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valeisaslut · 4 days ago

Note

Possibly cannon that collide Ellie draws some of her album covers?….. or even some of her singles😗😗

NONNIE. OMG. YOU JUST REWIRED MY BRAIN. I'VE BEEN ON PINTEREST FOR AN HOUR STRAIGHT. it’s SO canon now. also took a little bit of freedom and added so much more stuff!

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE'S SKETCHBOOK

collide ellie isn’t just a rockstar—she’s an artist in the most chaotic, sexy, VERY EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED way imaginable. like yeah she can shred onstage and yell into a mic, but she also stays up at 3am in hotel rooms with a pencil clenched between her teeth, sketching like her life depends on it.

her art style is raw and unhinged—scribbly pencil lines, charcoal smears, ink-stained fingers. it’s messy and moody and SO her. her sketchbooks are war zones. pages torn, corners bent. sometimes it looks like she attacked the paper in a blackout. other times it’s so delicate you feel like you’re intruding just looking at it.

she’s done some of the Fireflies’ most iconic album and single covers:

but here’s the real kicker: she’s got a private sketchbook. not the kind that gets left on the tour bus or tossed into her duffel. no. this one’s hidden. zippered into her guitar case or shoved between mattress and box spring.

and it’s full of you.

you think ellie’s moody and mysterious? babe. she’s sketching the curve of your spine, the indent of your hip, you mid-orgasm in obsessive, excruciating detail like she’s trying to exorcise it out of her system.

not just one drawing. we’re talking a series. a full-blown, chronological, positionally accurate collection of "you riding her into next week." some from memory. some from quick glances in the mirror. some from angles you don’t even remember being in.

her sketchbook is like if a horny Victorian painter had access to lesbian sex and insomnia. it’s less “study of the human form” and more like, “i’m losing my mind over this girl and the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth is compulsively drawing her bare pussy.”

she loves drawing your tits. like, spiritually. artistically. carnally. your thighs too. your eyes. the curve of your back. your collarbones. she’s got whole spreads dedicated to each. and in the margins? little notes. deranged notes. written in her messy handwriting around the edges like she's documenting rare wildlife:

“shaky hands here. she said my name when she came. HOT. why can't i sketch that.”

“draw this angle again but darker. deeper shadow. more tongue.”

“bite marks from earlier. left side deeper.”

“she bit her lip right here. fuck.”

“she always arches like this when i touch her there”

“don’t forget: her thighs shake right before”

“this one’s from that night. THAT night”

“do a side-by-side of the mirror reflection next time”

and the occasional pure chaos like “looks like a renaissance painting if you squint” or “god i’m so fucking in love with her KILL ME” or just "im so down bad."

sometimes they’re messy and fast, like she was racing to capture the memory before it slipped. sometimes they’re painfully detailed. shaded with love. and lust. and obsession.

meanwhile, jesse saw a single page once and practically had a religious experience. he didn’t even mean to. he was looking for a setlist, flipped to a page, and BOOM: a full-frontal, beautifully rendered graphite version of you doing...things. his brain blue-screened. he stared for 10 full seconds and went–

“jesus, your girl looks like THAT??”

ellie almost passed out when she saw it. tackled him to get the sketchbook back “GIVE ME THAT—IT’S FUCKING PRIVATE!! FUCK OFF!!!”

she didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day and jesse still won’t make eye contact with you in certain lighting. he's kinda traumatized. but very impressed.

you’ve never seen these. she won’t let you. and if you even joke about it she turns bright red and buries the sketchbook under some old band tees, mumbling “they’re not ready,”

the only ones she’s ever shown you are the soft portraits—your face in the morning light, your hand curled into a pillow, the crease between your brows when you’re asleep. they’re beautiful. you love them. but you know she’s hiding more from you.

and then there’s the other pages. the ones she won’t even talk about. the ones never meant for anyone to see.

they’re raw. brutal. jagged lines and too-dark shading, like she pressed the pencil hard enough to tear through the paper. fractured self-portraits that barely look like her—hollow eyes, clenched teeth, limbs twisted or missing. some of them look like they were drawn during a full-blown breakdown, like she was trying to bleed something out.

eyes. strangers. cameras. flashes. everywhere. watching her. judging her. lines scrawled in the margins like “it’s my fault” and “i will never be enough” and “i never stopped seeing it.”

drawings of joel. not always his face. sometimes just his boots, the outline of his shoulders. him playing guitar in the backyard. once, a pair of hands—his—holding hers. the page next to it was blank, but smeared with something darker, wet-looking.

there’s nightmare stuff too. scratchy renderings of dark woods. of hands reaching. of her own face split down the middle. of you, once, too far away to touch.

“can’t forget what it felt like,” she wrote next to a sketch of her alone at a table, head in her hands, white powder ghosting the edge of the frame.

sometimes, she draws her heart. anatomically correct, messy and weirdly delicate—and cracked. stitched up with tiny letters. your name. again and again. “hold it together,” she scribbled next to one. “don’t let her see.”

you found one like that once. just a glimpse. and she snatched it out of your hands before you could ask anything. just shook her head and mumbled “it’s not for you.” like it would hurt you if you saw it too clearly. like she’s afraid of what it means.

she writes her lyrics in the sketchbook, too—tucked in the margins, between drawings, like they just spilled out of her without thinking. half-finished verses. little poems for you. stuff she’ll never sing out loud but still needed to write down.

“you look at me like im worth something.” “you showed me what real love is.” “don’t know how to be gentle, but i try for you.” they’re raw and messy and heartbreakingly sweet. and they live right next to sketches of your body—like loving you is this chaotic, overwhelming thing she has to get out of her system by every means possible.

she posts her sketches on instagram sometimes, but never the real ones. just a hand in motion. a mouth caught mid-laugh. a silhouette. something cryptic. mysterious. artsy. the comments always go insane: “who is this??” “this looks like album cover material omg” “is that y/n??”

but you already know.

her art is another language entirely—one made of ink stains and graphite dust and pages warped from being clutched too tight. it’s the truth, stripped down and shaking. it’s everything she can’t say out loud. and through every smudged line, every fucked-up detail, every sketch she hides from you—

she’s still telling you.

IMPORTANT: all of these drawings are from Pinterest—credits and deepest respect to the incredible artists behind them. their work captures so much raw emotion and intimacy, and truly helped bring the vision of ellie’s sketchbook to life. nothing but love and admiration for their talent! <33

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saffusthings · 1 month ago

Text

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-one: hypothetically

word count: 2.5k

warning: fluff overload. like i'm throwin up.

twenty | twenty-one | twenty-two

Outside, the sky had long turned to shades of navy and indigo, city lights bleeding gold through the windows. Inside, her tiny apartment was dim except for the desk lamp and a string of warm fairy lights she’d added since the last time he was here. Lando claimed they looked like a fire hazard, but he simply scoffed at it instead of telling her she should take them down.

She was curled up on the floor, legs criss crossed, with her laptop propped on one knee and a textbook splayed open in front of her. Lando was behind her on the couch, half-lounging, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, holding a packet of ethics notes he’d been trying to read for the last twenty minutes.

Key word: trying.

Her living room smelled faintly of cardamom and vanilla. Textbooks were spread across the coffee table, and one of her oversized throw blankets had somehow made its way into Lando’s lap. He scowled when she’d thrown it at him, but he didn’t seem to mind enough to want it off. The fabric was soft, and it smelled a little like her.

She was curled beside him on the floor, back propped against the couch, legs folded beneath her, pen tapping against the corner of her notebook. Her laptop was open to the assigned reading, but the screen had long since dimmed. A highlighter sat abandoned near the spine of a thick ethics textbook, and instead of annotating like she had been, she was now drawing mindless doodles in the margins of her notes.

Lando nudged the back of her hand with the eraser of a pencil. “Didn’t know you could get tired of reading,” he teased. “Isn’t that your whole personality? I thought you and books were, like, in love or somethin'.”

She looked up and shot him an annoyed glare. “We’re on a break. Clearly.”

He chuckled, watching her lazily sketch a cartoon scale with one side weighed down by the words student debt. “That’s tragic. You get tired of reading?” he teased further, nudging her knee with his leg.

“I get tired of you, Li,” she shot back with an overly sweet smile.

Lando smirked, faking a hurt expression with a raised brow. “That’s impossible.”

She huffed but didn’t argue, pressing her pen back to the page.

Her little doodles were careless at first—messy, nonsensical swirls—but then he saw something taking shape. An outline of a figure. A hooded one. Sharp edges. A face that looked just a little too familiar.

Lando’s lips twitched. “You drawing me?”

She immediately covered the page with her hand. “No.”

“That’s crazy,” he mused. “Because it definitely looks like me.”

She gave him a flat look. “I was drawing a grim reaper.”

“Right.” He smirked. “So… me.”

She groaned, her cheeks burning a light pink as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up. You’re supposed to be helping me study, not bullying me.”

Lando chuckled, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Alright, alright,” he said, tilting his head like he was thinking about it. “How about we test this virtue ethics thing with a hypothetical?”

She raised her head from where she had dropped it in defeat and eyed him suspiciously. “A hypothetical?”

“Yeah. Like, uh…” He tapped his fingers against the couch, gaze flickering to the ceiling. “Let’s say you’ve got a guy. A businessman.”

Her brow arched.

“He’s got a… company,” Lando continued. “A very successful one.”

“Right.”

“And he’s got a competitor who keeps screwing with his deals. Ruining his reputation and all tha’ – costs him millions.” Lando glanced at her. “So, naturally, he does what anyone would do and has the guy’s car stolen.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

She squinted. “Liam—”

“It’s a hypothetical.”

Her arms crossed. “Uh-huh.”

He fought the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So. Ethically speaking. If the businessman is already successful, does it make him less moral for going after a guy who wronged him? Or does he get to act in his own interest?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head. “I don’t know. That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not he’s a good person.”

Hm. Lando hummed, letting the words sit there between them.

She took her pen, tapping it lightly against the page. “A moral businessman wouldn’t have to steal his competitor’s car.”

“Well, maybe the competitor totally deserved it.”

She gave him a look. “And maybe the businessman needs a new hobby.”

Lando snorted. “Yeah, alright. Fair.”

She smirked, victorious, going back to her notes.

Truthfully, he had no fucking idea what half these sentences in this book meant when he tried to read them himself. The letters shifted, danced. Merged. Split apart again like they had minds of their own. His eyes blurred after the second line. It had always been that way. No one ever bothered to catch it when he was younger — too many fights, too many missed classes. Reading became a war of attrition.

But she had a tendency to read out loud. She would explain things, talking with her hands when she got excited about a particular concept. He watched her, and soaked it all in. All he had to do was match her tone when she sounded confident about something, to use her tells to follow the thread.

And he was a hell of a reader when it came to people.

A moment of quiet settled before she spoke again.

“You’re actually not terrible at this,” she said softly, surprised. “I thought you’d be the type to roll your eyes at ethics.”

“Why’s that? ’Cause I wear black?”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound soft and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

He watched her for a second too long. That laugh—it caught him off guard every time, like the sound of something bright breaking through the darkened clouds on a rainy day in Monte Carlo.

“No,” she said through a grin, shaking her head. “Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because you always act like you don’t care about anything. Even you can’t be that heartless.”

His brow quirked, and his voice dropped lower. Dark hazel eyes met hers, pupils dilated just enough to make the color seem almost lost in the dim lighting.

“Oh yeah?” Lando murmured, his voice suddenly much huskier and his face suddenly much closer.

Y/N had to swallow.

“And would you rather I care about—” he paused for effect, then smirked, “What was it you said? Reviving the lost art of hand-painted postcards? Or was it ethical beekeeping? I forget.”

In an instant, the throw pillow closest to her transformed into a projectile weapon, hitting him square in the face before he could react. By the time he caught it, he was already laughing—loud, unrestrained, and triumphant.

“Shut up, Liam! We are not having that conversation again!”

He doubled over, laughter tumbling out of him, rich and easy.

Yeah. Maybe he’d let her hit him with a hundred more pillows if it meant hearing that sound again and again.

“I thought we were supposed to be focusing?” he asked, looking far too smug for his own good.

Couldn’t he see the method to her madness? The doodling was part of the focusing. Duh. She made a face. “I am. I’m just… reading adjacent?”

“Right. Doodling in the margins of Kant is very academic.”

She stuck her tongue out, but didn’t argue.

He smiled, eyes flicking toward the textbook like he might be able to absorb the content through sheer osmosis. The truth was, he’d stopped even trying to read the fine print on those pages twenty minutes ago. The words swam, overlapped, no matter how hard he tried.

But he knew how to pay attention, knew how to read her. Lando paid attention to every minute detail – her posture when she was sure of something, the way her voice got a little faster when she was more nervous, the exact moment her pen paused when something confused her.

He’d made an empire on knowing people, gauging risk and emotion without needing anything spelled out. Of course, she was no different. If anything, she was a familiar subject.

Y/N flipped back a page, frowning at one of her underlines. “Okay, so wait. This whole part about moral relativism and applied principles—what even is this?”

Lando leaned forward like he was about to study the page, but really he just watched the way her fingers rested against her notebook. “What do you think it means?”

“Liam, do not go all Socratic method on me. I’m the one studying for the exam.”

“I’m the one helping you get there, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re guessing.”

“Not guessing,” he said, stretching his legs out. “Strategizing.”

She let out a short laugh. “God, that is so you.”

He grinned. Truth was, he couldn’t explain a single ethical theory if she asked him directly. But he could pose a hypothetical – give her something of his world if it could be of any use to her.

“Hm. Now,” he said, voice a touch more serious now, “what if you had a friend. Let’s call him… Mando.”

She raised a brow. “...Mando?”

He held up a finger, looking extra serious. “Shut up. This is my hypothetical, remember?”

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

Lando sat back, satisfied. “So Mando, yeah? He finds out that this rich bloke –massive sleazeball, by the way– has been laundering money through charity events. He’s, like, using sick kids in the hospital as a front. Gets away with it too, every time! The fuckin’ police would stick ‘m with any charges, f’course. Idiots get paid to look the other way.”

She frowned. “That’s awful.”

“Exactly! Now Mando thinks so too. So now–”

“Wait, how come the other guy doesn’t get a name–”

“No questioning the hypothetical,” he cuts her, an exaggeratedly stern expression on his features as he shushes her.

“Right, of course. How could I forget,” she rolled her eyes, but the smile as she listened to him was nothing but fond.

“So one night, this Mando, he does something about it. Maybe he messes with the guy’s property, sends him a little message, yeah? The guy’s fine, no one dies or anythin’, but at least the fucker loses enough money to ruin him. The whole operation has to fall apart.”

She’s quiet for a second, contemplating. “You’re asking me if that’s ethical?”

“Yeah. Is Mando the bad guy?”

She absentmindedly curled the corner of a stray sticky note for a moment, thoughtful. “Well… according to the law, yeah. Definitely.”

Not that he gave a shit about the law, but whatever.

“And ethically?”

She exhaled through her nose, pressing her lips together before answering. “Hmm. I don’t know,” she admitted, and he could tell she wasn’t just saying it to say it—she was turning it over in her mind, pulling it apart like a puzzle. “Like, technically, it’s not morally sound to take justice into your own hands. Obviously. But sometimes… sometimes the system doesn’t work, and someone has to do something. If no one else is gonna help you, then you gotta help yourself, right? ”

As they both fell silent for a moment, he watched the notes of chestnut in her eyes, the depth of them. Something in the way she said it made his fingers flex slightly against his knee, as if wanting to reach for her or something equally stupid. In her eyes… there was conviction there. A quiet, unshaken belief beneath her uncertainty.

She’d thought about this before.

He wondered what had made her think that way. Had she ever been let down like that? Had she ever been let down, looked for a way out only to realize that no one was coming to fix it?

His eyes traced over her features before he could think better of it—the soft furrow of her brow, the depth of her eyes, the way they reflected flickers of light from the lamp beside them.

If it were him, he’d never let her down.

What kind of fool would let down someone as good as her?

The thought unsettled him more than it should.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the lamp, the wind against the windowpane—everything else faded into the background, nothing more than a distant whisper making space for the silence.

Even the periphery of the room seemed to blur, momentarily irrelevant. There was only the warmth, here and now. Only earnest eyes and a pure heart that was worth more than any gold in the world.

For a brief moment, his gaze flickered to her lips. It wasn’t intentional, by any means. It wasn’t even conscious. He was simply noticing them, nothing more. Noticing the faint shine of chapstick—some kind of strawberry flavor, perhaps. Noticing the way they still looked slightly raw from where she’d been nervously nibbling at them earlier.

He swallowed.

Then, before the thought could go anywhere, he cleared his throat and glanced back at the book in his lap, forcing his focus elsewhere.

Right. Ethics. Moral relativism, or whatever the fuck.

“Right, uh, erm– So you’d defend Mando then?”

She scanned his face like she was trying to gauge whether she was on the right track. “I… think so? You said no one got hurt or anything, so only if he didn’t set fire to anything, I s’pose.”

“No fire. No blowtorches involved whatsoever,” he lies easily.

“Then yeah. Maybe.”

He lets the corner of his mouth curve into a teasing smile. This part of the dance was easy, familiar “I’ll be sure to let him know then.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’d better not be Mando.”

“I’m not,” he replies indignantly. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

But her smile’s back, and so he was content to sit here for as long as he can until the horrors of the city’s criminal underbelly come knocking.

They fall into a lull where she keeps sketching, her eyes flitting rapidly across the lines on the pages. Lando keeps pretending he’s not watching her, mesmerized by the picture in front of him.

She always made it look so easy. It was unfair, really.

“I don’t wanna read anymore. Think m’one paragraph away from committing a few unethical acts m’self,” he blurted out suddenly, voice low.

Y/N looks up. “Please don’t. There is absolutely no need for such drastic measures.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t for me. Not good with… words. Not in that way.”

She doesn’t ask for more, doesn't press. Instead, she just closes her textbook a little, tucking her finger in place of a bookmark, then nudges her notebook toward him. “Then you do the hypotheticals,” she says. “And I’ll do the reading.”

Lando stares at her. It’s such a small thing, a nothing sentence. But the words, the effortless consideration for him nestles somewhere in his chest like an anchor dropped into water.

He picks up her pen and leans back on the couch, smirking.

“Alright,” he says. “Let me tell you about a guy who robbed a bank once.”

“Please let it not be Mando again,” she groaned.

“No promises.”

a/n: YOUR HONOR I LOBE THEM

#formula 1 #formula 1 fic #second chances #saffu's works #lando norris #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando #lando norris imagine #lando imagine #lando x you #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 #mob boss! lando x reader #mob boss au #mob boss!lando norris x reader

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russetfoxfur · 1 month ago

Text

had the worst idea ever

💫star-of-the-show reblogged badassplum . . .

🔮the-universe-leads Follow

hey guys can we talk about the way the starromantics are appropriating the moonromantic flag? ive seen way too many ppl be just. chill with it??? saying mistfog like """"oh well the moon and stars are basically the same things"""" like babes have yall never looked up at the sky. those two things are Very Much Not The Same!!!!!

🍤plates-to-heaven Follow

the flags literally aren't? anything the same??? are you still using the moonro flag by stagefright-stardust. that guy was outed as a dischanger you know

🔮the-universe-leads

Wow! a clueless entitled vaugardian who without any proof decides that any astros are dischangers! stars could we just stop with the bigotry. anyways you're blinding wrong Look At This Fog:

like literally the starro flag is just two less stripes than the moonro flag. could yall not stick a moon or star onto one of them to show the difference

🕺lordjose-fan-dre Follow

Good Change, astros are annoying. We get it! You're all hopelessly infatuated with the night sky! You know alllll the little lights up there because you studied soooooo hard to get an A+ on the test!!! Leave the rest of us alone!

🔮the-universe-leads

my brother in stardust This Is Basic Knowledge

🔮the-universe-leads

like if this were me trying to get you to name the stars in the sky then yea id see how thats absurd but like???? how do ppl live like this?????

starsaboveearthbelow-deactivated

op i feel your pain :[ EDIT I KNOW ITS ASTRONOMY STOP CORRECTING ME

😺joyofjouvente666 Follow

Whats the difference between an astromantic and an islander /genuine

starsaboveearthbelow-deactivated

islanders are people from that Unnamed Island (you know the one, don't think about it). because its an island. this is most people. now scholars speculate that the Unnamed Island was really weird about stars. astromantics are people who feel like their romantic life is tied up with the island/stars. honestly im just a tranny dyke so i cant tell you what thats like

🔮the-universe-leads

so firstly YEAH! yeah i wish astro trauma was more talked about in the astro community! like calling stagefright a dischanger or just hating on astros. anyway obviously stagefright's not a dischanger but apparently like most astros she was taking refuge in vaugarde. However due to recent circumstances relating to a certain monarch,

💎jewel8gem6 Follow

as a starro i think youre stupid. they literally have a difference of two stripes!!! i bet youre not even a real astro. to my starro followers: you all are so valid and dont allow petty infighters like op to divide us astros!

🍤plates-to-heaven

well actually while youre right about the infighting thing yall do need a better flag than the standard one stagefright made. i drew this in like less than a minute (forgive the messiness i edited this at 2AM my time)

💎jewel8gem6

that looks blinding awful. are you astrophobic or something thats such a joke. blocking you

🍤plates-to-heaven

these are crabbing sketches??? not the real thing??? i know this is piss-on-the-poor website but come on

💎 jewel8gem6

Haha. what a fool you are to think me poor of reading comprehension skills. I am far above a blinded fool like you. Do you know what its like, being astromantic? every day people send me asks on anon yelling at me about my ugly white NATURAL hair, and you're just as bad as them. this is a disgrace to the astromantic community. you say in your bio that you are supportive of all astros but are you really? when you can create such mistfog as pictured above??? if you do not delete those pictures off your blog i will sneak into your house and suck off all your teeth one by one so you cannot speak your awful opinions aloud. i will tell the universe to kill your family and curse you with immortality so you can watch and suffer as horribly as i did laying my eyes upon these """""flags""""". wither and waste in the agony of your own unfulfilling and insignificant life, worthless vaugardian. be blinded forever idiot >:/

🔮the-universe-leads

i feel like this post is kind of getting off track could we talk about the flags again. plates' flags looked kinda cool and weren't cheap copies of each other

💎jewel8gem6

you SUPPORT this fool? you SUPPORT plates, who ruins the delicate harmony of astromantic spaces through xyr tasteless insults and mockeries??? how dare you calm yourself an astro op. TRUE astros must walk through fire in order to find any happiness in their perpetual incompletion. for example, i have been persecuted by ka buan officials for my sexuality, nearly slain by vaugardian defenders, and then forced to flee to mwudu in order to survive the king. fools such as you are the reasons we haven't found the island yet. a kiddie like you needs to go back to potty training if you think plates has any credibility whatsoever. go burn up in the atmosphere and let not a soul tell where you lie

🦀crabbingcastle Follow

Anyone in this thread eat crab

🌟officialastroposts Follow

Official Astromantic Post!

🔮the-universe-leads

i made this two blinding months ago and forgot about it are you seriously like. a vaugardian

👩🏿‍❤️‍👨🏼 mirafrin4ever Follow

EW AN ASTRO!!! go back to the ocean you mooneyed crabs. don't you crabbing weirdos know not to infest holy everchanging sites like tumblr with your weird stupid sky obsession. lol

🔮the-universe-leads

Saviorshipper. blocked

🍤plates-of-heaven

savior shipper, bolcked

💎jewel8gem6

Ew, saviorshipper. blocked

🦜pioupiou-9377 Follow

wow i cant believe ive found the original! ive only seen this in screenshots! and its only four months old!!!

🔮the-universe-leads

someone wish me out of existence already

#wow only six months old lol? this post is a mess. thx for putting this on my dash mira #poor op #islander talk #moot talk #longpost #shitpost #< i hope

47,368 notes ↪️ 💬 🔁 🤍

💫 star-of-the-show-2 . . .

@.star-of-the-show tutorial for you stardust! i want you sososo bad

2 notes ↪️ 💬 🔁 ♥️

#originally this was just gonna be the pride flag discourse but as you can see this is Not just the pride flag discourse #anyway pride flag discourse in isat would be insane. colorpicking grays to make sure you're not accidentally using a diff flag #for humors #forgotten homeward star #dash sim #in stars and time #isat #dash simulator #russet rambles #update: fixed a few minor things. added follows and a few tags for sif #isat spoilers

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work

Masterlist

Next Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You can't stop thinking about the adorably awkward tech genius with messy hair and a slight smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. Too bad he barely knows you exist.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal,

Tim Drake was brilliant, and there was no other way to put it. When he wasn’t glued to his computer, he was sketching complex symbols into his notepad, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked. You’d caught yourself watching him once or twice. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and those piercing blue eyes behind thick glasses that seemed to analyze everything around him. He was the opposite of the jock type you usually went for. But something about him just made you catch your breath. You decided you were being punished for overlooking guys like him in high school and college...

As Gotham PD's PR associate, you got to see the detectives at work, especially if you had to take pictures for press releases.

Tim’s skinny frame was deceiving. He must have had some sort of training growing up. You'd seen him take down guys twice his size when he trained. Unlike the other detectives who had burly builds, Tim was lean but strong. His shoulders were broader than you would expect for a "tech nerd," and his arms and chest toned - visible when his shirt sleeves pulled tight on those rare days when he wasn't drowning in his oversized hoodies.

You always dressed to impress. After a long year of figuring your shit out, you left you bougie corporate job and replaced it with the gotham police department. You didn't know exactly what would lead to it, but you knew you wanted to serve the public rather than exploit it. That meant that all the high-end fashion you wore would fit right in at your old brand, but in the PD, you stood out. Tweet blazers, skirts, clean button ups, and knee-high boots. Your clothes are highly contrasted from the sports shoes, jackets, and practical clothes you saw worn each day.

But the attention you got for it was good.

After catching his eyes lingering on you in the office, you tried flirting with him. It didn't go well.

A couple of days ago, he sat at the kitchen table, alone, scribbling on his notepad. His hands, calloused but delicate, were mesmerizing you while you sat and ate your lunch surrounded by chatty co-workers. You noted small scars on his knuckles and fingers, always raising questions that you didn't have the guts to ask.

You got up from your own table and walked up to him, your heels clicking with each step.

"Hey," you began, clearing your throat to steady your voice. "How’s the Phantom investigation going?"

Tim looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. His blue eyes flicked over you, quick but observant. "Slow. Phantom’s code isn’t cracking anytime soon." He tilted his head. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know." You waved your hand. "Same old, same old. Just got off the phone with the mayor. No big deal." You winced at how obnoxious that sounded, but Tim offered a faint smile.

"Uhmm..." You hesitated, taking a seat next to him. His scent was a mix of coffee and old spice. "You know, Tim, I think you're really nice, and..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to go on.

Only, you didn't know what to say.

This hasnt happened since middle school...

You were always confident around men. You knew what to say to have them in the palm of your hand.

And now, with Tim, you choked. Like you were back in middle school or something.

"What I mean is," you continued. "You’re kind of the cutest guy in the office - " your eyes widened. You didn't mean to reveal that.

Tim spared you a small smile before turning back to his notes. "Ha. Very funny, y/n." He pushed up his glasses, then stood and walked away, wishing you a good day.

You frowned, not knowing whether you should be relieved or disappointed. He thought you were joking.

"I don't get you." Jake bit into his bagel as he leaned against Tim’s desk. "The hottest girl on our team wants you and you just... walk away?"

Tim turned away from his screen to look at his friend, shrugging his confusion.

"Y/n," Jake clarified. "She was flirting with you at lunch -"

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. "She was joking, Jake. Come on, you really think someone like her would go for... me?"

"She called you the cutest guy in the office!"

Tim pushed his glasses up. "Girls like her don’t go for awkward computer nerds." Not to mention, virgins, he thought.

"By girls like her, you mean...?" Jake pressed.

Tim chuckled. "You know exactly what I mean. Beautiful, sweet, charming. She could get anyone she wants."

"Bro, she wants YOU though!"

"She does not. Trust me." He shook his head. "Now, go away, please. I need to focus." Tim looked back at the screen, the code looking back at him in patterns.

The Phantom’s latest message was a cipher. A complex one. He’d spotted a recurring theme, though. The symbols seemed to resemble constellations.

Jake groaned before muttering. "Youre the dumbest smart person I know," then, taking another bite of his bagel, he walked back to his desk.

The day Tim rejected you, you came home sulking. When your roommate saw your face, she raised a brow.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

You let out a groan, flopping down onto the couch and reaching for the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. "Tim," you muttered.

"'Hot Nerd' Tim?” Your roommate asked. She knew how much you’d been into him.

"Yeah. I tried flirting with him, but he ignored me." You grabbed the wine glass, pouring a generous amount into it.

"Wait... would this be like... the first time a guy has ever rejected you?" Your roommate asked, laughing.

You ignored her because yes, it was. "There’s this intensity about him, Jess." You sighed, looking at her. "Like, he’s always so capable, so... smart. And he's so humble about it, you know? Not like those guys at forensics, that man-splain everything. And that makes him so... damn attractive. Even if he doesn’t see it." You took another sip of wine and set the glass down, glaring at it.

Your roommate stared at you for a long moment. "Yeah, you need to get laid."

"I know." You groaned.

"Well, lucky for you," she said with a raised brow, "I need a wingwoman tonight. Get dressed."

You weren’t in the mood to go out, but maybe a distraction was what you needed. The guy you ended up coming home with was the type you usually went out with. A finance bro named Jared with perfectly styled hair and an expensive suit. He was charming and a good kisser

It didn’t take long for you to realize everything about Jared was wrong. He wore a designer suit when you preferred a wrinkled button-down, with rolled up sleeves and dark jeans. His loafers were clean and new, but you would have liked dirty sneakers. And he was missing something essential: a pair of smudged, square-rimmed glasses.

Despite all that, you went along with it, kissing him back, but your mind wandered back to a certain awkward tech genius with messy hair and shy smile that had made your heart flutter more than you'd like to admit. You found yourself imagining Jared was Tim, and every touch, every kiss became more interesting.

Suddenly, Jared broke the kiss, looking down at you with a frown. "Who's Tim?" His voice felt like a cold splash to your face.

You froze, blinking up at him. “Huh?"

"You were moaning 'Tim,'" he said, his tone accusatory.

Your face turned red. "Oh my god," you muttered, avoiding his gaze. You didn't even realize you were whispering Tim’s name. "I’m sorry," you said. "I shouldn’t have - there's this guy at work - ugh. I'm sorry, Jared."

You expected him to be rightfully upset. What you didn't expect was the reassuring hand placed on your shoulder.

"I get it." He said, sitting up. "I'm kind of on the same boat actually."

You looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. There’s this girl on our data team. No matter what I do, I can’t get her out of my head." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid fuckin nerd."

You chuckled at that. "Tell me about it.

The next day, Tim came to the office with hollowed out cheeks and bags under his eyes. It was clear last night was another sleepless night of work for him.

He marched into the captain's office, closing the door behind him.

Halfway through your meeting in the conference room, the door swung open, and Tim walked in, Jim Gordon at his side. Both men were dressed in gear. Bulletproof vests with "GPD" printed boldly across the front. Tim held a handgun, meticulously checking the bullets in the chamber. His movements were calm and precise, but his eyes burned with intensity.

The room stilled. Gordon nnounced, "We’ve got a lead on the Phantom. Squad One, you’re with me. Squad Two, you’ll follow Drake."

The nervous tech genius you were used to seemed to vanish. Tim's usual fidgeting hands gripped his weapon with precision, and his hunched posture straightened into one of authority.

As he broke down the plan of action, even the detectives who usually brushed him off as “the kid prodigy” were silent. And you felt it too. This side of Tim was undeniably captivating.

In under an hour, the squads was deployed, and both Tim and Gordon led their teams out into the field.

Three hours later, the Phantom was caught. Tim’s code-breaking that led them to the hideout. As the criminal was hauled into the precinct in cuffs, Tim stood quietly to the side, his shoulders finally relaxing. Exhaustion lingered in his features, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. All the while, you stood on the sidelines and looked on in awe.

The team celebrated at a local pub. At the captain's insistence, Tim joined despite his usual aversion to social gatherings.

When you stepped onto the small stage to read the press release you’d written about the case, Tim couldn’t help but watch. You looked stunning in a frilly top tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged your waist.

As you spoke, his lips moved silently along with yours, already having memorized every word when you’d sent the draft to the team earlier. You made him sound like a hero. It was… nice.

Tim looked adorable, sitting beside Jake, his hair falling over his forehead in a way that made it seem like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Rose, a paralegal who worked closely with you, cleared her throat. "You’re staring."

You blinked, startled. "No, I’m not."

"Oh, come on, Rose," Karl chimed in, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n's allowed to admire Gotham’s best boy."

"Ignore them," Maria from forensics said, sliding into a seat beside you.

Your table had grown larger as the night progressed, but despite the lively company, your eyes kept drifting back to Tim. You wanted to invite him over. If only you could have him alone.

"So, Y/N, what song are you gonna sing?" someone asked, nodding toward the karaoke session currently underway on the mini stage of the bar.

You laughed. "Not sure yet. Any suggestions?" You looked around the table, and in a moment, you received about ten shouts of song ideas.

Rose teased, leaning closer. "I have one. It's not a suggestion, but it is a challenge."

"Go on?" You raised a brow, waiting for her to continue.

"I dare you to get a kiss from the genius boy tonight."

The rest of the table broke out into one collective. "Ooooh,"

You eyed Rose. She knew exactly how to get under your skin.

Grinning, you tossed a French fry into your mouth and rose from your seat. You sauntered over to put in your song request, then returned to your table, excitement buzzing as you waited for your turn.

You smiled sweetly as you sang a song Tim didn’t recognize.

Apparently, everyone else knew it, though. His coworkers sang along enthusiastically.

What the hell did "bed chem" even mean? That wasn't a word, right?

The ones who weren’t singing were ogling you outright, and Tim could hardly blame them. The way you flipped your hair and batted your eyelashes sent his face burning.

Tim swallowed, shifting awkwardly on his chair and clutching his beer. Every glance you sent his way made his chest tighten, though he tried to convince himself it was all in his head.

Still, the idea that you might be looking at him made his thoughts spiral. He cleared his throat and cast his gaze down, pretending to focus on the contrnt of his bottle.

Cheers erupted around him as you finished the song, offering a playful bow. You handed the mic back to the DJ and stepped down from the small stage, making your way to him

Tim tensed. By the time you stopped in front of him, his mind had gone blank. You bit your lip - an innocent gesture, but the shiny pink of your lipstick made his vision go hazy.

"Can we step outside for a moment?" you asked in a sweet tone.

Tim blinked, not registering the words, too stuck on the fact that you were so close, your perfume smelled like roses.

"Uh… sure?" he mumbled, unsure if he’d heard you right but unwilling to make you repeat yourself.

You tilted your head toward the exit. Tim stood, feeling strange, and followed you, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Outside, you turned back to face him, the night air crisp against your skin. "Hi."

Tim shifted nervously, his back pressing against the cool brick wall behind him. "H-hey."

"I have a confession to make," you said, stepping closer, your gaze lingering on his lips. You noticed the way his eyes darted to yours.

He swallowed hard. "O-okay -"

Without another word, you rose onto your tiptoes, closing the small distance between you, and kissed him.

Tim froze, clearly caught off guard, but then his lips began to move against yours, tentative but eager, and his hands hovered awkwardly before finally wrapping around your waist. His grip was firm yet cautious, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, you smiled, breathless. "Do you want to come back to my place?"

Tim blinked at you, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. He stammered, "U-uh... can we just... pause for a moment?"

You stepped back slightly, hugging yourself against the cool breeze. "Sure,"

Tim shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he began to speak.

"Y/n," he said hesitantly, his voice low and unsure. "I sometimes have trouble knowing when people are joking or being serious. Like... right now."

You tilted your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Tim, I’m serious. I want to take you home."

His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "I-I mean, that sounds... amazing. But..." He hesitated, his eyes darting away before meeting yours again. "I wouldn’t even know what to do with you."

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his palm. "Do you mean…?"

Tim’s face burned brighter as he nodded. "Yeah."

Instead of laughing or teasing like hed expected, you laced your fingers with his, squeezing gently. There was something about his confession that made your pulse quicken. "Would you like me to show you?"

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave a small, nervous nod.

The dim light of your bedroom cast a warmth across your tidy place and the only sounds were coming from the heater and the city outside your window.

Tim was fidgety, avoiding eye contact as you planted kisses along his jaw while gently undoing the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched when you kissed his neck, his hips rolling under you.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, bringing it to your own top, hinting him on what to do.

His movements were tentative as he began undoing the buttons of your blazer and removing it, leaving you in your bra. His eyes studied the patterns on your undergarment, pretty flowers, and subconsciously, his hand brushed your arm up to your collarbone, enjoying the softness of your skin, making you shiver. He liked that.

Your own work had resulted in removing his shirt, showcasing his impressive bare chest and torso, riddled with valleys of muscle and scars that you eagerly ran your hands over. You leaned down to plant kisses down his chest. With every lick and nip of his skin, he let out quiet gasps that he could barely contain.

You reached the train of hair from his belly button leading down to his pants, slowly unbuttoning them and lowering them and his boxers. You couldn't help the pang of triumph at seeing him hard. You looked back at him through your lashes. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

He nodded shyly.

You licked up to his tip, making sure to give it extra attention. "I can't hear you, genius boy," you teased.

"Yeah -" he sucked in a breath. "I like it,"

You smiled to yourself, working him with your hands and mouth. You went slow, then accelerated speed, then went slow again. You kept up this pattern for a while, basking in the glow of his responsive body and enjoying his taste. As Tim got comfortable, he grew more assertive, reaching for your hair with his hand and coming wrapping his fingers in your hair. Really wanting his first time to be enjoyable, you hoped his moans and gasps were an indication that you were doing well. You looked up, seeing him squeeze his eyes shut and roll his head back against your wall as he gasped your name. You couldn't believe it. Your unreachable crush was moaning your name. Go you!

You felt his hips tense and knew what was coming, so you sped up your movement, helping him reach his climax, never taking your mouth or hands off him.

Gasping against the wall, Tim looked down at you, his hroad chest moving up and down as he came down from his hogh.

Parted lips, pink cheeks, sweat glistening skin, and hazy eyes all made for a really hot visual, and you couldn't help but bite your lip. He’d clearly enjoyed that, even if he was shy about showing it.

Before you could say anything, he grasped you by your arm and lifted you to sit on his lap in a matter of seconds. Wrapping a firm hand around your nape, he pulled you into a kiss, deep and desperate.

He pulled apart for a moment, leaving you to catch your breath. "Teach me how to make you feel good." He rasped against your mouth.

"O-okay," you stammered, turned on by his eagerness. "Get on your knees in front of me."

He did so with impressive speed, also managing to remove your pants and panties in the process and pulling you to the edge of the bed, holding your legs open for him.

"Wait -" you giggled, cupping his cheeks and bringing his face closer to yours. "Start slow."

Obediently, he began to kiss you. God, you liked kissing him. And he was a good kisser, too. He's definitely had practice doing that. Leaving your lips glistened, he planted a trail down your throat, biting at your collarbones, before soothing the marks with his tongue. The mix of pain and pleasure had you arching against him, and his fingers pulled down the straps of your bra, lowering the garment and baring your breasts to him.

There was hardly any blue left in his eyes as his pupils grew at the sight of your breasts, and he leaned down to kiss your nipple. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the sparks of pleasure he produced with every kiss on your sensitive nub. He did the same with your other nipple, sending pleasure through your whole body, leaving you whimpering and biting back moans so as not to wake your roommate.

Tim watched you with hooded eyes. "Does this feel good?" His focus is on making the experience enjoyable for you.

Your breath hitched. "Yes!"

Tim kept kissing down your breasts to your lower belly, essentially mimicking your earlier movements on him.

When he reached your core, you knew you had already been wet. You didn't know how much it would amaze him. He murmured your name in awe as he closed in on your cunt. His hands grasped at your thighs as he brought his lips to your folds, carefully exploring you with his tongue. Your fingers grasped the bedsheets as your head rolled back. He was eager in his exploration - messily messaging your sensitive muscles with his tongue, mixing his saliva with your juices.

He tightened his grip, not letting you move from his grasp as he ate you out. That heat that situated in your sex spread through your whole body like fire.

"Tim -" You grasped at his messy locks. "Wait,"

He froze, eyes searching yours. "Whats wrong?"

"Nothing," you swallowed. "I'd like to come with you inside me. It just feels better. If that's okay?"

He huffed out a chuckle of relief, running his hand through his hair. "Of course."

"I'll talk you through it." You promised. "It's going to feel good. For both of us." You moved to sit on his lap, reaching for him and aligning him with your entrance. "Do you trust me?"

Like this, you were facing each other, and you could clearly read all of the signs on his facial expression.

"I do." He said.

After rolling on the condom, you slowly lowered yourself on him, letting his stretch you out and adjusting yourself to his size. Your hand shot up to your mouth to smother a desperate moan, and your eyes closed. When they opened, it was to a view of a desperate Tim. His brows were furrowed as he watched you with pleading eyes, his hands gripping your hips.

"Good?" You asked.

"Fuck yes," he brushed his lips against your. "You?"

"Yes," you said, slowly moving up then down, increasing the friction he cause within you. Slowly, Tim began to match your pace, lifting his hips to meet you, brushing deliciously against your nerves with his thrust.

On particular movement had you squealing before you could stop yourself.

"Here?" He asked.

"Uh, huh," you panted. "Please, I'm close -"

He kept thrusting at the same angle, hitting your spot each time. You grabbed on to his shoulders, feeling them flex each time his lifted and lowered you.

"Oh my god," Tim moaned against you. You were squeezing around him tightly. "Kiss me," he pleaded.

You lowered your mouth to his as the two of you continued moving in unison.

"Tim-" before you could say more, your body seized and shook. He continued to thrust into you, his iron grip keeping you in place even when the sensation became too much.

"Tim!" You grasped at his attention and pulling his focus away from you. "S-sensitive!"

Understanding, he backed away from your poor, overstimulated sex, muttering. "Sorry,"

His reaction made you giggle. "Not bad for your first time." You said quietly.

He grinned. "That was... incredible."

You nodded, still out of breath. "You're incredible."

"Thanks," he said, his tone one of disbelief.

You felt the need to clarify. "No, not at sex-"

His brow rose, and he looked like a kicked puppy. "Oh,"

"No!" You rushed to explain. "You're good at that, too! I just meant - " you sighed, closing your eyes. "God, I always get tongue tied around you." You laughed, then took a deep breath and faced him again.

Tim smiled, waiting patiently.

"I meant to say that you - Tim Drake - are incredible. Not just tonight, but the person you are." You said.

Those eyes gazed into you intensely, and now it was your turn to shily look away.

Tim had other ideas. He brought his lips down on yours in a slow, meticulous kiss.

"Thank you," he wispered, smiling against your mouth as the two of you exchanged more soft kisses

On Monday, Tim was sipping his coffee at his desk when he overheard Rose’s unmistakable voice drifting from the break room.

"They’re so cute, oh my god!" she squealed.

Tim couldn’t help but smile, his mind immediately conjuring up images of you.

"I better get invited to their wedding!" Rose continued, laughing. "I’m honestly not sure she would’ve ever kissed him if I didn’t dare her to."

The grin on Tim’s face froze. What?

Rose dared you to kiss him? Is that why you did it?

He tried to rationalize it. Was the rest of the night also part of the dare? Was anything you said or did genuine, or had he just been a pawn in some game between you and your coworkers?

His grip on his coffee mug tightened involuntarily, his thoughts spiraling into shame. That night had meant so much to him. His first! It was nothing more than a casual challenge between friends?

The sharp sound of shattering ceramic brought him back to reality. Tim stared down at his hand, now dotted with small cuts from the broken shards of the mug. Hot coffee dripped onto his desk and the floor.

His chest felt heavy, and his head fillee with thoughts of betrayal. Without another word, he rose from his seat, grabbing a few tissues to wipe his hand. He needed air. He needed space.

You stood alone in the office balcony sipping coffee when Tim stepped out to join you.

"Good morning!" You smiled at him.

He didn't reciprocate your smile. Closing the door, he turned to face you. "Did you get with me because of a dare?"

You nearly choked on your coffee. "What? No!" You blinked up at him, alarmed. "Well, I mean, Rose did dare me - "

Tim’s jaw clenched, and he took a sharp inhale. "That’s all I needed to hear." His voice was tight. The hurt was unmistakable.

"Tim wait," You stepped forward, grabbing his hand. "There's been a misunderstanding, I liked you - "

Tim closed the distance between you, crowding you, his broad shoulders stiff with frustration. His blue eyes flickered with emotion. “How much of Friday night was real, y/n?"

Desperate, your voice strained. "All of it! Please, you have to believe me - "

Tim shook his head bitterly, cutting you off. "God. I’m such an idiot." He turned away from you, his hands running through his hair, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Dont say that!" You rushed forward, but he took another step back, his face hardened. "Tim, please, you don’t understand - "

He turned his back on you completely, his breath heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "Save it."

You stood frozen in the cold silence that followed, a sick feeling settling in your stomach. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone on the balcony.

#tim drake fluff #tim drake x you #tim drake smut #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake x reader #tim drake #batman #batboys #smut #fluff #angst #batboys x reader

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thefandomsfervent · 5 months ago

Text

Personal Pigments Viktor x Reader (Part 1) - Cadmium Yellow Deep Hue

Heimerdinger forgets to warn the science bros that an artist is coming in to visualize them and Hextech, a collaborative program between a Piltover art school and the academy for some new hall meant to be unveiled at an upcoming progress day. Large paintings can take years to do, with Hextech’s promising growth they are to be started in a preemptive manner. Reader is from Zaun, not sure what I’m going to do with this yet. Takes place in the coming months after they first get council approval, hexgates aren't complete. Wrote an imagine (here) and now I’m needing to see it through, would y’all want more?

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

Viktor should be focusing. He is, but not on the right thing. His hands still fiddle with cogs as he looks to you for the umpteenth time this hour. Your brows were furrowed together as you compared pastels and pencils together. Your lips pursed to the side as if you were biting your cheek in concentration. He would have been worried about being caught starting but your focus was elsewhere.

You had papers clipped to a drawing board in front of you. The stool you usually sat on abandoned by the small table next to you. He watched as your hands turned colored sticks over, looking for something. He didn't know what, but he appreciated the view regardless.

In this summer heat the lab was humid, Jayce had gone out for water and Viktor himself had forgone his vest. You were starting to sketch something in wide yellow strokes, the smooth scrape of pressed pigment to paper filling the heavy air. You hummed a sound of affirmation, as if finally approving your choice before grabbing another stick in blue. As you continued your efforts, he took in all of you. A loose button up over a tank top, well fitting trousers, simple boots. The same attire you'd worn for weeks, but today something was different. The tank-top was a lower, looser cut. Likely chosen for the heat plaguing Piltover this summer. Your warming up sketches facing a daylit window.

“Composition, speed, and colour work.” The words you had said months ago lingering in the back of his mind. “You can never practice too much.”

He sees you from the side, the strap had been half way off your shoulder all morning. Innocent enough. Not truly your fault in any way.

The white over shirt unbuttoned. Also loosely caught by your elbows, draping over your work surface. Picking up colors and dust. He follows the sleeves up to your hands, to your arms. He should be working. Reading a section in another overdue library book. Not watching you. Not following the gentle way you pick up and set down your pastels, certainly not the way today’s heat has exposed your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones and how they lead to the hollow of your neck. He looks away for a moment. Steeling himself.

Surely he is not ogling you. That would be inappropriate. Yes, it has been a long time since he has been able to indulge in thoughts of that manner. But he shouldn't start down that kind of path here.

A clattering sound pulls his gaze back to you, a soft curse leaving your lips as you have to bend down to grab a pencil that rolled off your desk. His breath catches in his throat, your tanktop drooping lower when you lean down. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your bra revealing itself in a sinful second. The moment was very quick, and to his luck you didn't notice. The lab door opens as Jayce walks in. Ice cold water in a pitcher, three glasses on a tray.

He sets one down on your desk looking over your shoulder. "The window today?"

"Just something quick, the sun is hitting the glass just right." You punctuate your sentence with the wave of a pencil towards the shaft of light illuminating a stack of books.

"I see," he says as he walks over to one of the many messy tables near you to set down the tray. He brings another glass to viktor. If he notices the red flushing his partner's face he doesn't say. Maybe he assumed it was this wretched heat. In a way, it was the fault of the weather.

"Thank you," Viktor says, just before he downs the whole glass.

He gets an acknowledging pat on his shoulder before Jayce settles in his own station. Each of you returning to your own work. The silent hum of drawing and tinkering becomes a soothing balm on the room, and on the tension in his shoulders. He fiddles with his engraver, marking runes onto various metal bits. He wonders to himself how he even got into this position. How he finds his thoughts, and apparently his eyes, wandering to you.

He remembers that first day, how many months has it been since you’ve come here?

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-------------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ Part 2.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .---------------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

#tbh I really can't handle everyone forgetting Viktor/thinking he's a villain #that man is a lover boy #you can take that from my cold dead hands #I'm coping #still a jayvikmel truther just not in this one #the whole fandom is coping #arcane x reader #arcane #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #female reader

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