, bunny,” Y/N whispered against his lips, his hand still holding his jaw firmly in place.

Graves moaned at his demanding tone, a hot feeling burning in his chest. Y/N never failed to make him unbearably flustered. And horny.

Slowly inching his way inside, Y/N rubbed Graves hip in an attempt to keep him calm. He tried his best to take deep breaths, but the feeling of Y/N’s hand holding his face forward while he kissed his neck was overwhelming.

When he finally bottomed out, he let his face go, moving it to press firmly against his lower stomach just under his belly button. His skin burned, and Y/N continued to pepper kisses on his neck, occasionally pausing to suck a hickey onto the pale skin. One that wouldn’t easily be covered up. One that would show all of his Shadows that he was being taken care of VERY well.

Y/N slowly pulled his hips back before snapping them back against Graves ass, a loud slap filling the room and quickly being joined by more as Y/N fucked into Graves hard and fast. Graves moaned at the way Y/N’s cock filled him, scraping his sensitive walls with every vein, the head pressing against his prostate with every push in and pull out.

Lube dribbled out of his hole and down Y/N’s balls as they slapped Graves' ass. It felt so lewd and so good. Y/N gripped his hip tighter before letting his other hand trail down to grab Graves cock, which was dark pink and dripping wet. He started stroking him in time with how he was pounding into Graves.

“Fuck!” he moaned, grabbing the table again. His legs shook as he came, almost immediately after Y/N wrapped his fingers around his aching erection and stroked it to hardness.

“You’re so sensitive today,” Y/N said, continuing to jerk him off.

Graves doubled over onto the table and slapped a hand over his mouth. He felt too good. Tears brimmed his pale blue eyes, and he reached back to grab Y/N’s forearm, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, God, fuck,” he whimpered. He was so close to cumming again, the deep ache in the pit of his stomach tightening and leaving his skin burning hot, a flush covering his ears. He begged, “Slow down.”

Y/N leaned down and kissed his shoulder before grabbing his hand and pulling it, the side of his face pressing against the cold wood. Y/N moved to hold both of his wrists in his hands, pulling them back and causing Graves back to arch as he was lifted off the table slightly.

The new position gave Y/N a perfect angle to abuse his prostate, causing Graves to let out a shrill moan and cum again, the white liquid spilling onto the floor and puddling with his previous release. Tears began pouring from his eyes from Y/N not ceasing his relentless pace. His entire body felt as if it were on fire, an uncomfortable heat pooling in his stomach.

“Fuck- Please!” Graves cried. His face was melting into the table, hot and wet and salty. “Please, please,” he begged.

“You can take it,” Y/N stated as his hips slapped against Graves' ass. “You’re a big boy.”

Graves choked on his spit as it gathered in the back of his mouth, slowly spilling past his lips and mixing with his tears on the table.

“I can’t,” he sobbed, moaning again when Y/N leaned down and bit the side of his neck.

“You can,” he whispered against his neck. Graves' hair stood on end and he came again, a guttural groan ripping from his throat. The amount of cum that dripped from his cock was pitiful, clear and thin.

He clenched around Y/N hard, the latter moaning and pulling out before wrapping his hand around his cock and angling it to cum on his ass. He grunted when he did, thick spurts of cum spewing from the tip of his cock and decorating Graves' ass.

He was panting and shaking, desperate to catch his breath and calm down from so many orgasms in such a small period of time.

Y/N pulled up his pants and buckled his belt before patting Graves thigh.

“Clean up, dinner’s in 10,” he said before walking out the door to the small office. He closed the door shut, leaving Graves to clean himself up with no materials to do so. He shakily sighed and pressed his forehead to the desk as he slowly regained his breath.

He wants this to happen again soon.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAu Drabble - The Roots

I have been gone for a few days but i wanted to really mess with this tiny concept!

First Drabble (with special thanks to @spotaus For giving the first prompt) Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Technically timeline wise this is at the same ish time as the next drabble in the timeline, On the Other side. But we will just do this like this for now :D

As always, we have no beta and no edits. :D Also slight warning, I will be changing up the POVs in the drabble itself a bit. don't worry about it.

*---------------*

Nightmare looks around the corner and notices that all four are still asleep. That is good. Perfect even!

It isn't that he dislikes being with them. The oposite in matter of fact. it feels... Safe protected home calming nice. Many things but overal just nice.

It still confuses him sometimes. That they just... care. After everything. Even with them knowing just who he is.

It also does mean that Nightmare feels bad about leaving while they are asleep.

It is just that he isn't going to get another chance like this. They are very close to DreamTale and with how much magic Nightmare has in him now thanks to the many meals and sleeping a lot, he thinks he could make it all the way to DreamTale and back before being completely out of magic to use.

Which means he has his chance to do a small personal ritual he hasn't had the chance to do in a while.

It is something stupid. And Nightmare knows he should stop it.

It is just... After everything in Dreamtale happened. The deal with what he had caused and done, having been the cause of both his brother and mother dying... He had just made two graves.

He had been the point of returning there once in a while to maintain both graves and leave fresh flowers.

Nightmare just. Never stopped doing it. After seeing Dream again... He just kept doing it still. Something about the grave still showing that he still ended up losing Dream...

Or something like that.

He doesn't quite know anymore but it helps.

Nightmare manages to get to the garden of the small house they had claimed and takes a deep breath. He hadn't needed to make these jumps in a while and he had to be sure he aimed in the right direction. Just. Easy.

He holds up both hands and feels his magic start to flow out. A small sizzle as a small portal starts to take shape. His breathing gets heavier and heavier. He didn't think it would be this hard... why is it so much harder than before-

Two arms lock around him and he is lifted up. Nightmare's breath escapes in one go and he wiggles before stopping. Nightmare knows these arms by now and knows it is Killer before he even speaks.

"What you doing out here tiny boss?" a chuckle and nuzzle to the side of his skull "I thought we were passed this whole you trying to run away from us." Killer turns him aorund and Nightmare can now see the large pout on his face.

Nightmare looks to the side and wiggles but cant get free, he never can escape their hold. Instead he just crosses his arms and mutters "Just wanted to do something real quick."

Killer hums before Nightmare is pulled much closer and he is flush up agianst Killer. Killer hums much more contently before turning back to the house "So what did you want to do tiny boss? aside from using a lot of your just recovered magic that is."

Why does he feel bad? Why does he feel guilty? He wasn't doing anything bad?? Wait why is that how he thinks about it?

Nightmare tries to think it through but comes up blank. It doesn't help that being near Killer, or any of them really, calms him very quickly. He isn't used to this.

They get back to the house and Nightmare sees three more worried faces and feels worse. They had been sleeping... They shouldn't have noticed or been bothered by him not being there... How did they even notice? He... isn't used to people noticing stuff about him.

They sit him down and Nightmare considers his options... If he wants to use this one chance... maybe if he explains they will just let him do his thing for a bit?

Ngihtmare looks to the side and finds himself muttering "I just wanted to do a thing... it is honestly boring and would have been quick."

----

Horror doesn't like this place. It is the place that holds so much trauma for Nightmare. Where they thought that hurting and torturing a babybones was a good idea.

But Nightmare rarely asks them for anything anymore. And even before he became his true form he rarely asked anything for himself. If he wanted something he could just get it or do it. Now he doesn't have much of a choice and Horror knows this. They all know this.

And well, they are trying to get Nightmare to ask them when he wants things. So when he expressed he wanted something? of course they are gonna make it work.

Even if they have to come here.

Killer stands with his hands on his hips as he looks around the grey coloured forest "Wow! Lots of nothing..."

Cross sends him a glare and hisses "Killer."

Horror agrees, Killer could try to be a bit more sensitive. Normally none of them mind his brass and bolt nature but well.. They are here to visit two graves. Two graves that a six year old made to memorise his family which he thought he had killed.

This is not the time for Killer to be... well Killer.

Killer huffs and looks at Nightmare "Can you believe them?"

Nightmare shrugs but holds the two small bouquet of flowers close. "I didn't really... leave a lot..."

See? That is why they needed to try and be a bit more tactful. Killer luckily seems to notice as he rubs his neck as Cross shoots him a knowing look.

Dust remains by Nightmare's side as he looks around "A hill right?"

Nightmare seems to look all of them over before nodding "Yeah." He points into a random direction "It is that way." and he starts leading the way.

It is strange. The whole world is grey and colourless. Not the white space that Cross had had when his world was destroyed. but just, greyscale. Hell even Cross looks colourful compared to this place.

Cross frowns and takes a few quick steps to now walk on Nightmare's other side "was it always coloured like this?"

Nightmare shakes his skull and thinks for a bit. "I think... if i remember it right... the grey colour started to happen as soon as they cut mother down."

Horror almost wants to sigh in relieve. He keeps it in but this is good. It is something to help stop the guilt. At least that is what Horror is assuming why the graves are still there. guilt. But Horror won't assume.

They leave the forest and see a hill with further in the distance a village. They walk up the hill and find a cut down tree stump and two old and small graves.

Nightmare stands by them for a moment before glancing back at them with a suspicious look "No commentary?"

Horror gets it. They can be assholes.

Killer grins and leans closer "I can do one... but i doubt it adds anything." he pets the small skull before pointedly talking towards the side of the hill to overlook the forest, he pulls Cross allong with him.

Dust remains near Nightmare as a silent shadow and Horror leaves them to have room. Keeping an eye on their small charge as he looks around. Horror has no doubt that this used to be a beautiful place. some of the plants he sees may be grey now but he recognises them for eatable wild flowers.

He can see Nightmare slowly near the graves. He sits on his knees by the two and starts with cleaning both graves. Making sure no dirt or dust is on it and everything is still secure. Afterwards he removes old and, by now, dead flowers. He takes care that those aren't near the graves before returning and leaving new fresh flowers. They had picked up both colourful bouquets from another universe along the way.

At the end he just sits by the two graves as he touches the stone.

Killer and Cross had returned back to them at this point and Killer nudges Cross. Cross shoots him a questionable look before Killer just motiones over his shoulder back at the village before nodding at Nightmare. Horror cna see Cross just stare in utter confusion at Killer before Killer pulls him closer and whispers something to him.

Cross looks back before nodding as he walks over to Dust and whispers some stuff to him. Dust looks thoughtful before nodding as well.

Cross slowly walks over to Nightmare and speaks "Hey..." Nightmare looks up and tilts his skull. Cross smiles "If you want we can go into the village for a bit."

Nightmare frowns "Why would I?"

Cross looks a bit sheepish but Dust picks up "The book was general about what happened. But we figured that those people may have taken stuff or kept things that were yours from you."

Cross nods and grins "We are here now anyway. we can get it back."

Nightmare looks at the village and thinks it over before nodding "okay." he stands up and dusts his pants off of the dirt. Cross ends up softly nudging him towards the side and Dust easily takes his hand before the three walk off.

Horror shoots Killer a look "Why?"

Killer grins as he walks over to the stump "don't worry about it. Want to go with them?"

Horror continues to watch Killer before shaking his skull "I am fine being here."

Killer shrugs and turns to the stump. Staring at the dead tree.

"You wasted your chance."

Horror frowns as he just watches Killer. Killer meanwhile keeps looking at the dead tree.

Killer continues as if he is talking to an actual person "You were given a fucking miracle. We read your story you know. Know that you were only aiming for one child. Instead of being overjoyed and happy that you got two you took him for granted."

Horror sees the edges around Killer's soul waver away from their soul shape but it returns to the soul shape easily.

Killer doesn't stop speaking "You were suposed to be his mother and you failed your job. You never actually cared about him did you? Well." he glares down "You are not getting him back. Ever. He isn't yours anymore."

Horror frowns and studies Killer. No... Killer still doesn't know about the soul adoption, that Horror is sure about. Which means this all? Just Killer.

Killer holds his chin high as he stares down at the stump "I don't know what exactly is happening. But seeing as it is related to the apples it is related to you. So I am telling you now. Even if for some reason you return. Even if you are alive again. You are not getting Nightmare back. He is ours, not yours. You will never find him. You will never get the chance to hurt him."

Horror hears it in his voice. Killer, the one who hates promises more than any of them. Who had lost so much of his freedom and free will because of broken promises. Just made a promise, not even a promise. but a vow.

Horror can't say he is that surprised. After all. After everything in Horrortale and all the pressure from making sure his brother has food and is taken care of. Horror had thought he never wanted to take on a new responsibility ever again. And yet, here he was with a willing soul adoption writen into his very soul.

He also knows the other two aren't doing much better. Dust who hadn't wanted to emotionally or personally connect with anyone ever again. After having killed everyone he cared about he didn't want those relationships anymore. Yet he was the first to take this leap. Commit to Nightmare, and ironically to them all.

Cross who hadn't wanted to take any kind of oath or lifelong promise or mission after his past with the guard and XGaster. He didn't want to tie himself down. Give his all to something or some goal that just hurt him. And while it took him a while he still is devoted to this.

Horror knows they are all powerless against this. It happened but at least this time it was their choice. He thinks it is good, this way they all really knows what it means to do this. To commit to this and all it entails.

A crack of thunder and the three are suddenly on the hill with them again.

horror turns but freezes. Dust is holding a shaking Nightmare close as Cross is already cutting into the fabric of reality with his knife.

Killer and him share a look and are with the other three before they even have to say what happened. They can get an explanation later, for now they need to go.

----

They are back in the house they had been hidding in and Nightmare finally feels himself relax a tiny bit.

Thought that may also be becuase Dust is still holding him and the other's soul is steady and even. It makes his own franctic soul calm down.

Killer looks at them "Do we need to pack up and go?" he is already halfway to the bags.

Cross has closed the portal and watches as the universe patches itself fully closed again, not leaving a single mark, there is a reason Nightmare had worked so hard to get Cross XChara's knife. Aside from the fact that Cross liked fighting with it. It is a very powerful and amazing tool.

Cross sighs in relieve "We should still be good." he turns to the others and starts explaining right away "Nightmare saw Dream."

Killer curses loudly as he kciks the couch. Horror frowns and looks at him "did he see you?"

Nightmare pushes clsoer to Dust but nods.

Killer curses again but Horror frowns "Did he realise it was you?"

Nightmare thinks bakc to Dream staring at him. Awe and surprise clear on his face. The wishfullness had been obvious. The way he had moved towards him, a smile on his face that Ngihtmare hadn't seen since they were both small. Then again, the name he had called him had made it clear who he saw...

Nightmare shrugs.

Horror tilts his skull "Is that yes?"

Nightmare shakes his skull and mutters "yes and no..."

Horror nods as Killer frowns at him "both? How both?"

Nightmare shrugs again but Dust just nudges him gently with his skull nad Nightmare sighs as he quietly explains "I think he knew i was well me... but didn't know i was me me..." he toys with the fabric of the red scarf, Dust lets him. He searches for the right words "He called me Nighty.. and well he hasn't done that since before the apples. Since he still-" Since he still loved him. Nightmare doens't say it out loud but Dust must have figured out something as the hold around his tightens.

Nightmare pushes his face further into the scarf "He will probably think it means something bad... That is what everyone always said my appearance was... and he thinks I am an adult still so... yeah..." His mind is spinning but his soul is calm. in sync of Dust's. calm and slow pulses and beats. It honeslty makes him sleepy.

Dust nuzzles his skull and speaks "Well, He will not find anything and will have to learn to not just listen to rumours. As for even if he had caught you before you got to me, we would get you back." the certainty makes Nightmare pause.

Ngihtmare trries to shoot Dust a look but Dust just keeps rubbing his back and keeping him against him.

Cross nods "obviously. Just a matter of time before we would figure out where you were..." more thoughful "Next time we will have to scuot the universe first. We just didn't today because we figured no one would know about it. Srory for that. Next time you want to visit the graves we will make sure no one will interrupt. okay?"

Nightmare nods as he pushes closer to Dust.

He doesn't even understand why he still wants to visit those graves. Dream isn't even dead!

Even if... even if Dream doesn't...

Those graves shouldn't matter but Ngihtmare still wants to make sure btoh are fine. Maybe it is now just a symbol for the dead relationship between him and Dream. It just gives him a place where he can focus his grief and mourn for the family he lost.

The hand hasn't stopped petting his back and Nightmare feels himself finally fully relax.

At least he really isn't alone... His four are here now and they are still here after the close calls and learning about the graves.

It would be nice to not be alone anymore.

Nightmare lets the calming of his soul lure him to fall asleep. Knowing he is safe and cared for now.

*---------------*

So is anyone surprised i couldn't keep it short? I am not. I know myself. I have a problem and it is this whole AU that has my heart in a choke hold.

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[keeps-ache]

yay yippee yay :3 🎉

[rowarn]

as usual . i am thinking of zombie apocalypse au.....simon....listen take a seat listen to me....

simon who is a very disgruntled, loner survivor. you wind up in his territory and he's pissed abt it. but ur like all soft and cute and he feels kinda bad just leaving u to fend for urself so he decides to help u out BUT ONLY FOR A FEW DAYS!!! ur only allowed for a few days!!! and over the course of 5 days he helps u out. feeds u, gets u some better clothes, teaches u smarter ways to survive.

and then the 5 days are up and he send u on ur day. even tho there's a nagging feeling in his head telling him ur not ready to be on ur own. ur not survivor material. he needs to train u a bit more, keep u around a bit longer - totally not bc ur the first person he's liked since this hell started. no, totally not.

but he ignores that nagging feeling in his head and sends u on ur way anyway. he can tell ur sad and scared to go on your own. he knows you wanna beg him to stay, to keep u, not send u away. but he does anyway.

and then only a couple weeks later he finds a zombie wandering in his territory. he freezes when he goes to dispose of it. because it's you. the sweet little thing he'd sent away. he knew he was sending you to your death but seeing the consequences of his actions is nauseating to him.

and now he has to live with the fact he'd gotten you killed. and the fact that his hide out now feels a lot colder and darker now that he knows you'll never be back in it, lighting it up with your smiles and laughter - things he's pretended annoyed him when you were around. now he wishes he could go back in time and appreciate them properly.

and lord knows he'll never take on another survivor for as long as he lives. can't risk experiencing this ache in his chest ever again. makes you a little grave outside his hideout. writes you a letter and tapes it to your grave marker - hoping that will atone for his mistake.

[bakugoushotwife]

in my opinion, gojo’s storyline has been handled so so poorly i can’t help but think it’s intentional. it is not bad writing to kill a character—even a beloved character. i know most people will dismiss my criticisms because gojo is so beloved to me and so many others. i’ve said before that i don’t mind if he died. does it hurt? of course, and i would still cry and be sad about it. but there is a beautiful way to do it. with respect and honor for his legacy—for what he has done for your manga, the characters in it, and audiences worldwide. but no…gege chose the path of horror and disrespect. at certain points i’d say to myself, well. this is a dark manga. but essentially gojo is the only character that receives this treatment. since the beginning—since suguru left him, he’s been wondering if he mattered because he was a person, or if he only mattered because he was powerful and useable. we certainly fucking answered that question. he is a weapon and nobody ever cared about him at all!!!

and we knew he was being used—he knew he was being used, but he is selfless. so he did it for his kids. for megumi and yuuji and yuuta—he wanted them to be safe. in these flashbacks it’s exceedingly clear that he knew he would die. again—that’s not my issue. gojo dying to sukuna makes plenty of sense and it would hurt to leave it there. but to give us an afterlife scene where he’s presented a choice—north and south—that concept lead nowhere, that’s truly fucked up. to leave all the subtle clues and hints for no reason but to keep people reading and theorizing his return is fucked up. to continue to use his imagery to promote your manga when you know he’s not even honored in your manga is fucked up. we don’t get a funeral or a grave for him. no one’s spoken about him in chapters despite him fighting for hours against sukuna and damaging him so much that yuuji could win, nothing. yuuta wearing him like a costume and no one is horrified about it. i thought his students WERE different. they weren’t jujutsu society yet. that’s why gojo was their teacher—shaping them into better human beings. how am i supposed to trust in their future when it seems they’re just as cold and heartless as everyone before them? no one has honored gojo in any way since the moment he died. and they’ve forgotten about him. he spent his entire life fighting and no one can even say thank you. gege intentionally used gojo to promote the end of his manga because he knows that gojo fans make up at least half of his fanbase so had we stopped reading when he died, he would have lost a lot of traction. he baited us intentionally, cruelly, and something that transcends storytelling. i’ve truly never seen a mangaka have this sort of vitriol for one of their characters and the people that love him.

we spent the entire last chapter talking about some random fucking mission when we have several unanswered questions and concerns. i thought gege said he wanted this ending to be shocking and something you didn’t see in shonen? tying everything up neatly where no one has any trauma or grief for what they’ve experienced, everyone comes back to life except the one character you hate specifically and choso, defying your own power structures and having everyone laughing into the sunset is exactly how shonen ends so what in the fuck is he talking about??

let me disclaim, this is not megumi hate at all. i love him very much and i am so happy he’s back with the group but like. he shouldn’t be able to even walk. he tanked unlimited void for over 6 minutes whenever that length caused irreversible damage to sukuna himself. not to mention the countless black flashes. so what the fuck? he doesn’t mention gojo at all?? the first time he laughs in this manga is after he reads a note written by his dead fucking caretaker about his dead fucking father? like i don’t believe. random open ended kenjaku/suguru mention just to piss me off, an absolutely no mention of gojos sacrifice or how they’ll miss him. i’m sick to my stomach. gege defiled his memory both in the story and outside of it. wow.

P.S. SUKUNA CARED MORE ABOUT GOJO THAN ANYONE ELSE (SUGURU IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS I MEAN HIS STUDENTS AND SOCIETY)

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Ending One: Queen of the Jungle

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

I am no longer doing tags. Tumblr hates me and I’d rather not waste my time when there are so many! You can keep up to date on Twisted Zoo on Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, or AO3.

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Note: For Tumblr, the mature version of the endings (the afterendings) will begin sometime after I finish all the normal endings.

Note 2: Sorry this is short, I wasn't sure how to write this one lol.

In each hand you carried a bucket, filled to the brim with steaks. It was kind of nostalgic of your first time in the exhibit. It was hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago.

You hummed to yourself as you approached the lions’ area. You furrowed your brow- the rocks had been rearranged in nearly a complete circle, with just enough room for you to walk inside and approach the king of the jungle’s sunning rock.

“Hey, Leona!” you called out to the lion halfling lazily regarding you from his perch, “Dinner time!”

The pride’s leader leapt down from his resting spot and casually approached you, his movements lazy yet filled with grace. His eyes, intelligent and painfully sharp, never left you as you entered the circle of rocks.

The other lions were nowhere to be found. Confused, you searched for them in the shade of the rocks, but there was no one there.

As you reached the middle of the circle, something occurred to you. The usually-cackling hyenas were unusually quiet. The hairs on your arms stood on end. Something’s wrong.

You turned to face the circle’s exit and, within an instant, strong arms had wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back against a solid chest. You gasped and dropped both buckets as you struggled to break free. The grip did not budge no matter how hard you fought.

“Shhh, easy there, herbivore,” a voice murmured in your ear, low and gravely and filled with amusement.

Your heart jumped out of your chest. It was Leona who had spoken, but it wasn’t the Leona you knew. It was the Leona whose gaze had started to linger too long for your liking. The Leona who had always seemed too much like a predator than a human.

But he wasn’t alone. 

Now facing the circle’s gap, you saw Ruggie, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he blocked your only exit.

“Gotcha!” Ruggie snickered, “Took you long enough.”

“What… what are you doing?!” you cried, trying to twist out of Leona’s grasp, making no progress whatsoever on escaping.

Leona’s breath was hot against your neck, “You spend too much time with those other exhibits,” he spat out the word like it was a slur, “You must pay more attention to us.”

Ruggie snickered again and leaned casually against the towering rocks, his eyes tracking every movement you made, “You ignore us. Not fair, y’know? You must remember your real favorites.”

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay calm, “This isn’t funny- let me go.”

Leona chuckled, the sound vibrating through your back, “We’re not joking, herbivore. You play with fire, you get burnt. We don’t like to share.”

“Share?” you echoed, voice shaky with fear and confusion, “What do you-”

“You’re ours,” Leona interrupted sternly, “You have always been ours.”

Ruggie pushed off the rock and sauntered over, his sharp-canined grin widening as he got closer, “You should have seen this coming. We dropped hints. You’re just too silly to notice.”

Leona’s nose brushed against your hair, inhaling deeply, “We’re tired of waiting around. You stay here now.”

You began to thrash desperately in his hold, but he held you effortlessly, like a mouse in a cat’s jaws.

“You’ll love it here!” Ruggie cooed, “No more zoo. No more stress. Just you, us, and the savannah. We will keep you cool. It’s perfect.”

The reality of the situation hit you all at once. They weren’t going to let you leave. They were deadly serious. The playful smile Ruggie wore was just a mask for the possession lurking beneath.

It was too much for you, and as hopelessness began to sink in, you began to cry, “Please just let me go, we can forget this ever happ-”

“You will not leave,” Leona growled, “You are our mate. And if anyone tries to take you away…”

You gulped at the insinuation. 

Ruggie moved closer and brushed a stray tear from your cheek, “Don’t cry. We take good care of you, promise. You won’t worry ever again.”

The vast savannah, once one of your favorite parts of the zoo, now felt like a huge, hot cage.

You were no longer a researcher to them. That much was clear.

And there was no escape from the lion’s den.

[bananayuyu]

Cabin Fever [part 2]

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: fluff and smut

Word count: 9.7k

Summary: The third day of your trip brings a storm, and even more cramps. You try to navigate the day the best you can, but really you just need to be taken care of, in the way it matters most.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, fingering, period sex, use of a condom, reader has really bad cramps again, some mxm (Seonghwa and Hongjoong)

A/n: I have had such a fun time writing this part, thank you all for the response on part 1! I am falling in love with this cozy world and wish I could live in it for real. Thank you so much to the anon who requested a part 2! I hope you all enjoy <3

Taglist: @pautiny27 @kierraperkins3 @yoonjikim @luvbit3z @pancake-freckle

I'm definitely planning on continuing the series for a while so if you want to be tagged for upcoming parts, let me know!

You can read part 3 here!

You stretch over to find your phone, unhooking it from its charging cable. The light is dim through the window, the room looks almost hazy. Squinting at the screen, you see a missed text from Seonghwa asking if you're doing okay, sent an hour ago.

"It's almost 11:30, we should really get up," you yawn, poking Yunho in the ribs to get his attention. He has once again wrapped himself around you tightly, face buried in your hair, and you're not sure if he's even awake.

"No," he groans, his voice low and gravely. It sends a shudder through you, and all of the feelings from last night surface again. You can already feel the pains starting in your lower abdomen, the muscles cramping. You wish it could be night already and he could be making you feel good again.

"We can't just stay in here all day," you say, much as you sort of want to. But you also don't want to waste a day of your time with all of your other friends. Yunho just groans, not wanting to agree with you but knowing you're right. He's just so asleep still, so in the haze of sleeping next to you. He really just wants to stay like this, forever.

"Okay, well, I really have to pee," you say, giggling, peeling yourself off of him. He lets out a small sound of disappointment but doesn't stop you. You turn around and see his tousled hair, his puffy, sleepy eyes. You lean down and place a quick kiss on his temple before making your way to the bathroom, another pad in hand.

The cramps hit you again when you're sat on the toilet, and you double over, feeling light-headed. It doesn't seem like you're bleeding quite as hard as yesterday but you still feel awful, despite all of the restful sleep you got. You gingerly clean yourself up, holding onto the counter as you stand, pausing for a moment so you don't pass out. You sigh, trying not to feel the frustration. But it's hard not to.

When you open the door you are met with Yunho, his messy hair now covered up by his hoodie, his eyes still very sleepy.

"Sorry for taking so long," you say, assuming he really needed to pee. You aren't paying attention, the cramps overwhelming you.

"Hey, look," he says as you start walking past. When you do finally look back you see that he's brought you pain meds and a glass of water. Your face softens immediately.

"Oh, thank you," you say, taking them immediately.

"Are they bad today?" he asks, a hand on your cheek. You just nod. "Go lay down then."

"I wanna hang out with everyone, though," you pout, looking at the floor.

"Well, go lay in the living room then," he suggests.

"Okay," you mumble, heading that way with your glass of water in hand. He watches you walk away, an obvious discomfort and weakness in your body, and it makes his chest hurt. When you were friends in high school he really only saw you on your good days, when you were feeling okay. It wasn't until living with you that he really saw the worst of everything, the truth of your health issues. You never spoke of them often, never truly explained it to him. Living together had forced you to, and when he showed himself to be genuinely good at caring for you, you'd let him in a bit more. He knew you didn't like the idea of people seeing you at your sickest. He never gave much thought to the idea when he was younger, that some people's bodies are wracked with issues from the start, that they never get to know what it's like to be able to rely on your body to carry you through everything. You were so young; though you were the same age as most of the rest of the friend group, you'd always been seen as the baby. He certainly always thought of you as small, in need of protection. He didn't want to tell you that, because he knew you'd hate the idea. It didn't help that you were smarter than most of them, when it came to the practical and academic aspects of life. You were far more mature in many ways. But they had the healthy bodies; they were the ones who were able to move out at eighteen, to become financially independent. It would take you many more years, and two very supportive friends to live with you, before you could move out.

When you make it to the living room you plop down next to Ari and San, snuggling under a blanket. The cabin was colder than you expected, the sky outside still dark.

"Has it been like that all morning?" you ask Ari, staring out the window.

"It was actually raining for a while earlier, it just stopped maybe thirty minutes ago."

"Oh really? No wonder I slept in so long," you reply, sighing into the warmth of your blanket.

"Are you doing okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, but I still feel like crap," you say, frowning. Sipping your water you try to relax, try to get your mind away from how terrible your lower abdomen feels.

"Do you need any pain meds?" she asks you, her face showing obvious concern. Even San is turned towards you and looking worried.

"No, no, I just took some. Thank you though," you respond, squeezing her hand. "I should probably eat something though, I'm starving."

"I think Seonghwa and Hongjoong are making some lunch, I'll go get you some," San replies, standing up.

"Oh, you don't have to," you start, taken aback by the kindness of this almost total stranger. But he walks that way anyway, not stopping at your words.

"He's so freaking nice, what the hell," you say to Ari.

"I know," she laughs, shaking her head. "I almost can't believe it's real sometimes."

"Men just aren't usually like that," you say, and right then Yunho crosses the room, making brief eye contact with you. He heads towards the kitchen, looking like his mind is set on something.

"The guys in our friend group are," she replies.

"Well, that's true. I guess I should say, straight men aren't usually like that, especially if they aren't romantically interested in you," you clarify. "At least not in my experience in the world, and I barely interact with men or go out in public."

"I know, the amount of horrifying behavior I saw at college is crazy. And even now still at my work. I know so many people tried to warn me to be careful around men when I was growing up, but I did not realize just how scary it would be to be in the adult world and have a uterus," she replies. She looks at you, earnestly; how nice it is to have another girl in your group, who understands what it is to exist in the world in your bodies.

"Uteruses should be banned," you say, placing a hand on your stomach. "This thing needs to get the hell out of my body."

Ari laughs, the bright sound raising your spirits. "I would have taken it out for you myself years ago, if I could," she laughs, resting her head on your shoulder.

"What just, reached up inside and like, pulled it out?" you laugh.

"Girl, your mind goes to the strangest places. Now I can't get that visual out of my head," she laughs, a hand coming to rest over her eyes.

"I wish I could do it myself," you reply, "just like-" you reach your hand down and spread your legs, miming the action; you both break into giggles.

"What was that?" Yunho asks as he sits down next to you, a cup of tea in hand. He holds it out towards you, careful to hand you the handle so you don't burn your hands.

"Y/n just being her usual self," Ari replied, still laughing. Yunho just looked confused, sipping at his own cup of coffee.

"I was showing her how I'd remove my uterus, if I could. I wish someone could just reach up in there and take it out," you clarify.

"You should make Yunho do it, he's got big hands," she says.

"Ari!" you shriek, crumpling into a heap of laughter with her. Yunho's ears go red, and he clears his throat to try to calm himself.

"You two are something else," he says, turning away, looking for anyone else to make conversation with.

"Wait, did Yunho make you that cup of tea?" Ari asked you, and at the mention of his name his attention stayed put.

"Yeah," you reply, not sure why she's interested. "He makes me and Hwa tea and coffee like all the time."

"That's sweet. See, we're so lucky to have these boys. He's the perfect example of a straight man who has no romantic interest in you, but still takes care of you."

You know she means it earnestly, from the way a small smile creeps onto her lips, making her eyes crinkle at the corners. But you and Yunho both stop dead in your tracks, your throats simultaneously going dry.

"Yeah, true," you say, trying to be normal. Like this morning, when Seonghwa found you in bed together. The words come out rough and you try to swallow, but it hurts and your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. You take another sip of your tea, trying to appear calm.

"What, Yunho, did I say something weird?" Ari asks, and you look over to see his stony face, his eyes looking almost distant. Something about it makes your heart drop for a moment, and you don't know why. Something in you begs for him to act normal too, but you realize there's no point. No point in pretending like nothing happened, even if you don't know what it means.

"I need to tell you something," you whisper to Ari, your face just inches from her ear. She leans even closer, clearly excited by your tone. You drop your volume even lower, putting your hand over your mouth to block the sound from going anywhere else. "Last night he like, fingered me."

"What?!" she asks in a whisper, her eyes going wide with excitement.

"Shh, please keep your face normal," you beg her, knowing that isn't possibly going to happen. But you don't want everyone to find out this very second, you'd like it to stay between the two of you. Ari does her best to still her face, knowing you don't want to draw attention. At least it's fairly normal, for the two of you to share secrets. The boys have always respected when you two say something is just for your ears.

"Yeah I was like, hurting last night and he like, made me feel better," you whisper, you both breaking out into giggles.

"Girl," she says, clearly wanting you to continue.

"I'll tell you everything once there's not like twenty people in the room with us," you say, a goofy smile not leaving your face.

"Aww," she says poking your cheek, and you swat her hand away, jokingly rolling your eyes. Ari keeps looking between the two of you, observing the way his body seems drawn towards you even as he sits a bit away, his legs stretching out to meet yours. She has so many questions, seeing as you'd never mentioned having a crush on him. His crush on you had been obvious to her for a while, but she'd never really mentioned it. It always seemed that people in the group had crushes from time to time, due to everyone's closeness. But sometimes they passed, sometimes they came to nothing; sometimes those crushes seemed like little more than someone mistaking their strong love and affection as something more. It was one of the reasons your group of friends had stayed close for so long; no one really forced closeness or forced information out of one another. Everyone let each other be, and let the cards fall where they may. Sometimes she felt like it made you less close than you could be. But she knew it also meant no one felt stepped on or smothered.

***

After lunch was served the weather had cleared a bit, and Jongho suggested that everyone play a game of basketball out on the small court to the south of the cabin. Not one of you had plans for the day, and with the way the weather was behaving that was definitely a good thing. You and Ari laid on the couch together, barely overhearing the conversation unfolding. You knew even if you wanted to you couldn't go and play, and the warmth of the couch was a lifesaver against the damp coolness in the air. The rain was not unusual for the time of year, but you swore it never had been this cold during your cabin trips.

"Will you stay inside with me?" you asked her.

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you alone in here. Also, I don't really feel like getting hurt today. You know how competitive they all get," she laughs, holding up her arm and showing you a large cut on the underside.

"My god, what's that from?" you ask.

"Wooyoung pushed me when we were playing waterpolo by the falls, and I scraped my arm on one of the rocks."

"Of course it was him," you chuckle, taking a closer look. "Did you wash it out yesterday?"

"It's not really that deep, but yeah. I'm sure it'll heal quick. I just really don't feel like playing basketball on a wet, slick court."

"And it's so cold, I don't know why they feel like going outside."

"It's not that cold," she says, looking at you confused.

"Wait, really?" you ask. She shakes her head. "Ok well for some reason, I'm freezing."

"One sec," she says, getting up and taking a blanket from the other side of the bed. "Y/n is cold," she says to the group, pointing to you all curled up in your one blanket. Everyone grabs their remaining blankets and one by one, layer them on you.

"This is too much," you whine, but you can't deny you like the attention. You really appreciate the way they all joke around with you; it always makes you feel better.

When all of the boys headed out to play, you finally got a chance to tell Ari everything.

"Your periods are still that bad?" Ari asks you when you tell her how you were feeling the previous night. "You hardly ever mention it anymore."

"It's just, so normal at this point. I guess. I don't know, you know it isn't fun to talk about. Plus this one really has been extra bad. I haven't had one this bad in a while," you respond.

"Well I'm glad he was there to comfort you. You know you could have told everyone how you were feeling yesterday. You didn't have to pretend like you were fine at dinner."

"I don't know, Wooyoung's cousins are here and so is San, I don't really know any of them," you say.

"Let me assure you, San would not care. And I doubt Woo's cousins would either, I mean we've been around them before, they seem very kind. He wouldn't bring them around you if he thought they'd be weird about something as simple as that. I know Woo acts like he doesn't give a shit about anything, but he really cares about you. I overheard him asking Seonghwa this morning how you've been doing," she replies. You look at her tenderly, thankful she shared it with you. As much as you wish Wooyoung would just ask you, you know it's not his way. It warms your heart to know he cares.

"So, how long have you liked Yunho then?" she asks you.

"Dude, I literally don't know. I don't even know what I feel right now," you sigh, shaking your head at her. "I mean, he was really just helping ease my cramps, cause I basically begged him too. And I get fucking horny on my period, I don't know." You put your head in your hands. "I don't even know what words were coming out of my mouth last night."

"So is it just a sexual thing then?" she asks.

"I'm assuming that's how he feels, I mean he's never said anything to the contrary."

"No, I mean for you," she clarifies.

"I.. I don't know. I don't hook up with people, and he's like, one of my best friends, I-" you cut yourself off with a groan, head spinning. "I'm gonna develop feeling for him and he's not gonna feel the same and we live together and it's gonna be a fucking mess," you blurt out, your mind racing out of control.

"Y/n, that man loves you," Ari says, squeezing your shoulder.

"I know Ari, I'm not saying he'd be an asshole about it. But it would still be so awkward for me, and if you love someone platonically that doesn't just change overni-"

"No, he's in love with you," she cuts you off.

"He's said those words to you?" you ask her, incredulous.

"No, but it's obvious to anyone with eyes," she says. You squint questioningly in her direction, feeling like she's just saying what she thinks you want to hear. "Dude I'm serious, Seonghwa has told me about it, the way he is around you. If he's not in love with you then I don't know what it could be."

"He's dated like multiple people since we've known him though, that doesn't make sense," you reply.

"Not since moving in with you," she says. "Has he ever brought any girls over to hang out with? Or to hook up?"

"No," you say, head still spinning.

"That's not because of like, a house rule or something, right?"

"No, we talked about it, we're all okay with bringing people over. Hwa brings over guys sometimes. Well he did when we first moved in, not really this past year."

"But Yunho never has?" she asks again.

You shake your head. "That doesn't mean anything, Ari. He's barely even spoken to me this morning, anyway. He doesn't seem like he's in love. Seems like normal Yunho to me."

"He brought you tea," she says, smirking.

"Oh my god, he always does that," you say, rolling your eyes and also smiling. "I- I don't know how to feel."

"Would you do it again?" she asks. You nod. "Do you like, really really want to do it again?" she continues, making you laugh.

"Yeah," you say, hiding your face in your hands.

"Well, at least you know that. Don't stress about it," she says. "It can just be a fun little thing, it doesn't have to be life changing."

You sigh, soaking in her words. You know what she's saying is absolutely right; it's the kind of advice you'd probably be giving her if the tables were turned. But something about your night with Yunho meaning so little doesn't sit right with you.

"Can you please not tell anyone, not even San? For right now, I don't know what Yunho wants to say," you plead.

"Of course, you don't have to worry about that. I don't share things with San just cause he's my boyfriend, I don't think that's fair to my friends," she responds, hugging you.

"I'm so thankful you're here," you say, sighing comfortingly into her embrace.

"Me too. I love them all but they can be a lot," she says, and you both chuckle. Tucked into your layers of blankets you feel warm and cozy, and your chest feels lighter having told someone about your previous night.

***

Close to 3pm, the storm rolls back in to the area; the winds pick up, the clouds darken, and suddenly rain is pouring down. It sounds like the roof of the cabin is being repeatedly pelted with golfballs, the dull sound surprisingly loud. Suddenly all of the boys are sprinting back inside, their wet shoes squeaking on the tile of the kitchen floor. All of them are thoroughly soaked, their hair sticking to their foreheads, clothes stuck to their bodies. They tumble in one after the other, Wooyoung the last to make it in, and you hear his scream all the way from outside. When they finally get inside they all start undressing, their clothes heavy and cold.

"Didn't realize we were staying at a strip club," Ari says, making you laugh. You know they're just uncomfortable, but you can't help but stare at Yunho as he disrobes, his light blue shirt dripping on him as he heaves it over his head. You don't really see him shirtless like this, even though you live together. He's not one for walking around like that. You'd forgotten how broad he really was, how strong his shoulders are. As he goes to ring out his shirt in the sink you see his tricep flex, and the smooth muscles of his back as well. He's tall and lanky, but you'd forgotten just how muscular he was too.

"You're kind of gawking, just so you know," Ari whispers in your ear, making you jump.

"Oh my god, I'm gross," you groan, burrowing your head in her shoulder.

"No not gross, not gross at all. Fuck, every time San is shirtless I want him to fuck me immediately." You glance over at Ari's boyfriend, already anticipating the muscles you're about to see. You could tell even when he was clothed how built he was.

"How often is at the gym?" you ask.

"Basically every day. He can like, easily pick me up and throw me around. And I'm not exactly the lightest person in the world."

"If that's not everyone's dream," you say, giggling.

"Can't Yunho carry you?" she asks.

"Yeah but I'm basically like a sickly little worm, it's not that hard. Even Hwa can lift me," you laugh,

"Okay, well, he can still lift you. And how big is your height difference?"

You just smile at her question, knowing you are blushing.

"God, if we aren't the most simple of women," she laughs.

"No no, I'll have you know I'm very full of logic and feminism and I do not care about muscles, or height, or anything of the sort. Never in my wildest dreams have I thought about how tall he is in comparison to me and gotten all hot and bothered about it," you joke, your blush having moved to your cheeks too.

"So you have thought about him like that!" she exclaims.

"Keep it down!" you chide, when you see Seonghwa shoot a look over at the two of you.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs, pouting at you. "What are you looking at?" she says to Seonghwa, who rolls his eyes.

***

After the boys had changed and dried off, Wooyoung insisted that everyone watched a scary movie. You were all stuck inside, and everyone had already spent the morning talking and catching up.

"'It matches the vibe of the storm," he said. "It'll be so fun," he laughed, smirking in your direction. He knew how you couldn't handle jump scares and didn't like gore. He promised you the movie he'd selected didn't have either.

"It's more like, a psychological thriller, you know? It's really fun. Set in a cabin in the woods too."

"Okay, fine," you replied, hoping he was telling the truth.

He was, in fact, lying. You found that out about twenty minutes later.

The loud bang made you jump, causing you to launch sideways and grab onto the closest thing to you. It happened to be Yunho's arm.

When everyone sat down, Yunho sat himself right next to you, but didn't say a word. Everyone was chatting, the room filled with chaos as they came down from the adrenaline rush the storm had caused. Ari got up to sit with San and help him dry off, and when Yunho saw you sitting alone he was almost thankful. He didn't know why, but everything Ari had said earlier made him feel almost jumpy. He had seen the two of you giggling and whispering to each other, and felt like something was happening that he didn't understand. When he approached you your face looked distant, and he almost worried you didn't want him there, that you would have preferred her. He sat with his arm around the back of the couch behind you. But when you didn't lean into him at all, didn't seem comfortable with it, he pulled it back down to his side.

"Woo, you promised me!" you whisper yelled after you jumped, your grip on Yunho so strong it almost hurt. You felt so embarrassed at how easily scared you were.

"That wasn't even a jump scare, just a loud sound," Yunho said, and the room chuckled. You frowned, pulling yourself away from him. You weren't sure why you were so sensitive, but what he said made you feel small. And not in a good way.

Everyone else's attention was back on the movie in a second, but Yunho couldn't stop looking at you and your sullen face.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning ever so slightly towards you. "Come here," he said, moving his arm around your shoulders this time, gently pulling you towards him. You stuffed your head into his chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. You weren't sure if you even wanted his comfort. You completely tuned out the movie, closing your eyes. You mind raced with thoughts from the day, and you suddenly realized you hadn't had a chance to talk to Seonghwa. You had wanted to assure him of what was happening, because he lived with you both. You didn't want him worried that you and Yunho had been keeping something from him, sneaking around behind his back. But as you peaked around the room to find his face, you didn't see him anywhere. You felt confused, and exhausted, and suddenly realized how cold you were again. You tried to tuck yourself into the blankets more but it just wasn't enough, so finally you decided to go grab Yunho's hoodie from the library. Maybe one more layer would help.

You slowly crawl your way out of the room, careful not to block anyone's view of the TV. When you finally stand up you're at the edge of the very short hallway that leads to the library. As you stand you notice how dark the sky looks. This window faces out towards the fire pit, and sits where the cabin is directly under a few trees and your view is limited. Still, the view is beautiful. The rain has become more gentle now, and the soft sound soothes you as you look out across the land splattered with greenery. The plants, the trees, they're the reason you really like being out here. You hope that today's the last day you'll have to spend inside, nursing your body. Some movement in your periferral vision catches your eye, and you sweep your gaze back towards the fire pit and the ring of trees that surrounds it. Suddenly you realize why you couldn't find Seonghwa earlier.

Outside, on a lounging chair just to the left of the fire pit, Seonghwa and Hongjoong are kissing. They must have snuck out while the rest of you were occupied with the movie, you realize. You aren't sure how you missed them at first, but in the darkness of the storm and shadow of the trees they almost blended into the landscape. Seonghwa is sat against he back of the chair and Hongjoong is over him, a hand on Seonghwa's thigh. You see him move that hand to pull on Seonghwa's silky black hair, the kiss clearly passionate, heated. The rain patters down around them, but in the cover of the trees they don't look soaked. They certainly don't look bothered. You can't tell, really, from this far away. You shouldn't be trying to look that hard, anyway. You try to tell yourself that. But you're mesmerized, stuck to the spot. You feel overcome with how beautiful they both are.

Soon they're tugging at each other's shirts, and you can tell now from the way they take them off that they must pretty damp. In the struggle you see Hongjoong's muscular back and arms; Seonghwa's face is the picture of lust, his hands moving down quickly to reach inside Hongjoong's pants and start stroking him. They're kissing again, Seonghwa's lean chest heaving, Hongjoong grabbing his legs to wrap them around himself. Tangled together they look like a perfectly choreographed ballet, like they both know exactly where the other is headed. You see Hongjoong's hips start to buck, his mouth moving down to Seonghwa's ear, then neck, his iron grip on Seonghwa's thigh leaving a mark you can see all the way from the window. Seeing the red mark brings a heat to your cheeks; the image of your porcelain doll of a friend being marked up by such a muscular man is not something you thought you'd ever witness. Now that you have, you can't help but think they're perfect together. Suddenly Hongjoong is sitting back, his hands pulling on the band of Seonghwa's shorts and throwing them aside, and you see how hard Seonghwa is, his movements showing how obviously needy he is.

Fuck, I really should stop watching them, you think. You'd seen them both naked before, it's not like your friend group was uncomfortable with much. But this was obviously different, and the way your body was feeling while you witnessed it made you feel a confused and a little guilty. Still, you could not pull yourself away, as you saw Hongjoong lean down over Seonghwa and say something, and Seonghwa's lips curl up in a smile, his head turning to the side as he grabbed onto Hongjoong's arm. They looked so, so in love. With Seonghwa's legs spread Hongjoong reached down, his hand moving between his cheeks, moving in a way you could not make out from your distance. Seonghwa's head fell back in obvious pleasure, and his back arched slightly showing off his lean abdomen. Hongjoong moved his head down to suck on one of his nipples, making Hwa's back arch even further and his mouth fall open. He looked so completely content in such a vulnerable state, and it made your heart ache with happiness. In all of the conversations you'd had with him over the years, you knew he always felt so self-conscious in these situations. It was always shocking to you, given just how beautiful he was. He got propositioned out in public more than anyone in your group, and had to continually turn people down given the industry he worked in. But all of that attention felt uncomfortable to him, usually, and you knew that. To see him so unabashedly open with someone was a rare sight.

Hongjoong's hand moves up and then you see, a tiny glint of something metal in his hand. It must have been a plug Seonghwa had inside himself already. When had he put that in? It must have been after the game, so before the movie? When did he even have the time? You can't stop watching the way Hongjoong lines himself up, stroking a hand through Seonghwa's hair again, finally pushing himself in ever so slowly. The plug sits next to them on the lounging chair, and you swear the gem on the end twinkles at you. He starts thrusting slowly, kissing Seonghwa's cheek, the rain starting to pick up again. It all feels so cinematic, like it couldn't have been more perf-

"What are you looking at?" Yunho whispers into your ear, sliding up behind you. You jump, spinning away from the window and covering your eyes, your elbow hitting him in the ribs.

"Oh god, ow," he says, grabbing his side.

"You scared me," you pout, your head feeling full of molasses from all of the feelings you are having.

"I whispered," he replied. "Why are you so jumpy, are you okay? Why did you you leave the couch?"

"I was cold, I was gonna grab your hoodie. But then, the window, you know, it was pretty outside with the storm and stuff," you reply, averting your eyes.

"Seems like my hoodie is in danger of being re-homed," he replies. He's trying to joke around to lighten your mood, which is obviously not good at the moment. Your eyes on the floor make him worried, and you really don't seem yourself. Or rather, you seem like how you are when you aren't feeling well.

"Here, why don't we look out the window together?" he offers, turning you around to face it again, wrapping his arms around you to try to help you feel warm.

"Oh god, Yunho, no," you mumble as he turns you, and you start stepping out of his reach, mortified at what he's about to see. You feel his arms stretch out and his body begin to move with you, but then he halts.

"Oh, that's what you were looking at," he laughs under his breath, making you cringe. You hope he leaves it at that, that he doesn't say anything else. But soon he opens his mouth again. "Oh god, that's crazy," he says, and you look back to see his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He looks almost horrified, and you wonder for a moment if he's even seeing what you think he's seeing, or if it's something else entirely. With a confused look on your face you scoot towards the window again, to catch a glimpse of whatever has him so shocked.

As soon as your eye line reaches Seonghwa and Hongjoong you too feel a shock, at just how hard Hongjoong is thrusting into him now, his hand on Seonghwa's neck. No longer do the two look like a balletic couple; instead one has clearly submitted to the other. You know from conversations with him that Seonghwa likes being taken like this, or at least has always liked the idea of it. He'd told you many times how he'd never really had any partners he trusted enough to go there with, but that he wished he could. You feel strangely proud of him, as you realize he'd had to have a difficult conversation with Hongjoong to make this happen.

"Yunho, stop," you say, tugging on his arm to pull him into the library with you.

"You saw what I saw, right?" he asks, his voice still low but sounding mildly concerned.

"Yeah, why?" you ask, seeing his hoodie on the corner of the pull out couch and making a bee line for it.

"You just, don't seem concerned," he says.

"Why would I be concerned?" you ask, your eyebrows knitted together. You really don't know why he'd have a problem with the two of them being together, but suddenly you worry there's something about Yunho that you didn't know.

"Hongjoong was being so aggressive with him," he says, voice even softer.

"Oh, Yunho, he-" you cut yourself off, not wanting to overshare. You're so thankful he doesn't have a problem with them for any other reason. "It's not really my place to share but, let's just say I know he likes that. I'm sure he asked for it."

"Well, I guess that makes a lot of sense," he laughs, his relief palpable. You cock your head to the side, looking confused. "Oh you know what I mean," he continues. "Hwa is so professional, pretty, put together all the time. Of course he likes being taken like a whore."

"Yunho, what the fuck," you say, shoving your face in his hoodie to try to cover up your laugh. You can't help finding what he said hilarious, and his read of Seonghwa is completely spot on. But you can't believe the words actually left his lips. "How can you say that about him?"

"You're the one who was standing and watching them for what, five whole minutes? I waited a while to come and check on you," he says, staring you down as you finally put on his hoodie, your hair a mess under the hood.

"God, please don't tell anyone," you groan into your hands. "It's weird, I know, I'm sorry. I just, they seem very compatible, and I'm happy Hwa has found someone like that. I don't know."

"It's not weird, I know you like watching that kind of stuff," he replies.

"I do not, what are you talking about?" you reply, your cheeks feeling warm again.

"Ok I know it's only one example, but remember our school trip senior year? When those people in the hotel across the street were fucking and they left their curtains wide open? You couldn't stop staring."

"I'm never living that down," you sigh.

"There's nothing wrong with doing that, at least I don't think so. If people are fucking in public then they know someone might see. They probably even like the idea," he says, chuckling.

"I'm not a big pervert who reads smut all the time and likes watching people fuck," you pout, hitting him on the arm.

"I know," he murmurs, pulling you into a hug. "I'd still love you if you were, though."

Love. Your heart stops at the word for a moment, and you don't know why. You'd said it to each other thousands, probably tens of thousands of times in the ten years you'd known him. But now it's making you feel like your heart has fallen into your stomach, and you might puke it up. You sag against Yunho, pains wracking through you again. You almost feel relief, at realizing the feeling was just your cramps.

"I don't feel good," you groan into his chest.

"I know, I could tell," he says, rubbing a hand along your back.

"How?" you ask, tensing in anticipation of his answer.

"Cause you're being kind of weird with me today," he sighs out, hugging you even more tightly.

"I'm sorry," you say, having known it would be his answer. It was the thing him and Seonghwa had helped you realize; no matter how much you could hide the physical symptoms of anything, the changes in your personality were always there when you weren't feeling well. And those two, knowing you as well as they did, always picked up on it.

"Do you want to go back out there? Or stay in here?" he asks you.

"I just want to lay in here for a bit, by myself," you say, not wanting to expose him any longer to your sour mood. "I'll come out for dinner, can you let me know when everyone's eating?"

"Of course," he says, lifting you up and placing you on your bed. In the comfort of the library everything feels so intimate, and you tug him down to come lay with you too, for just a second. Wrapped around each other you both sigh, Yunho nuzzling his face into your neck and leaving a gentle kiss. He feels overcome with concern, his heart wanting to stay next to you like this, forever. But you'd said you wanted to lay by yourself. He pulls himself up, tightening the strings of his hoodie slightly and pulling your blanket over your shoulders. As he leaves he walks gently, trying not to make any sound. In the hallway he glances briefly out the window, to see Seonghwa smiling, him and Hongjoong cuddled up together in a gentle embrace.

***

Dinner passes in a blur, your entire body feeling achey and your head starting to hurt. You'd taken your pills, drank water; there was nothing else you could do. When Yunho came to get you you'd almost declined, almost asked him to bring you food in bed. Your bleeding was definitely slowing down, but your body was feeling weaker today, and your mind was all over the place. Throughout dinner you felt like you might start crying at the smallest thing, and you clung onto Seonghwa to keep yourself from doing so. Everyone could tell you weren't feeling well, Yunho and Seonghwa rubbing your back as you sat cross legged at the large coffee table in the living room, slowly sipping at your soup. When Wooyoung brought you the bowl he had leaned down to hug you, seeing just how out of it you were.

"You don't have to stay out here with us if you don't feel well," Seonghwa said, running his hand through your hair. You leaned against him, slowly blinking to try and calm yourself.

"I don't think I can walk right now," you said, your legs hurting terribly.

"I can carry you," Yunho piped up, downing his last bite of food. "Do you want to go lay down again?"

You nodded your head, the light in the room feeling too bright despite how dim it was. You bring your hands up to cover your eyes.

"Ok, let me clean up our dishes and I'll take you to your bed," he said, standing up with your bowl and his plate in hand. When he returned he gently grabbed your hands, moving them around to the back of his neck, and then moving your legs out in front of you, scooped you up in one fluid motion. You rest your head on his chest, burying your face into his hoodie that you're still wearing.

"Feel better, we love you," Ari said, a twinkle in her eye as she watched Yunho carrying you from the room.

"I love you too," you respond weakly. You feel yourself fading, but suddenly your teeth feel too gross to sleep. "Wait, I need to brush my teeth," you tell Yunho, groaning in frustration.

"Okay, no worries," he says, his voice gentle. He walks you to the bathroom and sets you down on the toilet seat, prepping your toothbrush for you, then helps you stand to spit everything out when you're done. "Wait, I need to pee," you say, holding onto his arm tightly. He helps you sit down again, helps take off your pants and panties. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you have to help me like this," you say, your words nearly slurring together. You're really sounding out of it, and he feels himself in that space he gets in, when you're so broken down and he's the one there to comfort you.

"Shh, it's okay," he says, brushing a tear that fell down your cheek.

"No it's not, I'm a fucking mess," you continue, more tears starting to fall. "Why can't I figure out my damn body, why does it always catch me so off guard? It must be so weird living with me," you cry, everything tumbling out in waves.

"Y/n, listen to me. Everything is okay, I'm gonna get you to bed and you'll feel better tomorrow, I promise. You are not weird to live with, you're wonderful to live with. Are you hearing me?" he asks, moving your face up to make eye contact with him. "How did I get so lucky to know you?"

His kind words only make you cry harder, and you can't stop even as you get up from the toilet and try to steady yourself. He opens the door and picks you up again, carrying you finally to your bed to lay down. In bed your body feels heavy, like you're made of lead. You haven't felt this tired in a while, and you think sleep might envelop you immediately. But the pain radiating down your thighs and up through your stomach is too bad, and you toss and turn, unable to relax as Yunho readies himself for bed.

"Y/n, what do you need?" he asks, seeing your constant movements and pained expression.

"My legs to stop hurting," you mumble. Without even opening your eyes you raise your arms out to grab at him, even though he isn't right there. Your body is moving desperately again, and something about being with him in this room makes you loose all inhibitions. "Please make them stop hurting Yuyu," you plead.

"What would help, baby?" he asks, his body feeling electric. He moves over so you can grab him; he'll follow any request you have, do anything for you.

"Touch me, again, please," you beg, your thighs and pussy aching. Yunho again grabs a towel for you, gently placing it down on your bed and smoothing it out, lifting your hips to move you onto it. You keep making little sounds of desperation, unable to stop yourself. 'I know, I know, just relax baby,' he whispers to you, watching the way your face softens at the pet name. Soon your lower half is entirely naked, and he's massaging your legs, gently brushing past your cunt a few times, making you mewl from neediness. He wants to make you feel better but he also likes seeing you like this, likes hearing you beg for him. He wasn't prepared last night for what it did to him, and he thinks he's probably already addicted to that feeling.

Finally he slowly pushes a finger in, making you moan and sigh, the relief instant. Your reaching out to pull at his face, pulling him in to kiss him hard, your breath mixing as you open your mouth to slide your tongue across his. You moan at the feeling, his tongue wet and hot, making your clit throb. 'More,' you plead, your body feeling even more opened up than the previous night, even more ready to take everything he can give. He slowly adds a second digit, not wanting to hurt you, but he can tell your desperation is high and you're needing to be well and truly fucked. 'More, more,' you almost cry, your cunt clenching hard onto his long fingers, your hips rocking to match his movements. He inserts another finger, moving slowly again as to not hurt you. Desperately you claw at his back, hands reaching underneath his shirt, leaving marks in their wake. Yunho groans at the feeling, his own cock throbbing at how needy and wet you are. 'Faster, please,' you beg. The little sounds you let out are making him harder and harder; he starts rubbing himself against your leg as he fucks you with his fingers, his cock so hard it's starting to feel like torture.

"More, please Yuyu," you beg again, tears forming in your eyes from how good it all feels.

"More fingers? You feel so tight baby," he asks you, barely able to move his hand with how hard you're clenching down on him.

"No, need you inside me," you babble, feeling how hard he is against your leg. Yunho slows his movements a bit, propping himself up on his elbow to talk to you. He wants nothing more than to fuck you right then, but there's just one problem.

"Baby, I didn't bring any condoms with me," he huffs out, his frustration obvious.

"You should have," you whine, turning your face away from him but still moving your hips against his hand.

"How was I supposed to know this was gonna happen?" he asks, laughing.

You just whine again, eyes even more teary now at the thought that you might not get what you want, and you move your hands up to cover your face. Yunho stops his movements when he sees your disappointed face, sitting himself up to look down at you. He takes his free hand and gently brushes a hair out of your face.

"You really need me to fuck you right now?" he asks, earnestly. You nod your head, looking at him through the gaps between your fingers, your lips in a pout. Yunho groans and throws his head back, your sweet and needy face making him want to do every dirty thing he can think of. "Okay, I'll be right back," he says, slowly pulling out of you. You whine in disappointment, your pussy feeling devastatingly empty. "Just sit tight for a few minutes, I'll be right back," he says, kissing your forehead.

After cleaning off his hand Yunho walks through the cabin, trying hard to go unnoticed as he passes through the living room to the master bedroom. Everyone still seems to be awake except Hongjoong and Seonghwa who lay cuddled on a couch together; Wooyoung and his cousin Yeosang are playing what appears to be a very heated card game of some kind, while the other boys watch or scroll their phones, everyone clearly winding down for the night. He's thankful to not see Ari or San present; they must be in their bedroom as he'd hoped. His heart races from how potentially awkward this interaction could be, but he feels like he's on autopilot and there's no possibility of turning back. Not when you had begged him like that, and looked at him the way you did. There was no way he wouldn't find some sort of solution to his problem.

He knocks on the door gently, hoping he's not disturbing a private moment between the two.

"Yeah?" he hears Ari ask, sounding sleepy.

"It's Yunho, can I come in for just a sec?" he asks, trying to sound casual. He doesn't want to raise any alarm bells for them, or for any of the boys in the living room who might be overhearing. And if it had just been Ari, or one of the other friends he'd known for so long it might not feel too awkward. But there are three new people on the trip this year, and he isn't sure how comfortable they would be.

"Yeah, come in," she responds. Yunho turns the door handle slowly, hoping to avoid making any loud noise. Slowly pushing open the door, he spots San in the chair in the corner, reading over something on his laptop in front of him.

"Hey, sorry this is, well, random. Do you guys happen to have a, uh, condom I could borrow?" he spits it out, not wanting to waste a second.

"Oh, yeah, uh, let me see what I've got," San replies, closing his laptop and setting it on the bed before unzipping a small pocket in his suitcase. "Here just take this box, I brought two with me," he responds.

"Are you sure?" Yunho asks. He's frankly taken aback by how casual San is being about this, and by his generosity on top of it all.

"Yeah, of course. I've got plenty and I'm glad you're asking. It's always better to be safe," he responds, a genuine smile on his face.

"Be careful with her," Ari adds, unable to stop herself. "She's very fragile."

"I'm not going to hurt her, you know that," he replies, looking at her almost coldly. He feels slightly offended at the idea that she thinks it's a possibility, after all of the years she'd known him, seen him taking care of you.

"I know. I just had to say it, she needs all the protecting she can get," she says, remembering the state you were in during dinner. "I'm sorry if that was rude. I'm- I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to ask us," she finishes, hoping she didn't cross some sort of line with him.

"She's very capable of asking for what she needs," Yunho replies, wanting to stick up for you. But his face is soft, he isn't mad.

"Which is, that?" Ari gestures at the box of condoms in his hand, trying to hold back laughter.

"Okay, that's enough," Yunho laughs, looking away from her towards the door. "Thank you both, sorry if I made that weird."

Out the door he makes his way through the living room, trying to hide the box under the hem of his shirt. Mingi is the only one who glances up to see him, registering the shape of the box underneath the fabric. He's pretty sure he knows what it is, and he smirks to himself, too tired to say anything about it. But he's happy his friend is finally getting what he's wanted.

"I'm back," Yunho whispers when he reenters the room, your face and body awash in the gentle white light from the moon. He makes quick work of opening the box, removing one condom and throwing it on the bed. In a second he's on you, peppering your face with kisses, moving his hands underneath your shirt to pull it off.

"I'm so bloated," you say, breathless.

"I need to see you," he responds, not giving you any room to keep talking about yourself that way. You tug on his shirt as well and he reaches up, pulling it off and throwing it on the floor. In the moonlight he looks pale, his long torso perfectly shaped and beautifully lean. You bring a hand up to stroke along his stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath his skin, brushing across a small happy trail going down from his belly button into his pants. You tug on his pants too, your neediness having only grown in the few minutes he was gone. The idea of laying stark naked in front of anyone, especially in your bloated, sickly state would normally make you shudder, but in this moment you feel free, ready to take anything. He moves down to kiss you again, passionately, his tongue forcing you to open your mouth wide, his hands possessively grabbing you. Him kissing down your neck has you moaning, nearly writhing underneath him. He moves up to whisper to you, biting your earlobe gently and making you moan louder.

"You're so perfect," he whispers, the words cascading down you like a soft warm rain, any worry you had completely melting away. You tug at his pants again, helping him move them down and finally, completely off. Quickly he rolls on the condom; carefully he lines himself up with your entrance, moving his stiff cock up and down your slit, already feeling how warm and wet and ready you are. Finally he presses in, achingly slowly, until he's fully seated inside of you, the muscles of your cunt being deliciously stretched in a way they never have before.

He's big to be sure, clearly just the perfect size, stretching you just the way your body needed. Slowly he pulls out, then soothingly pushes himself back in, his cock hitting every perfect place inside you. Your mouth falls open at the feeling; you've never felt so full, so complete. He moves a hand down to your hip, anchoring himself so he can start a slow rhythm, his head buzzing with how good it all feels.

"Baby, you're so tight, fuck," he says as he tries to find a consistent pace. "Does that feel good?" he asks, eyes not leaving your face.

"Yes, yes, fuck, Yunho," you mumble, not able to form a coherent sentence.

"Relax for me then, you're so tight I can barely move," he says, trying to find the perfect angle to make your body completely give in. Quickly he readjusts himself, moving his knee to lower his angle, adding more strength to his movement. You moan, clearly feeling even better than before, so he knows he needs to lower the angle even more. "Baby, lift your hips for me," he says, grabbing a pillow from beside you to move underneath your lower back. Once you're situated he kisses you again, acutely aware of just how surrendered you are to him, words no longer forming on your lips. Slowly he adjusts his knee again, his hand still on your hip anchoring you, and he begins fucking you again from his new angle.

The immense pleasure is immediate, your back arching and your head rolling back, your moans so loud you're probably being heard throughout the rest of the cabin. But Yunho doesn't care, he's not thinking about that. All he's thinking about is the way he feels your pussy pull him in even more, your hips and thighs finally relaxing some, your whole body reacting to his change in movement.

"Shit, there you go," he praises you, feeling your legs wrap around his back, pulling him in. He's been so careful with you, so focused on not hurting you, but he can tell you need more, so he starts fucking you harder, his face nuzzling in your hair to take in everything he loves about you. He can feel the muscles of your pussy start to clench again, but it's different this time; the flutter against his cock drives him crazy, making him thrust into you even harder. Soon he feels the muscles clenching hard, your moans reaching their peak, your hands a vice grip on his arm and back.

"Good girl, let yourself come," he coos, holding you as close to him as he can, kissing your cheek and nose. It's the most heated moment, he feels himself about to come undone too, but suddenly he's overcome with fondness, a warmth flowing through his chest, making him feel emotional.

"Fuck, I love you." The words tumble out of him without warning and your own chest warms, just as your orgasm starts blooming through you, your legs shaking as Yunho continues to fuck you. You're moaning and mewling, unable to say a single actual word, but you wish you could tell him just how perfect everything is, how you haven't came like that, ever. In the heat of the moment everything felt right, and to hear him say something so sweet just as you reached your climax made it all feel even better. His tight grip on you, the way he's nuzzled into your body, it makes you feel safe and grounded and so fucking horny.

Yunho comes just after you do, his thrusts becoming inconsistent, his body going taught and then absolutely limp on top of you. You both breath deeply, your chests heaving in the quiet coolness of the room. You wish you could bottle this feeling, the way your body is limp and buzzing with pleasure, his weight on top of you making your usually busy brain filled with nothing but the feeling of him. It feels peaceful, almost spiritual. You both rest for a few minutes, not moving a muscle, except when Yunho reaches over finally to kiss you again, making you giggle.

"How are you feeling?' he asks, still not daring to move.

"So good," you slur out, a dopey smile spreading across your face.

"Good," he replies, wrapping himself around you like he loves to do. "Can I pull out of you?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you respond, moving your legs to allow him to move. He cleans you up and helps you redress, stopping every few seconds to kiss you again, tickling you too when he realizes you're in the mood for it. It takes a while for you to come back to yourself, your mind so foggy from everything that had happened. But finally, once he'd gotten you both totally ready for sleep and wrapped himself up behind you, you found you could actually speak.

"I love you too," you whisper, squeezing his hand that rests on your belly. He just cuddles you closer, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

[vityaposting]

jayvik x transman bf reader :3? maybe like dysphoria comfort ((maybe with a little smut if you feel like it..,,.)) anyways BLUSHES i love viktor hes the loml ^_^ (i couldnt tell if you write male reader,, sweat drop)

hi i am SO sorry this took so long!! its been a hell of a week lol but i didnt forget about i promise!! and yes ofc i write male reader, esp transmasc reader, we’re so underrepresented in the jayvik fandom frfr. i wasn’t really feeling like nsfw for this one im sorry but i have some softness and happiness instead :3

jayvik x transmasc!reader — dysphoria days (sfw) (1400)

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the apartment door creak open, and you perk up just a bit, the day’s sorrows temporarily forgotten. The sound of Jayce’s laughter hits you first. “V, you’re a menace, I’m telling you. One of these days you’ll burn the whole Academy to the ground.”

He seems surprisingly energetic considering how late it is—his gaze lights up when he sees you waiting on the couch. Viktor follows him, shoulders drooping with exhaustion, but he gives you the smallest of smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Viktor’s chuckle is scathing, but it makes your heart flutter anyway. “And you enable my behavior, so if they throw me into Stillwater you’re coming right along with me.”

Jayce clearly sees it pointless to argue, so he turns his attention to you. “Hey there, sweetheart.” You nearly fly into the air as he flops onto the cushion next to you, but a strong arm around your shoulders keeps you still. When he places an eager kiss against your temple, you feel your face burn. “How was work?”

“We missed you,” Viktor says quietly, settling down much more gently on your other side, leaning his crutch against the coffee table. “We made wonderful progress. Do you remember that equation I was telling you about—the one Jayce couldn’t solve for the life of him?”

Jayce shoots a halfhearted glare across the couch. “You fell asleep at the workbench during three separate experiments today. You’re one to talk about my work habits.”

“And I told you I’ll rest. There are two of you and only one of me, and I know how you both get when you think I’ve been up for too long, hmm?” His head lands on your shoulder, and his hand finds yours, long, thin fingers trailing across the back. You know what he’s about to say before he says it, but you find yourself burning anyway: “Solnyshko, you are so quiet. Something’s bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question: he’s always been perceptive. And he certainly doesn’t like being lied to.

You can’t find yourself in it to try. “It’s been a rough day, I guess,” you provide by way of an excuse.

That’s all it takes for both of your boyfriends to zero their attention on you. Viktor’s quiet determination sharpens, and his grip on your hand becomes infinitesimally stronger. Jayce seems surprised to learn there’s anything wrong at all, but he’s threading his hand through your hair before you can blink, his golden eyes wide with concern.

“Sweetheart,” Jayce breathes. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just—nothing out of the ordinary.” You feel a bit silly now, bringing up something that has always been a thorn in your side (or a hundred or so gigantic thorns in your heart, if you want to be accurate) but it’s a bit too late to back down. “I’d… been out to get the groceries. I was so excited at first, since I knew you’d both be home tonight and we could finally spend a night in and just be together, but when I went to check out, I made the grave mistake of speaking.” You laugh humorlessly. Viktor’s brows knit with sympathy; Jayce places a reassuring kiss against the shell of your ear. “And you know what happens when I speak.”

The cashier’s cheery tone rings in your ears again: have a wonderful rest of your day, ma’am! It’s the saccharine sweetness with which the word is always said it really gets to you, because it’s never malicious. It would hurt less if it was… but all it is is a reminder that in their eyes, you are something else entirely. The world sees a lie.

One word is usually all it takes for a steady wave of agony to follow. Your voice gave you away—but was that it? It was hard to avoid self consciously tugging at your shirt, changing your gait, squaring your shoulders. All these little things you did wrong. All these little things that made the rest of the world see something that didn’t even exist. Sometimes, you feel more like an illusion than a person, floating from person to person and watching them take in your fractured reflection.

Until you get home.

You don’t realize your breath has quickened until Jayce’s strong hand cups your jaw and forces you to look right at him. “Hey,” he says. “I get it, sweet boy. I really do. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“And you are more of a man than anyone who cannot see you for who you truly are,” Viktor butts in bluntly. “You are the handsomest and most beautiful person I’ve ever had the privilege to love—don’t start, Jayce, you know what I mean.” Jayce grins, biting off his joking retort. “And loving you is such a privilege,” Viktor continues. “My wonderful boyfriends… you are my greatest joys. I don’t know who else would drag me out of that godforsaken lab in the middle of the night.”

Jayce peppers kisses from the line of your jaw up to the corner of your eye, drawing giggles out of you all the while. “I could go on and on about what makes you so wonderful. Those people don’t see you the way we do. Would they ever stop to notice how your eyes change when the light hits them? Or how your whole face goes soft when you get complimented?”

“Pretty boy,” Viktor adds, just to test this hypothesis.

“You fluster so easily,” whispers Jayce. He runs his hand through your hair, twirling a few strands around his fingers, while Viktor trails a feather-light touch up your arm. Viktor stops at your shoulder before leaning forward to press a kiss against the hollow of your throat. You can’t help but draw in a shuddering breath as your skin lights up with electricity. You’re sure you must be glowing as brightly as the hextech contraptions in their lab.

“See?” he whispers. “Beautiful. Look at you.”

You want to protest, but with all the attention being leveled at you, you find you don’t have the strength. You can only relax further as Viktor takes your hand and presses five chaste kisses against your knuckles, and as Jayce leans closer to whisper in your ear. “You know, we could spend hours showing you everything we love about you, but I think we have dinner to make, don’t we?”

You manage a short laugh. “I’m not feeling well and you two just take the opportunity to tease me?”

“Teasing you is just a bonus,” Viktor huffs. “We actually just want to make sure you eat. I know you’d get on me about not having dinner.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Vitenka. You did have lunch, right?”

He makes a little ehh noise that forces a snort out of you. Predictable as ever.

“Yeah, I even brought something up from the cafeteria,” Jayce says. “It didn’t work. How about this. I’ll do the cooking tonight, and my poor malnourished darlings can stay here and relax, hm?”

“I’d like to argue, but I don’t think tonight’s the night,” Viktor says. Tucking his head into the crook of your neck, he draws patterns against the back of your hand, humming to himself. “I am terribly in love with you,” he mutters. “It’s honestly a little surprising. The both of you hit me like an airship hits a bird in the sky.”

“That sounds gruesome,” Jayce says. He kisses your forehead once, then Viktor’s and heaves himself off the couch. “Alright. Dinnertime. V, I’ll add extra spices just for you, and…” His gaze softens as it lands on you. “I love you so much, okay? No matter what.”

His perfect golden-boy smile makes your heart melt. “I love you too.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen. For a moment, the living room is silent, but soon Viktor clears his throat. “The world is wrong about you. I know who you are. You are so precious to us, no matter what anyone else sees when they look at you. Everything you are,” he murmurs, “and everything you will ever be, I love you, crasafchek.”

You press your cheek to his hair, grinning like a lovestruck fool, a little grateful he can’t see. The sound of clattering pots and pans echoes from the kitchen—the domesticity of it all wraps you in a quiet peace, and you may or may not drift off with Viktor in your arms before dinner is even done.

[atlaswav]

CATACLYSMIC ☾

INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.

Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.

With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence. 

He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined ��� your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.

Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.

Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.

God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.

“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face. 

Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.

His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’. 

If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough. 

“Have you found it?” 

You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster. 

You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.

“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”

“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”

Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself. 

“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.

How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write. 

Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)

He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project. 

The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project. 

The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts. 

“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”

You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.

Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect. 

Statuesque. 

His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul. 

“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning. 

You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. 

“It’s not good, either.”

You scowl at him. 

“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand. 

You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.

“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”

You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had. 

You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself. 

Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings. 

His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him. 

You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow. 

You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman? 

“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat. 

His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils. 

“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance. 

You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist. 

Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light. 

“It’s deplorable.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair. 

“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”

You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh? 

“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”

“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name. 

Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either. 

You were so wrong. 

More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero. 

He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.

Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious. 

“Ratio.” 

He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”

“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue. 

“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”

“Are you going to stop looking down at me?” 

The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?

“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”

You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.

“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”

You glare at him. Your chest stings. 

He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”

“Why?”

“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”

Your eyes widen.

“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”

You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”

“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”

You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction. 

“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”

“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”

His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer. 

The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it. 

He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant. 

You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. 

“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”

“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”

“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”

“Jackass.”

“Change it.”

You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks. 

“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching. 

“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”

“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”

“Then learn.”

“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”

“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”

“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”

“You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”

“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”

He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line. 

“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”

You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research. 

Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands. 

“I’m done.”

“Show me.”

You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully. 

Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines. 

But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.

He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light. 

“It’s good.”

You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”

“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”

“Huh?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What potential?”

He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy. 

You happened to be the one exception. 

“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”

“You think I have potential?”

“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”

He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile. 

Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas. 

—

The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors. 

He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such. 

But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom. 

You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns. 

It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions. 

You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was. 

He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once. 

He hated it. 

It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him. 

Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you. 

“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it. 

“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”

You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back. 

With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again. 

But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble. 

The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation. 

You wanted to slap him. 

Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?

You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class. 

You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you. 

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Tutor me please.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”

“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”

He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”

He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”

You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”

He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”

He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.

But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you. 

It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself. 

When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door. 

You were a picture to behold. 

Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head. 

You were messing with him again. 

Two could play that game. 

“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”

“What, like alcohol?” you huffed. 

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.

He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be. 

His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation. 

It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?

“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”

“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed. 

“You’re too smart.”

“You’re not smart enough.”

“Smart ass,”

“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”

You groaned. “Where?”

He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief. 

“You understand?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”

“I won’t. Now get out.”

“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge. 

Remarkably, he pulled out two beers. 

“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”

A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Wipe it off then.”

A frown.  His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall. 

“Drink and leave.”

“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness. 

“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand. 

“I do.”

“Are you lonely or something?”

“No, people are irritating.” Like you.

“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.

“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”

“If you say so.”

Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass. 

One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath. 

“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.

“What was that?” 

“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so.  He squints at the ground. 

He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”

“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you hate me?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”

“...Sorry?”

“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”

You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south. 

“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes. 

“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.

“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”

“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”

“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”

“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought. 

“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else. 

As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall. 

You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze. 

You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?

“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.

“You tell me.”

Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices. 

He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast. 

“You’re a siren.”

“Am I?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”

“I hate you.”

“Really?”

“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”

“So what’s your conclusion?”

He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”

“How? Why?”

“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”

“Are you normally this analytical of people?”

“No, which supports my point.”

“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”

“No. I hate you for it.”

“Let me go then.”

He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door. 

“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it. 

“Polar opposites.”

“I mean who am I to you?”

He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space. 

“Veritas?”

“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”

“What am I?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this. 

He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”

“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”

“Night.”

Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill. 

written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024

[reidmania]

IN BETWEEN | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series masterlist

part one, part two, part three

summary; after meeting in person for the first time, you and spencer only fall deeper when you visit him.

warnings; pure fluff again, they’re love sick fools ur honour. fem reader, briefly mentions of anxiety and overthinking, they make each other flustered and nervous.

an; there could most definitely be a part three if u guys want one bc theres still the bridge of the song?? this fic literally sent me to the grave never again am i writing this much in one sitting i might lose all my sanity.

tags: @reidmarieprentiss @spencerreidsreads

‘he laughs at her eyes, at her smile, at the glasses on her face, he loves how he talks late at night, when there's no one else to say, how she's beautiful and funny and smart like nothin' he's ever seen, he's good to her and she wants it more than everything in between’

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You didn’t think your hands had ever pulled your phone from your pocket quicker than the minute it started ringing, excitement and something more lingering in your mind when Spencer’s name lit up on your screen. A smile found place on your face as you leant against the shopping cart you had been pushing around.

The minute you answered you heard him breathe out a sigh of relief, “I am so glad you answered” Was the first thing he said, it made your smile widen as you held the phone to your ear, your other hand pushing the cart forward.

“When have I not answered- I always answer” You mutter out. It was true, not so much because you were always on your phone but because Spencer had your schedule memorised. He knew exactly when you would be free and when you wouldn’t, unless something came up but you always made sure to let him know before hand. After finding out how much he panicked when you internet went out and you didn’t email him for three days, you didn’t want him to have to worry like that again.

You heard a warm chuckle through the phone, it sent the warmth straight to your chest. “The 5th, I called you at 2:43 and you didn’t answer” He memorised. It made your heart fill with fondness and butterflies alight your stomach. Despite the roll of your eyes as you thought back to the date.

“I was at work! I called you back literally two seconds later, that doesn’t count” You mumbled out as your free hand reached for the shelves, placing the products in your cart gently before moving on.

You could picture his grin, on the other side of the phone. You knew he was at work, like he was more often than not. It didn’t stop him from going out of his way to check in on you throughout the day, and deep down you knew how important it was to him that he did so.

“I miss you” He said quietly, not bothering to add anything to the previous topic. His words made you grin as your lip became tucked under your teeth. You were sure to anyone else around you, you looked like a lovesick teenager. You felt like one too.

It had been two weeks since you saw Spencer for the first time, the kiss played repeatedly in your head as if your brain was rewinding a clip a million times, it made your cheeks burn all the same every time. You two hadn’t necessarily talked about it, but it wasn’t like either of you were avidly avoiding it.

It was enough to ensure Spencer felt some way about you, some way more than friends or internet buddies. The two of you saw each other again the next day, where you went to the a bookstore and a little cafe. He remembered you rambling in an email about the small bookstore you adored on the corner of the street near your work and then when you nervously muttered about it over the phone in the morning, he asked you to show him it.

“I know, I miss you too.” You said softly as you decided you had enough of grocery shopping, you had gotten most of the things you needed and everything else you could live without. You pushed your cart towards the checkout line.

He smiled, you couldn’t see it but it was clear enough in his voice to make your heart swell at the image in your head. “Do you have any time off work?” He asked, almost nervously.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tucked the phone into your shoulder, holding it in place with your head by your ear while you scanned your items at the self checkout. “Um, not anytime soon but I have accumulated enough sick days if necessary. Is everything okay?” You asked, slightly concerned at his sudden inquiry about your days off.

He hummed through the phone before you heard some shuffling, voices in the background but nothing clear enough that you could pick up on. “Everything is fine but, I miss you” He repeated, as his explanation for his previous question.

You didn’t know if there were any words that could explain the feeling that bubbled in your stomach. The butterflies that seemed to live there now taking over your ribcage.

You paid for your groceries before taking the bags in your hand and returning the cart, hard to do with the phone pressed tightly between your ear and shoulder, but you managed, carrying the bags in one hand towards your car as you took the phone back in your hand.

“Is this you asking me to come see you?”

It came out more teasing than you intended originally, but the soft laugh and idea of his cheeks slightly tinted was enough for you to mean it all the same. There was a moment of silence before he sighed.

“Yes.” He said, before he turned into a rambling mess trying to over justify what didn’t need any justification.

“I can pay for your flight - and If you’re worried about work I’ll pay you your rate. I’ll take time off work as well. You can stay at mine- If you want to of course, you don’t have to. Theres some good hotels close by as well.. not the one i was telling you about the other day, the crime rates there are substantially higher than any others. I think we have had six different cases there alone, Its honestly shocking it hasn’t been shut down yet. Between the crime rates and the horrible reviews I don’t truely understand how they still get business, two people every week thats not a lot of money so they must be getting it else where, especially because there prices are so low, maybe thats why people still go there, ignore the bad reviews and go anyways”

You smiled fondly, letting the boy ramble as you got into your car after placing the groceries in the back seat. You connected your phone to the blue tooth of your car, his ramble ringing out through the radio.

“What reviews does your place have?” You cut him off, a hint of teasing in your voice. His rambling stopped and he went silent for a minute, making your smile only widen when you realised you had flustered the man.

He almost squeaked when he talked, “None so far.. I can give you one though.” He muttered out trying to play along. Spencer got a lot less flustered now than he would’ve a few years ago, you knew that because he told you how much of a nervous awkward mess he was then. You found it cute.

Still, you had a way of bringing that back out of him.

“Go on” You encouraged softly, playfulness lacing your tone.

“Well it’s extraordinarily clean.. Warm too, but not too warm to the point it’s.. too warm.” He cleared his throat awkwardly when realising he had repeated himself. “It’s adjustable— The temperature, if it’s too warm or not warm enough it can be um- adjusted. This is more difficult than I thought”

You bite your lip, shaking your head, deciding to put the boy out of his misery. “And you call me a nervous rambler. Of course I’ll come see you, and stay with you.. If you want that. You’re also not going to pay for my flight, spence. You don’t need to pay me to hang out with you” You breathed out.

“I don’t want to make you pay for a plane ticket when I’m the one asking you to come see me.” He said, his voice quiet and sincere. You knew he meant every word and it made your smile dampen slightly.

You sighed, “Don’t act like I don’t want to see you just as much.” You said as you turned your keys in the ignition of your car, looking behind you for a moment as you reversed out of the parking space.

“Are you driving?” He asked.

You nodded, a common occurrence of you forgetting he was unable to see you. Sometimes you forgot he wasn’t right there. “Uh- Yeah I’m leaving the store. You’re connected to my bluetooth. Im being safe” You said, reassuring him of your safety before he even had the chance to ask.

You wondered if his worry for your safety would decreased if you lived closer to him. If he was able to see you and talk to you more. You weren’t sure what specifically spiked his worry but his constant need to know you were okay, it made your chest tighten in the grip of warm hands.

After muttering a quiet, “okay, good” He jumped back to the previous topic before he heard the beeping of you reversing. “I want you to stay here as long as you’re comfortable with it.” He said.

“Of course I am. When do you want me to come? Theres nothing important going on at the office — Like always. so I can basically come whenever..”

Spencer breathed out a laugh before he was called back to the conference room. You heard Hotch’s voice which you had gotten more familiar with the more you talked to Spencer. “I have to go, I’ll talk to Hotch tonight and find out when its best for me to have off and I’ll call you tonight okay?”

You agree and bid your goodbye, theres a moment of comfortable silence mixed with longing before he mutters a similar sort of reply mixed with an apology for having to go, before the call ended.

A week later, the sound of chaos filled your ears the minute you got off the plane while waiting for your bag, young kids running around trying to catch one another, a man missing his flight, families reuniting. The chaos was a bittersweet feeling that provided a weird calming sensation to your nerves.

You knew the minute you saw Spencer everything would be fine, but it didn’t stop the anxiety that dwindled, with the thoughts of every possible wrong outcome that may occur. It was thoughts you tried to ignore, and avoid but sometimes they made their way and consumed all your thoughts.

Once getting your bag you were able to wander towards the airport entrance way where Spencer had told you he would be. Your eyes searched the other people waiting for their own people, along with other biding goodbye.

When your eyes landed on his own you were pretty sure you could feel your heart bruising your ribcage. You wondered if you looked silly standing there looking around but those thoughts were quickly forgotten when he started walking towards you, meeting you half way as you too walked towards him.

The minute you were in reach his arms were around your waist, your body pulled flush against his. A smile filled the space on your face as your arms reached to wrap around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to better reach before he was lifting you off the ground.

A laugh left your lips before you could stop it, it was only for a moment before he was placing you back on the ground, burying his head in between your neck and shoulder as if it belonged there. The scent of his cologne mixed with his body wash took over your senses, consuming your mind.

“Hi” You whispered as you pulled back to look at his face, you felt your face flush slightly as his eyes lowered over your face, a goofy sort of smile on his face, his own cheeks flushed.

“Hi.” He whispered back.

You weren’t sure what to say but it didn’t matter, he was already taking your hand and leading you to his car, asking about your flight until you were pulling your seatbelt on, his gaze was focused on you completely, his body turned in the drivers seat to look at you.

“I came straight from work, I was worried traffic would be horrible and I wouldn’t get here in time.” He said softly as his hand brushed up to curl in on your jaw.

You leant into his touch, “I could’ve waited.” You said, the warmth of his hand sending your skin into a frenzy.

He tilted his head to the side to mirror how you leant into his touch, a wonky smile as he squinted his eye slightly. “I didn’t want you to have to wait.” He said, his voice did that thing you had grown all too familiar with, where it went slightly higher in sincerity.

You smiled, “Well you made it, is there some scientific facts behind that.” You asked, looking up at him with slight soft eyes. You knew Spencer would take any opportunity possible to ramble about statistics and scientific things you didn’t quite understand a lot of the time, you’d listen and love it regardless.

He paused slightly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Uh- Im sure there is.. I- Um.” You mirrored his expression, eyebrows furrowed slightly at his words.

“Sorry- I- I can’t think straight. You look so pretty” His words went straight to your chest and you could’ve swore you would’ve married him on the spot, you knew deep down that was dramatic when all he did was compliment you, but it was more than that. It was the way he said it with such honesty, so gently. The way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

You felt the need to change the topic. Your face slightly pulled away from his hands as you replaced them with your own hands, trying to cool the burning of your cheeks at his words. He smiled and started the car.

You let your hands cool your cheeks. “Was work okay?” You mumbled out as you turned your head back to face him, you admired the way his jawline looked and the way his hands looked holding the steering wheel, which did not help your face cool down. Your hands pulled away from your face, to rest together gently in your lap.

He looked away from the road for a moment to glance at you. His own expression slightly flustered making your heart skip a beat before his eyes returned to the road.

“No- Well yeah- It was fine. Boring, nothing real interesting just paperwork all day.. I was just, hanging out for it to be over so I could see you. How was the flight?” He asked through a breathy chuckle, his eyes glancing back towards yours for a second, noticing the way your fingers fidgeted with themselves.

He decided to leave out how all day Derek had teased him about you, saying anything he could to make Spencer’s cheeks heat. He didn’t mention the way when Emily asked why he was so moody all day he went on nearly an hour long ramble about how he just wanted the day to be over because you would be there, and then went into detail about how he had cleaned his house, bleaching it entirely just so there was absolutely no chance of any germs you couldn’t contract.

“I was stressing, honestly. The airport was so busy when I got there— Like there was a million people, I’m not even kidding. I’ve never been so.. overwhelmed by people and normally I don’t mind but there was a lot of people Spence. Oh and then the man tried to tell me my flight was wrong, and I wanted to cry — like break down into tears in the middle of the airport, then he got his boss and everything was fine, he just read the ticket wrong. I also fell asleep and woke up to the kid next to me asking if id play uno with him — So I did of course”

The simple answer turned into one of your nervous blabbering sentiments he had come to adore. His hand reached over from the steering wheel while the other remained on it, it hovered slightly over yours for a second. Your breath hitched slightly cutting off your ramble, you swore at this rate you would be dead from your heart rate being too high before you even got the chance to see Spencer’s house.

When his hand peeled yours away from your lap to interlace your fingers with his your head turned towards his, a soft smile on your face as your eyes met his for a moment when he stopped at a redlight.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, as if he was nervous you might push him away. Your hand softened in his gentle grasp, squeezing his hand gently you smiled and nodded.

“This is perfect” You breathed out.

"I don't have a guest room- I should've mentioned that" Spencer said, he was leaning against the back of the couch watching you as you stood in front of his book shelf, eyes scanning over the large amount of books, your mind dancing with the memory of when he had emailed you telling you he needed one, because his books were just in piles across his living room.

You smiled fondly at the memory before you turned your head to look over your shoulder at him, eyebrows pinched together. You weren't sure what to say, was he telling you that you'd be sharing a room with him? was he saying you'd be sleeping on the sofa? was he kicking you out and telling you to find a hotel?

You pursed your lips slightly, "Right.." You hummed as you turned your body to face him. You weren't sure what you were expecting honestly, sure you spent the last week leading up to this wondering but it never went much further until you got distraction making up different scenarios and interactions in your head that you'd fall asleep thinking about.

Spencer looked awkward for the briefest moment, before he let out a breathy laugh. "You um- We can- You can sleep in my room" He said, he spoke like the words were trying to be held back in his throat. It made you smile.

"And then where will you sleep?" You asked, raising your eyebrow curiously at him.

His eyebrows dipped, "Well- In my room as well- if you are comfortable with that, or I could sleep on the sofa." He said, the crimson heat making its way over his cheeks. You couldn't help the way your smile widened.

Your head tilted, "You know, I think that would be okay." You said, your smile almost giddy as you walked towards him. He let out a heavy exhale he didn't know he was holding it at your words as the smile made its way to his face -- looking the same sort of giddy.

"Yeah you think so?" He asked, the teasing tone as if he wasn't the one flustered and nervous almost seconds ago. You nodded your head in agreement as you moved to stand in front of him. A odd overwhelming need to be closer, one you couldn't explain.

He didn't seem to mind, nor did he question it as his hands hesitantly moved to wrap around your waist. You only smiled as you found your place against his chest, letting out a gentle breath as his scent overwhelmed your senses.

There was something so comforting about his scent, there was a fresh hint from his aftershave and then something that resembled the smell of old paperbacks and espresso, it was so delicate while being intoxicating all at once. There was something familiar about it even though it wasn't a combination you had ever smelt before meeting Spencer in person.

Yet it was the sort of scent the resembled a warm hug on a cold evening at sunset, or the warmth of a smile from an old lady in a cafe on an early sunday morning.

"When did you get a book shelf?" You asked, your voice slighly muffled by the cotton of his sweater, he hadn't told you about getting it. He hummed softly and you felt the vibrations from his chest against your ear.

"Yesterday, figured you deserved better than a house full of books all over the floor." He said, his voice was quiet and just loud enough for you to hear slightly raspy as his hand gently pressed against your back, brushing over the fabric of your own sweater.

You felt your heartbeat genuinely stutter at his words, the way his voice sounded. You were standing in his arms with not a clue in the world of what any of this meant between you, but you knew you didn't want it to end, not now, not ever.

"I wouldn't of minded" You said in the same quiet tone, as if there were other people around that the two of you were trying to hide your conversation from. There wasn't, it was just the two of you yet the conversation felt intimate and sweet and it ingraved its place in your memory.

His head shifting slightly from where it rested ontop of yours. You could've swore you felt his lips brush against the top of your head, you wondered if you imagined it, made it up in your head.

"I know" He whispered softly.

The rest of the evening consisted of you and Spencer attempting to make nacho's (which was more of you making them and him leaning against the counter staring at you), making him watch the notebook after finding out he had never seen it and then regretting it when you both spent the next thirty minutes bawling like babies into each others arms.

You also spent a while trying to convince him to let you paint his nails, before giving up. He probably would've gave in if you persisted for more than two minutes before getting distracted.

Now, you had just walked out of the bathroom after changing into your pyjamas while Spencer was already sitting against the headboard, a book perched up in his hands. You stood silently watching in awe as he went through 4 pages in the time it would've take you to read one, also part focused on his hands and the way they wrapped held the book

He looked up from the book noticing you standing there, your eyes lifted to meet his. He offered you a soft smile and sat up a bit more, shuffling a bit more to the side to allow you extra room on the bed. You realised that you were still standing which made the back of your neck heat in embarrasment.

You walked over to the bed, his eyes followed you as you moved, you sat down next to him as if it was normal, like muscle memory even though you had never done it before, the idea of everything feeling so unrulely natual with Spencer made your mind a mess as you wondered what is what about him that made everything seem so.. Safe.

"Is this okay?" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of his voice, your eyes met his as you nodded briefly before your eyes moved back to the book in his hands, you shuffled slightly closer to him without thinking, but he had no complaints when one of his hands left the book to wrap his arm around your shoulder.

Goosebums followed where his arm laid, "Can you read aloud as fast as you can read in your head?" You asked, almost absent mindedly as you thought about what it would be like to read 20,000 words aloud in a minute, you knew his brain could process that much information but that was just because he was brilliant -- He didn't need to explain the facts to you about it, you had already decided, it was just because he was brilliant.

He laughed softly, "No, your brain can work a lot faster than your mouth can" He said softly as his finger tips brushed over your arm, a smile on his face as he looked down at you, his eyes as warm as his hand felt against your skin.

"Okay good" You mumbled out, you looked back at him for a moment feeling slightly nervous under his gaze, "What are you reading?" You asked as you shifted slightly to see the title of the book, he helped by flipping the book to its side, his fingers in between the pages to keep his place.

You 'oohed' softly, making a soft chuckle leave his lips as you leant back against his arm. He kept his eyes on you, a fond smile filling the space of his cheeks. "Its about the pyscology of love" He muttered softly, eyes trailing over your face.

You wondered if he could feel your heart beat increase in your back as it pressed against his arm. You didn't mean to pay it any thought, but the way his voice got quieter and his eyes were looking into yours. You couldn't help it.

"Read it to me?" You asked, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip nervously. You weren't sure if you would understand it completely but you didn't really mind, more focused on just listening to Spencer read.

His eyes widened slightly as if he wasn't expecting it. There was something in his eyes, and emotion you couldn't quite place. "Y-yeah, Yeah, Of course" He fumbled over his words

You pulled your eyes away from his to shuffle down more to have your head resting against his chest, his arm followed your body still wrapping around you tightly. There was a moment of silence before you heard him clear his throat and began reading the words on the page, his voice sweet and gentle with every word.

You didn't mean to, really but within minutes your breathing had slowed and your muscles relaxed in his touch as you fell asleep. He didn't have to look at you to know that, he could tell by the soft breaths that left your lips as his words paused for a moment, before he leant down to brush his lips against the top of your head gently.

He continued reading aloud despite you already being asleep, his voice was quieter and softer, but he continued just in case you woke up.

"Should I be concerned about your sugar intake?" You asked, a warm smile on your face as you watched the man pour his tenth sugar into his large coffee, after the two of you made the decision to go for a walk around. You had borrowed one of his scarfs that was wrapped gently around your neck over the knitted sweater you were wearing. Your hands were intertwined for the most part until now, when he was tearing open sugar packets.

He grinned as he added one more before stiring the otherwise plain black coffee with the wooden stick, disposing of it then placing the lid back on his cup. "They never add enough sugar, I hate it how people at have to add their own" Spencer smiled as he tilted his head at you.

You scoffed playfully as you held up your own coffee cup as he other hand came to hold yours as the two of you made your way out of the small coffee shop. "I didn't" You reminded, waiting for his reply before you finished your idea for a joke as you tilted your head to look up at him.

He hummed, amused as he glanced down at you, "Yeah 'cause your sweet enough" He finished the joke for you.

You gasped, as if he just completely read your mind, playing into your running joke "Exactly!! See if we were both thinking it, it must be true" You sigh out dramatically, the smile on your lips never fading.

"Must be" He agreed, biting back as wide grin as his eyes pulled away from yours for a moment, looking around the street he was looking down, his eyes stopping on a little flower shop.

"Thats where I was when I got your email.. Your first one" He muttered out softly, your turn to follow his gaze. Your chest going fuzzy at how this all started at such a sweet place, a flower shop.

"I was with Derek, we were suppose to be picking up coffee for the rest of the team but then he got distracted wanting to ask out a girl who was in here.. I was forced to stay here for about an hour as they talked and then eventually he brought her flowers, but I was a sitting--" He pauses to point at a chair outside the flower shop, next to a little table, the rest of his hand still wrapped around the coffee cup.

"There. I was reading through my emails and I remember reading the one from you and I was so embarrased, I wasn't going to reply at first, but there was just something- I don't know but I'm really glad i did" He rambled.

You listened silently and fondly as you could almost remember the day like the back of your hand, unfotunately your experience wasn't as sweet as his or in any pretty place like a flower shop, instead you were in your office when you had gotten his email. He turned his head to look at you with a soft smile.

"I'm really glad you did too" You said honestly.

His eyes lingered on yours for a second before he smiled, "Come with me" He said gently as he started walking. You laughed, as if you were going to go anywhere else. You followed him, hand in hand as he walked towards the flower shop he had been talking about.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as he pulled you inside. It was a sweet smelling store, you looked around the pretty flowers in different bouquets, before turning back to look at Spencer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

His eyes were scanning the store for the flowers he remembered you telling him were your favourites, he remembered everything you told him, even if he didn't want to he couldn't help it. The minute Spencer saw them in the back corner of the store he was dragging you towards them gently, not missing the sound of your laugh ringing through his ears -- another thing about you he would never forget.

He had been grateful for his eidetic memory many times in his life but never more than the moment he saw your face light up at the sight of the flowers, and moreso at the fact that he did remember -- you knew deep down he remembered everything but it didn't make it any less special to you.

"Spence" You cooed sweetly as your head turned to face him, his eyes were already on you.

"I wanted to get you flowers to give you when you got to the airport, but I couldn't stop because I didn't want to not be there when you got there and the first time we met, but the shops around didn't have any of these" He mumbled out, nerves lingering in his tone.

You huffed out a laugh as your chest tightened in wake of his sweet words. You wondered how on earth this man was real. You wondered if maybe this was all a dream and he was just a figment of your imagination, a creation that could only exist in your head and outside of reality. But there he was, standing in front of you looking so pretty, and sweet, and talking about wanting to get you flowers.

"Spencer" You repeat his name, its becoming a real challenge to not cup his face in your hands and kiss him. "You don't have to" You say softly.

He shakes his head, "I do, because thats the least of what you deserve, I think of you everytime I walk past this place, I think of you everytime I see those flowers -- I- I think about you all the time." He breaths out.

You stomach swams, you wondered if this was the begining of a romance confession, or if you had just watched too many love films. You didn't think love like that existed, and yet you were standing here with Spencer, feeling the exact way you imagined it to.

You were almost at a loss for words, thankfully, like always he was saving you from your mind blank by talking again, almost as if he needed to say it just as much as you needed to hear it.

"I'm not good at.. This.. thing. Feelings and situations, they make me anxious and uncertain and I don't like it, I like labels, and satistics, and science, I like certainity." He mumbled out his hand squeezing gently around yours.

You squeezed his back.

"In saying that, I am going to ask you a question and if it doesn't work out like I am really hoping it does, that is okay. I really really enjoy having you in my life. I have ever since you became apart of it. I hated email and now I don't because everytime I use it, I think of you. I am not a nervous rambler, a rambler, yes, but not because im nervous -- most of the time, until I met you. I really, really like you and I would really like for you to be my girlfriend" He breathed out.

You couldn't break the grin on your face. You didn't think anything could, your heart was beating outside your chest and you were almost scared it was going to break your ribs with the intensity. You had to pause and take a deep breath as you tried to regain your ability to talk.

This was something out of the sweetest romance novel, he was something out of the sweetest romance novel.

"I would really like that too" You huff out a heavy breath through your words, as your hand frees from his to wrap around his neck gently, careful of the coffee that was still in your hand.

He let out a sigh he had been holding in as his eyes smiled at you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you flush against him as his head bent down to sink in place in your neck.

You felt so full. Everything felt so right. Here, with him, in his arms, like this. There wasn't quite a feeling that compared to this moment that you had felt before, there wasn't anything you wanted more than him in, this moment.

The minute his head pulled away from your neck to look at your face, he had that sort of look in his eye, the same one that you had where there was just a different sort of glow, a different happiness behind them.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, it gave you deja vu to the first time the two of you had met, you smiled widely. Nodding your head.

"You're my boyfriend now, you don't have to ask"

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you. (Part 2)

hello hello! here is part 2 as promised. there are less characters than I hoped to write, but in exchange each blurb is a little longer than pt.1 !

part 1 can be found here

🦌🪼🤡🦎🪞🤕🕯️🎭

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🦌 Bane rubs his chin, tracing his memory. "Hm... Indeed, I'm familiar with that name. I'd suppose that's someone I knew when I worked for the DeRosses." He crosses his arms with a low, contemplative grunt, as if struggling to remember anything else. "I'd need a photograph." I happen to have a couple on hand, and he takes them gently. A long period of silence follows. After leafing through the photos for some time, he says: "I remember. They were always talking about marriage." With you? "Mm. I was never interested, but I never said no. Eventually I made them a ring from a scrap of iron. I hoped they'd stop visiting me if I satisfied them... It's too dangerous to come to the forest everyday." Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ring of his own. "In exchange, they gave one back." He's been cherishing it all this time, even when he'd forgotten its origin.

🪼 Ivy - "I'm no stranger to feeling like I'm missing my other half, you know. That sense of loss is one of the only constants I have left. (Y/N) fills my emptiness, and without them it increases twofold." I open my mouth to ask, Do you think you could be soulmates? but then my eyes dart to the Yithian and I realize my mistake. Sorry, was that insensitive? Ivy is not amused with my implication that she might be interested in claiming (Y/N)'s soul. "My dear interviewer, I am a scholar, not a monster. Whatever you're insinuating, you're gravely mistaken."

🤡 Joker's face suddenly hardens, in spite of the fragile, twiddling-thumbs demeanor he'd shown me thus far. His hands ball into shaking fists and his lips purse, as if he's psyching himself up for a fight. Are you okay? I ask, preemptively guarding myself with my clipboard. Tears brim his eyes and the strength falls from his shoulders. He mutters out, "All I wanted was to be their sword and shield, their angel of light, and they left me out of my mind. Hahaha... Wanna know the biggest joke of all? I'd let them drive me crazy all over again."

🦎 Luchino's mouth stretches into a lazy grin. "That one's a cutie, eh? Had the pleasure of meeting them yet?" I shake my head, reminding him that (Y/N) is the focus of my current investigation. I guess his laidback attitude fooled me into saying too much. He promptly straightens his back, the smile fading. "Yeah... Yeah, from one researcher to another, I get the intrigue," he says. "But I can't say I fancy another guy using my love as a test subject."

🪞 Mary - "Do you take pleasure in nosing around a lady's private affairs? I'd expect more tact, even for an interviewer." The chill in her tone startles me. I sputter out something in my defense, but Mary huffs and waves me into silence. "(Y/N) is enjoying the privilege of being my right-hand. They're my favorite one so far, too. I dismissed the others without a second thought."

🤕 Naib - "On good terms." Wringing out any insightful answers from this man is tougher than I thought. In hopes of inspiring more of a reaction, I tell a small lie: When I interviewed (Y/N), they described a rather colorful affection for you... Almost immediately, Naib breaks eye contact and crosses his arms. But I still only get a guttural "Hm." in response. Can you confirm if this is true? I press. His answer is, once again, a curt "Hm." (Slightly more affirmative, I would say).

🕯️ Philippe - "My work has always stood as a testament to my love," he caresses the wax figure grafted onto his shoulder, "but shielding someone in life is a far greater challenge than honoring my losses. My worries are endless." Suddenly reminded of his sister's tragedy, I offer a sympathetic smile. Do you believe (Y/N) is in danger? Philippe returns my smile, though I can't make out the intent. "Of course. Evil lurks around every corner. At the very least, it won't reach them while I'm around."

🎭 Sangria - A fond smile graces her face as she recounts her memory. "It was clear to me after some time that I had disastrously entranced them." Then she adds, lightly, "I hadn't meant to, of course. At the time, I thought, I'm not looking for love—no, I'd had enough of it all—but soon, their smile would appear in my mind every time I sang. When someone gives you that much inspiration? You'd be a fool to let them go." She has a playful tone of voice, but I can tell (Y/N) means a great deal to her.

[regencyrosalie]

Could you write some Anthony bridgerton x wife reader angst with a happy ending

i love a happy ending. thank u for the req! here’s husband!anthony and his four braincells fighting for his life

To say Anthony has been stressed would be an understatement. The sheer amount of paperwork he’s had to do within the past week would put any regular man into an early grave. Not to mention that Hyacinth has attracted enough suitors since her debut to keep him busy and on edge every time there’s calling hours.

His wife has been trying her best to help, even organizing his papers when he’s busy, to which he would thank her profusely. She’s also been busy with the social season, arranging dinners and parties and visits to the modiste.

They never fight. (At least not since they got engaged). Which was why Anthony was so out of his element when he accidentally snapped at her one evening.

“Dear, would you like me to bring you a cup-“ she opened the door to the study, clad in her night-things.

“Could you spare me your rambling for once in your life?” he chastised, trying to add costs on paper with his exhausted mind.

She just stared at him for a moment, and he tensed, before backpedaling.

“Darling, I did not-“

But she had already left, and shut the door behind her, teary eyed and angry. He had never spoken to her in such a way, especially when all she was trying to do was assist him and bring him tea.

Anthony followed her out instantly, “My love,” he called desperately, but the hallway was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen. He raced down the corridor to their bedchamber, but it was empty. It did not even register until then that she may be in her own bedchamber.

And that she was, she was sat on her bed, weeping silently. She secretly prayed that he would find her, and muster up a tolerable apology because she could not bear to sleep without him. The sheets she was perched on had very likely not been changed since before she arrived at Bridgerton house, as she never spent more than five minutes in her own room each week. Much to her dismay, and the dismay of her pride, she was spiraling at his words. For how long had he believed her to be rambling? Was her presence so bothersome?

There was a knock on the door, like an answer from the divine.

“My love, are you there?” Anthony’s voice cut through the mahogany door.

“No,” she called back, trying to stop her voice from shaking. She wanted him to know she was there, but also to prove a point. Mostly to watch him suffer.

There was a sigh of relief as he found her, and he tried the door handle, to no avail.

“Please, darling. I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean it. I was foolish. Please do not shut me out,” he pleaded from the other side of the door.

She did not make any reply, but she stood from the bed, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she knew she would be opening the door soon.

“My love,” he called, trying the door again “please. I love you. I cannot go through the night without you, you know I cannot. I will beg, if that is what you wish. I cannot be parted from you.”

She debated for a moment, and stayed silent, pacing around the room.

“What are you doing?” he practically whined through the door.

“Sparing you.”

He groaned. “No, love, please. That is the last thing I want. I did not mean it. You must know I did not. I have just been so busy, it has taken a toll on me. I did not mean to say such things to you, dearest. You know I do not feel so.”

That soothed her slightly, and she stopped in front of the door.

He heard her get closer, and he continued his begging. “Please, my love. I do not wish for you to spare me from anything except your contempt. I relish in your conversation, I crave it. Do not do this to me. I cannot bear it. I need you desperately. You know I do. I adore you. I adore everything you do, everything you are. I love you so dearly I feel as if it may kill me at times. And it very well might if you do not open this door.”

A smile tugged at her lips as he pleaded with her, and she wiped her eyes before unlocking the door and pulling it open.

Anthony looked a mess, his cravat was half-tied, his hair was disheveled, as he had probably been running his hands through it incessantly, and his eyes were glassy and pleading.

She almost giggled.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said incredulously, with a hint of a smile.

“Perhaps a bit,” she replied, letting him pull her into his arms.

“You evil woman,” he chuckled softly, before pulling back to look at her face, frowning at her puffy eyes, “I am so sorry. Words cannot express my regret. I did not mean to cause you pain. I was foolish.”

“Yes, you were. But I forgive you,” she replied.

“Thank you, my love. I do not deserve your kindness.”

She kissed his cheek. “You do not need to earn my kindness. I know it has been tiring, with all of the work. But it is not my fault.”

“I know it is not. Of course, it is not. You give me nothing but strength. I adore you. I love you.” he murmured into her hair.

“I love you,” she replied softly, with a hint of amusement.

“Let me show you,” he mumbled, lifting her off the ground, “let me show you how much.”

She giggled.

“Anthony Bridgerton you are insatiable.”

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[amorfista]

[WIP] "Shenanigans at the beach"

The Dad Batch (and Omega) deserve a day of blissful relaxation, I don't think there's anyone out there who wouldn't agree!

While Tech is taking the best nap of his life [Part 1], Omega and Wrecker joined efforts to make the coolest sand-Tipoca city there is out there!

But hold up just a second...

-"Hey Wrecker, look!"

"...now wouldn't it be a shame if someone was feeling extra mischievous today?" Omega thought to herself. Turning to her left, lips pressed in a smile, she discovered Wrecker mimicking her expression. Apparently, he had just read her mind >:).

Tech had felt such peace, such safety that he had fallen into a deep slumber, further fueled by his usual lack of sleep.

Tough seldom wrong, today he was.

Because at this moment Tech was, in fact, in grave danger.

...TO BE CONTINUED!!

[Part 3] [Part 4]

(Acknowledging the lil' banner for a fraction of a second, it's just something I'm testing out and would like some feedback if you'd be so kind to give it :)) I'll probably make it just a tad bit more refined and (possibly) include the members of the Batch appearing on the post? but I might just randomize it for fun too. Thank you for taking the time to read this!!)

OKAY SOO. I decided to post these two drawings that I completed a few days ago because:

- once again i deadass couldn't wait anymore💀

- I have decided to make as many "beach episode" themed drawings as I can during the summer (and fall if we get there cuz why not) so i'll just post them as I'm done with each of 'em! I have SO many ideas for it and I want it to be a big project and not some sketches as I had initially planned. I want to make it WHOLESOME and HEART MELTING!! Whenever I get burnt out or need some fresh air I'll draw other things, probably still within the Star Wars theme because the brainrot is real🤓, but just letting you know in advance because AAAH!! this is a big thing for me and I want to share it with you guys because love is all you've shown me and I want to reciprocate 💕 🥺 

- and last but DEF NITELY not least I want to celebrate thAT I REACHED 300+ FOLLOWERS TODAY!! AND ALSO 1000+ NOTES ON MY OMEGA DRAWING??!! IN LIKE NO TIME TOO!!? WHAT THE FRICK. THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!

Never before had my art had such an impact in a community. I am so grateful for all of your comments and interactions with my drawings, it's a ridiculous boost in inspiration and confidence :) It makes me want to push my limits every time!! So once again THANK YOU!!☺️ 💕 

Here's my taglist, just let me know if you wish to join!! ♥

@dukeoftheblackstar @justalittletomato @darthmaulshispanichousewife @botherbother-blog @aftergloom @badolmen @ihaventpickedausername @ohboi @stardustbee @nik-barinova @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @gen-has-green-vibes @ejfivercommander @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @eyecandyeoz @noesqape @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @staycalmandhugaclone @callmesunny04 @freesia-writes

[inky125]

Mary Linton and Jack Marston meeting in 1922

Okay but these are just my headcanons for the very improbable scenario that they end up bumping into each other in the future. / My headcanons for what they would do with their lives after the events of rdr/rdr2

(I'm going to explain them under the cut)

Okay so, starting with Jack:

I want to believe Jack lived a more or less normal life after killing Ross, successfully getting away with this one (1) murder, and having that as a skeleton in his closet. Not finding peace really, so the whole revenge thing doesn't fix his miserable life but he can go on to try to do something with his life. Gunslinging doesn't really have a place anymore here.

When the US joined WWI I know that boy DID NOT join the US Army, he would NEVER join the group that killed his dad, or make the same mistake as him and make a deal with the government. He would rather be jailed for dodging the draft, what will they do, threaten him with what? He has nothing to live for really, so they can't make him. I don't think he cares much if he gets shot (he has a like saying as much in rdr when he duels Ross).

After the whole jail thing he'd go back to a more or less normal life, I'd guess he would have to have a regular job and write whenever he's able (I want to believe that one Easter egg in GTA is canon...it is to me...), but I don't think he'd be able to make a living just from writing.

As for Mary, I always wondered why Mary was dressed the way she was during the credits cut scene in Rdr2. Because I'm guessing it takes place in 1907 (given that most cut scenes appear to happen at the same time more or less than the epilogue). But I wondered why Mary was dressing in black; I mean, during the Victorian era there were very specific mourning traditions, especially for women. Wearing black was pretty much a part of a social thing, you'd publicly mourn. The extension of your mourning would depend on who died and what was your relationship with them.

And here is the thing, Arthur had died 8 years ago by then, we could assume Mary had found out shortly after of his dead because newspapers in the Rdr2 universe love to brag whenever law enforcement/Pinkertons kill renown outlaws. (Even Arthur and Hosea get mentioned years later in some sort of article in 1907 too). And additionally, we know that Mary kept up with how the gang, especially Arthur, was doing through the news on the newspapers. So again, it wouldn't be crazy to assume she knew about Arthur's death back in 1899.

So then, why is she wearing a black dress to visit his grave in 1907?. Black is the color of mourning, but as far as I am aware (and correct me if I'm wrong) it was not required to visit a grave back in the day. So I like to headcanon Mary mourning Arthur like a widow, because widows would have to wear their black weeds for 2 years (there were different periods of mourning, for instance Mary's clothes could be classified under the 'half-mourning' type, meaning there has been at least 6 months since her loved one passed away, meaning she could now wear some jewelry, other colours, ect.

But here is a little extra, Queen Victoria popularized among some women the practice to never abandon their period of half mourning, and especially, keep wearing black the rest of their lives even if they move on, as a sign of love for their dead husband.

Mary and Arthur never got married, but I like to think Mary lived as a widow for him. Continuing with her life as normal, of course, but always having that bittersweet ache in her heart, dressing in black out of respect and love for him and the life they couldn't have. Even if she had wanted to move on from him after she realized they couldn't be together as Arthur wouldn't leave the gang, I think she would have folded if Arthur had gone after her (I mean she did re-initiate contact after they were supposed to never speak again), and I think she was still preparing herself emotionally when she heard the news that Arthur was dead, ironically not moving on from him.

She didn't remarry, Jamie made good money and maintained her, Mary knew the kind of life she didn't want and she could be respectable and old as a widow. Plus marrying someone new at her age would be a titanic task.

I think Mary kept her mother's brooch Arthur returned for her as her reminder of him, given that she returned the picture and the ring. In fact she's wearing it when she visits Arthur's grave in-game!. So I kept that

It just warms my heart to think of the very few people left who knew about the gang finding each other in usual ways. Maybe next time I'd do Sadie or Charles. I'm just a sucker for this kind of things