#reaching breaking points at least twice a day

[hoshifighting]

Workaholic!Joshua

— Synopsis: Joshua consistently skips happy hours or works overtime. You've tried to warn your friend countless times, but he didn't listen to you. As a result, it's no surprise that Joshua experienced a burnout on the office floor. — WC: 5.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, angst, office setting, fingering (f. receiving), clit stimulation, handjob, penetrative sex, a little bit of car sex, protected sex, dirty talk, flirty Joshua.

[Please be aware that the following text includes mentions of burn-out, collapse, fainting out, which may be a sensitive topic for some]

[Issue Club Serie]

You remember when you heard your manager talking about a job vacancy in the recruitment and selection sector. The name immediately stood out to you—Joshua. You studied with him in college, and you knew he would be perfect for the role.

The manager loved him. Joshua was charismatic, empathetic, and dedicated—everything the recruitment team needed. Every morning, he would thank you profusely, and at least twice a week, he would insist on buying you an overpriced coffee. It took some time for you to convince him that he didn't need to do this.

But there was something else you couldn't help but notice. The sheer number of job interviews Joshua had to lead, the late nights you'd see him at his desk with tired eyes, and how he always seemed a little lonely, even though the team welcomed him with open arms.

Joshua would rarely show up to the department's happy hours on Fridays or the company parties, and even then, he would only talk about work. There was no relief, no relaxation. You found yourself listening to him until the end of the night, as the rest of the team started to ask if he would even bother coming anymore, knowing he probably wouldn't.

You couldn't help but feel for Joshua. He was clearly passionate about his work, but at what cost? You watched as he isolated himself, unable to find that work-life balance that so many of us strive for. It made you wonder, what was driving him to push himself so hard, and at what point would the stress and loneliness become too much to bear?

As his friend, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You'd seen him cancel plans, skip social events, and even miss out on family gatherings, all in the name of his career. It was admirable, sure, but also concerning. 

You could consider reaching out, inviting him for a coffee or a quick chat. Maybe he just needed someone to listen and remind him that there was more to life than just work. 

But then again, who were you to judge? 

Everyone has their own path, their own motivations. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that Joshua was heading for a burnout. You wondered if there was a way to help him find a better balance without undermining his ambitions. It was a tricky situation, and you weren't sure how to approach it.

As you glance at the clock, the hands indicate it's already 3:35 pm. Your stomach growls, reminding you that you've been so absorbed in your work that you've skipped lunch. Deciding it's time for a much-needed break, you gather your phone and wallet, heading towards the exit of the department.

But just as you're about to leave, you spot Joshua, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur of movement. You can't help but let out a small sigh, knowing he's likely putting in extra hours again. Turning around, you make your way over to his desk, standing beside him.

"Joshua, it's past 3:30. Don't you think it's time for a break?" you say, your voice laced with concern.

Joshua looks up, blinking a few times as he registers your presence. "Oh, hey Y/N. I'm just trying to get this report finished before the end of the day," he explains, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You can't help but smile at his dedication. "Come on, you've been working non-stop. Let's go grab a bite to eat across the street. My treat," you offer, hoping to coax him away from his desk.

Joshua hesitates for a moment, glancing back at his computer screen. "I don't know, Y/N. I really need to get this done..."

"It can wait, Joshua. You need to take a break and recharge," you insist, your tone gentle but firm.

With a sigh, Joshua nods and starts to gather his things. "Alright, you win. Let's go," he says, shrugging on his blazer.

You can't help but feel a sense of triumph as the two of you head towards the elevator. "So, how are the apprentice interviews going?" you ask. "They're going well, actually. The candidates are all so eager and eager to learn," Joshua replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckle, nodding in understanding. "That's the best phase, but I hope they don't overwork themselves in the future, right Josh?" you say, casting him a knowing glance.

Joshua ducks his head, chuckling quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he says, the hint of a smile still playing on his face.

As you step out into the bustling street, you feel the sun's warmth on your face, a pleasant contrast to the cold, sterile office. You turn to Joshua, a playful grin spreading across your face.

"Alright, Josh, here's the deal. If you talk about work during this break, you'll owe me an ice cream," you declare, wagging a finger at him.

Joshua laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. "Deal. Though, to be honest, I'd buy you an ice cream anyway," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Don't you forget it. And remember, I'm serious," you say, trying to keep a straight face as you give him a mock-stern look.

Joshua raises his hands in surrender, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, I heard you loud and clear."

As you both find a cozy little café, the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee envelops you. You choose a table by the window, and as you settle in with your meals, the casual chatter of other patrons creates a comforting background hum.

"Did you hear about the latest drama?" you begin, leaning in conspiratorially. "The director's wife found out he was cheating on her because her strawberry jam kept disappearing from the fridge—and the director doesn't even like strawberry jam!"

Joshua's mouth drops open, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No way. Seriously?" he exclaims, staring at you.

You nod, your face a picture of exaggerated exasperation. "Yup. She noticed it was going down way too fast and started putting two and two together."

Joshua shakes his head, still processing the story. "That's wild. You know, during the last interview I led, they actually put some strawberry jam on the table so the candidates would—" He stops abruptly as your glare pierces him. He laughs, holding up his hands again. "Sorry, sorry! No work talk, I remember."

You can't help but smile at his sheepish expression. "Thank you. So, back to the story. After she figured it out, she didn’t just confront him. Oh no, she went all out. She invited him to a romantic dinner, complete with candles and, of course, strawberry jam."

Joshua raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "And then what happened?"

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "She waited until he took a bite of the dessert she made—some fancy strawberry tart. And then she calmly asked him if he enjoyed it as much as his 'office snacks.'"

Joshua bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "No way! That’s brilliant. What did he do?"

You grin, enjoying his reaction. "He turned beet red and started stammering. She didn’t even wait for an explanation. She just got up, left the table, and moved out the next day. Took the jam with her too, just for good measure."

Joshua laughs so hard tears form in his eyes. "I can't believe it. That's some next-level pettiness. Good for her."

You noticed Joshua seemed more relaxed after your lunch together. He even managed a smile when you passed by his desk later that day. However, during the week, your attempts to repeat the lunch outing were met with resistance. Each time you invited him, he had a different excuse.

"Hey, Josh, want to grab some lunch today?" you asked on Tuesday, hoping to replicate the success of your last outing.

"Sorry, Y/N. I need to lead the apprentice interview," he replied, not looking up from his computer.

On Wednesday, you tried again. "How about lunch today? There is a pasta sale going on at the mall."

Joshua sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could, but I need to filter the job applications. We're getting so many, and I need to find the best ones."

By Thursday, your frustration was evident, but you kept it in check. "Lunch today, Josh? You deserve a break."

"I'd love to, but I need to solve the issue with the employees' late salaries," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's causing a lot of stress for everyone."

Joshua was developing into someone who rarely took a break from his work. Today was Friday, and as you were leaving with your coworkers, all you wanted was to taste a cold beer and find some refuge from the rough week. The whole department was eager to hang out together, and the air was filled with energy.

You were refreshing your makeup at your desk as your coworkers trickled out, laughing and chatting. Glancing over, you saw Joshua standing by the printer, watching the curriculums pile up.

"Josh, you coming out with us tonight?" you called over, hoping to finally get him to relax.

He looked up, "I don't know, Y/N. I have these curriculums to go through, and then there's the report I need to finish."

Tired of trying, you sigh in defeat, the weight of your concern for Joshua pressing heavily on your shoulders. He notices, his eyes meeting yours briefly, but you turn away and walk out. You knew you didn't have the responsibility of checking on him every single time—it was his choice to work himself into exhaustion. But how could you not worry? He was a great friend, and the thought of him breaking down alone between the dividers of his desk was unbearable.

As you sip your beer, trying to enjoy the happy hour, the image of Joshua's lost eyes lingers in your mind. The laughter and chatter around you fade into the background as your thoughts drift back to him. After a few hours, the night winds down, and you remember you forgot your keys at the office. Debora, your coworker, offers you a ride back so you can retrieve them before heading home.

The office is dark and silent as you and Debora step inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. Only one light is turned on, casting a dim glow over a single desk. You immediately recognize it—Joshua's desk. But he isn't sitting there.

A sense of dread fills you as you approach, the cubicle dividers blocking your view. As you round the corner, you see him—Joshua, sprawled on the floor.

You gasp, rushing to his side. "Joshua!" you scream out, your voice trembling with panic. You carefully lift his head and place it on your lap, your hands shaking as you check for signs of consciousness. He's unresponsive, his face pale and drawn.

"Debora, call an ambulance!" you shout, your voice tight.

Debora fumbles with her phone, her fingers trembling as she dials. She quickly explains the situation to the operator and then rushes to find building security for additional help.

You gently shake Joshua, trying to rouse him. "Come on, Josh, wake up," you whisper urgently, but he remains still, his breathing shallow.

Minutes later, which feel like an eternity, the sound of sirens pierces the silence. The paramedics arrive, and you reluctantly let go of Joshua as they take over, assessing his condition and preparing to move him. You insist on riding with him to the hospital, unable to leave his side.

As the ambulance speeds through the city streets, you hold Joshua's hand, your heart pounding with worry. Outside the building, a few employees gather, watching the scene unfold with concern. You barely notice them, your focus entirely on Joshua, praying silently that he'll be okay.

You don't know exactly how many hours you've been by Joshua's side as he lies in the hospital bed. You watched the morning light grow brighter through the window, dozed off, woke up to find him still sleeping, went to the bathroom, and grabbed something from the cafeteria. When you return to his room, you see Joshua awake, a nurse measuring his blood pressure. An uncomfortable silence settles in as the nurse finishes up and leaves.

You sigh, walking next to him and turning your back to him.

"Are you mad at me?" Joshua asks, his voice still weak.

You shake your head, the words snapping out before you can stop them. "No, I'm letting you rest, since you don't do it yourself."

He sighs deeply, and you close your eyes, immediately regretting your harsh tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you this much trouble," he says softly.

You shake your head negatively, looking down. "I found you on the floor, Josh. The only reason I was there was because I forgot my keys. What if I hadn't come back?"

Joshua struggles, but he manages to reach out and catch your hand that is hanging by the bedside. His cold touch makes you glance at him. His eyes are full of exhaustion.

"Please, don't make me this worried again,"

Joshua squeezes your hand weakly. "I'll try, Y/N. I really will. I'm sorry for pushing myself so hard and for pushing you away. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten."

You nod "You don't have to do everything alone, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He nods, his eyes glistening. "I know. And I appreciate it more than you know. I just... I need to find a better balance."

"Promise me you'll take it seriously this time," you say.

"I promise," he whispers, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit, weakly. "I'll take better care of myself."

You sit down next to him, your hand still in his. "Good. Because you can't go through that again."

You didn't like the rumors circulating around the office about Joshua while he was away. It bothered you to hear whispers about his collapse, especially since everyone in his department knew how hard he worked and yet pretended everything was fine. 

As the days passed, Joshua's desk slowly filled with Post-it notes and snacks, contributions from you and other departments. Joshua's sudden health scare was a wake-up call, touching more hearts than just yours.

When Joshua returned today, Friday, you watched from your desk as he walked in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his desk. Messages of encouragement and little treats were piled high. 

His face goes red as he glances around, catching the subtle glances of his coworkers. They quickly return to their tasks, but you see the corners of their mouths twitching with barely concealed smiles.

He worked at his desk, and his department members spared him from taking on too much. As the windows started to show the darkening sky, some people had already left to go home. Unlike regular Fridays, there was no happy hour planned for tonight.

Seungkwan approached Joshua's desk, a concerned look on his face. "Hey, Josh, you should really think about not doing extra hours today."

Joshua shook his head, "I'm going to take it easy for now…" a small smile formed as he looked at you. "Also, I have a happy hour for two tonight, so no extra hours."

As his friends gave you sly glances and teased you with their smiles, you felt your cheeks blush.

"Looks like someone's got a date," Seungkwan said, grinning.

How did you two end up on a date? It started in the hospital. Joshua was still recovering, lying in bed, holding your hand. The room was quiet, the noise from machines was the only sound.

"How can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head, a gentle smile on your face. "I'm not mad at you, Josh. But it would be cool if you took a break every now and then. Maybe we could go to a happy hour someday."

Joshua licked his lips, still holding your hand and giving it a weak squeeze. He looked up at you, all flirty. "Would you be open to having a happy hour with just you and me?"

You blinked, shocked. "What?"

He blushed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Come on, it's so difficult for me to take a break. I'd love to have you as the motive for my breaks."

You scoffed, attempting to conceal the warmth that spread throughout your chest. "You should take breaks for your health and my sanity."

Joshua brushed his thumb against your hand, a playful grin grabbing at his lips. "Don't scold me, Y/N-nie, I'm sick," he teased.

You stared at him, a shocked smirk on your face. "You're taking advantage of me."

"Yes," he said, his smile growing. "Using the advantage, so you accept having an encounter with me."

The memory of that conversation makes you smile as you walk out of the office together, the evening air cool and refreshing. 

"So, where are we going for this happy hour?" you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Joshua chuckles, his eyes bright with excitement. "I thought we could try that new restaurant around the corner. I've heard good things."

You nod, feeling the tension of the week melt away. "Sounds perfect."

As you both enter the bar, the atmosphere is lively but not unpleasant. You find a cozy corner table and settle in, the soft murmur of conversation and clinking glasses creating a comfortable backdrop.

Joshua looks at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else that makes your heart skip a beat. "Thanks for convincing me to take a break."

You smile, raising your glass. "To more breaks and less stress."

He clinks his glass against yours, a genuine smile on his face. "To more happy hours with you."

After dinner, you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Joshua's car. The air is filled with a comforting silence, both of you soaking in the cozy warmth of the evening. As he pulls the car up in front of your house, you pause for a moment, your heart quickening in your chest as you struggle to gather the courage to look over at him.

Instead, you direct your gaze out the windshield, staring at the street ahead of you. The dim glow of streetlights paints the night in soft hues of orange, casting shadows on the quiet neighborhood.

"Do you want to come inside?" you ask, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Joshua turns your face toward his, his touch gentle as he lifts your chin with a soft touch. "You want me to go inside?" he enquires, his tone soft.

You nod, your gaze drawn to his mouth. "Yes."

"Then tell me," he teases, "what exactly are we going to do inside?"

You gulp, your mind racing. "We can... we can..." you stutter. You didn't have an answer on the tip of your tongue.

Joshua leans in close to you, his smile growing wider as he whispers against your skin, "I'm going to come inside, but go easy on me," he says, his breath warm and sultry, "I'm not quite recovered yet."

You shiver at his words. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice still low and quiet as you look up at him.

"What do you think I mean?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I mean," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear as he speaks, "that you might have to take it slow with me."

"Slow? How slow?" You're whispering, not because you're afraid of being loud, it's because you're so horny that your voice is strained. 

Joshua's lips curve into a smirk as he sees the effect he's having on you. 

"Slow," he whispers back, his voice low and seductive. "Slow to the point where you feel yourself starting to drip."

He closes the gap between you, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours as his hands slide up your hips.

"Are you sure you want me to come inside?" he asks, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

Your mind could only focus on the two last words. Mind foggy. "Come inside?" 

Joshua widens his eyes slightly, then a cocky smile spreads across his face as he registers the double meaning of your words. "Hmm look at you, how nasty... I guess we can do this too..."

His lips crash against yours, no longer gentle but filled with urgency. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring, tasting. You gasp, the wet noises so sultry inside his sleek car. His hands unclasp your seatbelt, and one slide from your knee to your thigh, slipping under your pencil skirt to feel the lacy panties you wore.

"Slowly, like this," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice too sultry.

His hand moves to the front of your panties, and you instinctively raise your hips as he pulls them down, discarding them onto the car's floor. The air inside the car starts to feel foggy, just like your senses, and your breathing becomes more rapid.

Joshua's hand returns to your now bare skin, his fingers teasing and exploring the wet folds of your pussy. You moan softly into his mouth, your body reacting to every touch. And slow, just like he said, he starts to circle your clit with his finger, making you instantly melt against the seat as you spread your legs wider for him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, filled with fascination as he watches your reactions. Your mouth can't correspond to the wet kisses anymore, your hips roll against his hand, your legs spasm as you try to keep them open, and your skirt rises, revealing your sopping cunt glistening.

You find yourself pushed back against the seat, your body arching as you grow more desperate for him. His eyes never leave yours.

“I can feel how much you want this.” 

You can only nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers speed on your swollen bud. 

“So open, so needy.” he murmurs making you feel that sharp stitch in your belly一your horniness growing. 

His words make you moan, and he chuckles, his voice filled with a gloomy promise. “I want to hear more of that,” he says, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside. You cry out, your body responding instantly to his touch, your head thrown back.

“Joshua,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shirt as you try to ground yourself.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Yes, Y/N? Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, “I need more.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fiery intensity. “More? I can give you more.”

With that, he increases the pace, his fingers moving inside you making the squelching wet songs, louder. He watches you so closely that you feel embarrassed; it is as if he reads everything about you and knows every secret you keep.  

“Every little touch, every little tease… you’re soaking it all up.” He coos, and you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer. 

You can only whimper in response, your body trembling with the need for release. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can sense that you are nearing collapse.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips. “Let go.”

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing against his leather seat. Joshua holds you through it, his touch possessive, trying to keep you still so you can feel the waves better. As you come down from the high, you find yourself panting, your body still trembling non-stop.

His fingers are soaked, glistening in the pale light. With a teasing grin, Joshua brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied pop. You immediately turn your face to the window, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you try to straighten your skirt. His chuckle fills the car, rich and warm.

“Shy now, are we?” he teases, his voice low and playful.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands fumbling with the fabric of your skirt. But Joshua isn’t done with you yet. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “We can resume this inside. What do you think?”

You nod, finally daring to meet his gaze. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping out of the car. You watch him circle around to your side, suppressing a laugh when he catches the glimpse of your knees trembling as you exit the vehicle.

“Did you get this horny?” he can't hide the amusement in his voice.

The walk to your front door feels like an eternity, your fingers fumbling with the keys as Joshua’s need becomes more apparent. He’s pressing his bulge against you, his hands roaming over your body as he kisses your neck, making it hard to focus on unlocking the door.

Finally, the door swings open, and you grab Joshua by the collar of his white shirt, pulling him inside. Your mouths collide in a desperate kiss, his hands clutching your hips as you stumble toward the bedroom. You don’t care about the noise or the awkward angles; all that matters is the friction among you, the urgent need to be closer.

With outstretched arms, you brace yourself against the wall, your body arching toward his as he presses against you. His hands are everywhere—sliding under your blouse, unhooking your bra, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his hair while you're absorbed by the feeling.

“Bedroom,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless and needy.

Joshua’s response is a low growl, his hands gripping your waist as he guides you through the hallway. You barely make it to the bed before you’re pulling at each other’s clothes, the fabric tearing in your haste to be free of it. His shirt falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, his pants, your blouse—until there’s nothing between you but skin and heat.

He pushes you gently onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses you sloppy. His hands continue their search, teasing, caressing, making you frantic with need. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his back as you pull him closer.

His cock lays heavily against your belly, a warm, wet spot forming on your skin from his precum. You grab his throbbing length, feeling it pulse under your touch. Joshua shudders, moaning needily against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and adding to your own arousal.

Your hand collects the sticky lubrication, spreading it along its entire length. You begin to stroke him, your other hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His eyes flutter open, trying to stay locked on yours as you speed up your strokes. His gasps and whimpers alimented your hunger, making you feel yourself oozing more and more.

At a certain point, he lets out a high-pitched squeak, hiding his face in your neck. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice strained and desperate.

You close your eyes, the heat of his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Open this drawer," you murmur, nodding towards the bedside table.

Joshua extends his arm, fumbling slightly as he opens the drawer and finds a couple of condoms. He picks one up, glancing at you with a teasing smile. "Always prepared, huh?" he says, tearing open the shiny packet.

His hands move with such practiced ease that it makes your breath catch when you watch him slide the rubber down his length. His cock looks even more inviting now, sheathed and ready for you.

He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a moment to look into your eyes. Slowly, he pushes inside, filling you inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, your pussy stretching to accommodate him. Joshua’s groan is deep and throaty, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out.

For a moment, neither of you moves, so you adjust to his side, but thankfully his fingers prepared you well in his car. Then, he begins to thrust, his pace is slow at first, his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction, his ears alert to your every moan, and every wet sound from your stretched little cunt.

You arch your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands clutching his shoulders. “Faster, Joshua,” 

He complies, his pace quickening, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room is filled with the sex sounds—the slap of skin against skin, the mingled moans and gasps, the creaking of the bed. You feel yourself climbing higher, the knot on your belly desperately wanting to blossom.

Joshua’s rhythm falters for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening. “I’m close,” he whispers, his voice strained.

“Me too,” you reply, your nails digging into his back.

Joshua takes his cock out of you, positioning himself a little further back before slamming all the way in again. The sudden movement makes you grab his forearm, while his other hand lays on your belly. Each thrust is powerful, hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you that makes you sob with pleasure. You grow tighter around him with every second, the stimulation driving you both wild.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

"Am I?" you manage to gasp between his thrusts.

"Absolutely," he praises, his words going straight to your core. "You're so tight, so wet. You're perfect for me."

The praise sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch your back and cum for him. Joshua smiles at the sight of you unraveling beneath him—Your legs try to close instinctively, but his hips keep them wide apart. Your eyes roll back, your pussy gushing as your fingers curl around the headboard.

He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing it just as your orgasm peaks. It shatters you, making you curse.

"Fuck, Joshua! You're so deep... don't stop... please, don't stop. God, you're going to make me cum again."

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, his pace quickening. "I can feel you squeezing me. You're gonna make me cum so hard."

"Keep cumming for me, baby," he whispers, his own voice shaking.

His moans grow louder, his pace more frantic. Your dirty talk pushes him to the brink, and with a final, powerful thrust, he cums hard. His loud moaning, combined with the sensation of his cum filling the condom, makes your head spin.

Joshua leaves you shaking for the second time that evening, fully exhausted and completely satisfied.

Joshua falls on his side beside you, his breaths coming hard and fast. You can't help but tease him, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Are you going to faint here too? Should I call an ambulance? After all, you weren’t as slow as you said you would be."

He laughs, his chest heaving. "I’ve got enough energy to fuck you all night if you want to, leave your bed all drenched," he says, kissing your cheek and playfully slapping your clit, making you shudder.

"All night, huh?" you tease back, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Big talk for someone who just collapsed next to me."

Joshua grins, his eyes sparkling. "You doubt me?"

"I’m just saying," you reply, your tone playful. "Maybe you should pace yourself. I wouldn’t want you passing out on me."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m not going anywhere. And if you think that was all I’ve got, you’re in for a surprise."

You chuckle, your fingers dancing down his stomach. "Promises, promises," you whisper, your hand inching closer to his now half-hard cock. "Let’s see if you can keep up."

Joshua groans, his body responding to your touch. "You’re going to regret challenging me," he murmurs.

"Bring it on," you whisper back.

[zriasstuff]

Slytherin boys x reader (kinky shit vol.2)

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, orgasm denial kink (?), not proof read, long lost trashy & horny draft from my wattpad era (a moment of silence for that), cringe, enjoy ?

(not that anyone rlly cares, but i thought I’d at least pull this out since i haven’t posted actual writing in 1,5 weeks, vol.1 in case you’re curious)

Mattheo Riddle:

Mattheo was incredibly skilled with his mouth, knowing just where to flick his tongue and how hard to suck on your clit to make you melt. Shaking and squirming, you’d grab onto his curly hair, and he would hold your thighs over his shoulders and bury his face deep within your sweet cunt. Always licking up every drip coming from your precious cunt and sucking his fingers clean after stretching you out.

Eventually he figured that he could make you even needier by removing himself for a few seconds. In response you would desperately pull his head closer to your cunt and whine him “don’t you dare fucking stop now”, but he’d just tease your entrance by slowly licking stripes, so you wouldn’t be able to reach your climax.

It was torture, yet you have to admit he made it worth it. “Please Matty keep going”, you’d plea, “plea- please just pleasee”, you’d just repeat that as often as you could, but he enjoyed seeing you on edge.

Tom Riddle:

It’s his favorite form of punishing you for when you act bratty towards him, or when he’s in an angry mood in general, which is quite frequently. His practice of orgasm denial involves painstakingly long teasing until your cunt is all worn out and until you basically can’t think properly anymore. All your thoughts just revolve around one thing, riding out your orgasm completely without feeling as if something was being ripped away from you instead. Tom always fucks you first, pulling out just when you’re about to cum. Instead he releases himself all over your thighs, and leaves you to your own devices. The more needy you become, the longer he’ll torture you to see your breaking point. He has a dildo his size, which he’ll fuck you with, always pulling out just when you’re about to cum. It was an endless circle, even bringing out tears in you because it’s too unbearable and you just desperately want to experience that intensive orgasm. Usually he doesn’t let you have it though. Because of that you become unbelievably horny during the next few days, wanting Tom to use you and fuck you in any sort of way, but of course he’d rather watch you squirm and whine under him. “Should’ve thought twice before being a brat”/“Only good girls derserve to cum”/“You look so pathetic, begging for my cock”

Theodore Nott:

Instead of the popular silent treatment you gave to Theo sometimes when you were mad, you also enjoyed seeing him all fidgety and out of control. “Please don’t do this”, he’d beg, but it would all be in vain. Once you decided to bounce up and down on his swollen cock, he couldn’t keep it together anymore. You didn’t allow him to grab your tits, nor to cum. Once you rode his cock long enough to get you close, you got off of him and fingered yourself in front of him until you made a mess of the sheets. His cock would just leak precum from watching you get off, but he was gonna try to not disobey you. He wasn’t allowed to cum until you gave him explicit permission. After you rode him, he was most likely a swearing mess, desperate to touch his own cock and replicate what you do to him. “That’s what you get for making me mad”, you’d tell him and he’d apologize about a thousand times. Sometimes, out of pity, you then satisfy him by allowing him to touch himself, but other times he wouldn’t be so lucky and had to wait until the next day possibly. “I swear I’ll never do it again”, he whines or “Please I’ll do anything”

Blaise Zabini:

He knows that you enjoy your orgasms way more when they’ve been delayed because then they’re just so much more intensive that way. So, when you do it, he obviously wants to make you feel good, even if that means making you feel incredibly bad, even if it’s in a good way, for a moment. His cock was big by all means, it stretched you out perfectly and fit you just right. So after he comes inside you, he makes you cockwarm him instead of pulling out completely. This way he’ll watch you struggle to not roll your hips because if you did you’d try to get him to hit your g-spot. Then, all of a sudden, he’d grab your waist, make you straddle him, and control your body movements with his hands on your waist. Blaise will pull down, and thrust into you from under you. You can’t help but let out a series of cries because Blaise pounded so deep into you that you were sure you’re insides would never recover. Although he’s lying down, he’s still the one in control, so any pleasure you get is decided by him. “Not yet babe”/“Hold on a little longer ok” As you finally get to have your orgasm, it’s the most intense yet satisfying feeling in the world.

Enzo Berkshire:

Broken was the only word to describe Enzo when he was suffering from not being able to cum due to having a cock ring on. You used it for punishing him sometimes, for unintentionally flirting with other girls, but also just for fun and to spice up your bedroom activities. It vibrated his inflated cock, but also restricted it from shooting out his sweet release. The entire room would be filled with Enzo’s variations of noises, begging and whines. “How much longer”, he keeps asking while making filthy sounds and “I can’t keep it in anymore please” he’d always plea. Enzo would also always come close to tears, though he definitely enjoyed the sinful mix of pleasure and pain too. There were also several intensity settings on the useful cock ring and any time he’d swear, you put it higher. He was entirely under your control, and anything he did would result in his cock just suffering longer from the prolonged torture. You watched him squirm in his bed, completely naked, and even humping the bed at times to get some sort of friction, but that never ended well as you would set the vibrations even higher. His cock was so close to coming, yet only measly drops of precum came out. It was truly a sight.

Draco Malfoy:

Combined with public factors, orgasm denial is your favorite way of watching your boyfriend struggle to keep it together. Otherwise everyone would find out what an obedient boy he was for you, totally unlike the usual bad boy persona he puts on. When all your friends hang out around the common room couch, near the fireplace, a blanket always covers you two. It’s normal, since everyone shares a blanket with either a friend or partner. The twist comes when you slyly slide your hands all the way down to his crotch and rub him through his pyjama pants first. Draco always inhales sharply, knowing he’ll have to be on his best behavior. He shifts all the time, trying to secretly hump himself on the palm of your hand, acting like a stupid fuck toy. So, to tell him to cut it out, you lightly squeeze his length, sending him a warning sign. He should remember that you were the one in control. When you decide he deserves it, you start massaging his cock, pumping it ever so slowly and circling your thumb over his crown. As soon as you hear the grunts, signaling that he can’t keep it in any longer, you slide your hands out of his pants again and act as you were. Draco’s own pleasure had to wait until you were in private, until then he’d quietly whine “Please let me cum, pleasee”/“I swear I’ll do anything you want”

[tsxkkis]

# tsukishima kei ‐ better for you

a/n: a request for anon that definitely took me too long to write T-T i'm terribly sorry for the delay .... also this strangely reminds me of my first ever fic on this account (which was also abt tsukki) so it's kinda silly :33

summary: tsukishima is jealous and not exactly good at hiding it.

warnings: none, pure fluff

tsukishima has been awfully quiet since you arrived at the training camp.

it's not like that was an unusual behavior from him - he was naturally a quiet, introverted person, so anyone with a basic knowledge about his personality would assume it's perfectly normal. but you knew better.

he was your boyfriend, after all. even if quiet and rather reserved, he would continuously taunt you with his snarky comments and witty remarks, almost twice as much as he would his teammates. but for the last two days or so, his demeanor changed; there was something that ticked him off, and, contrary to his beliefs, he was not good at hiding his jealousy.

figuring out the reason behind it was a no-brainer.

tsukishima adjusted his glasses as he observed yet another guy walking up to you, and he could already recite the way this conversation was about to go from memory. he stood next to yamaguchi, back resting on the outer wall of the gym, eyes staring daggers into the fukurodani jersey of the boy trying to hit on you. but of course, he didn't do a thing about it, instead opting for a low, annoyed huff.

you could see him from where you stood, and a sigh left your lips as you saw his eyes dart away from yours the moment they met, the blonde boy wasting no time in walking away to a spot where he wouldn't have to see the situation in front of him.

the boy in front of you, whose name you've found out to be komi, fukurodani's libero, kept on babbling about something, but you've stopped listening a while ago, quickly excusing yourself to follow after your boyfriend.

'wait.' you said, voice just loud enough for tsukishima to stop in his tracks, head turning around to face you, waiting for you to continue what you wanted to say. you caught up with him, eyes squinting a little as you looked up because of the sun positioned right behind his head. 'are you really jealous of all these guys?'

'no.' he rolled his eyes, a classic sign of frustration from him, almost as if he intentionally tried to show you that despite his words, he is indeed annoyed with them.

'i can clearly see that you are.' he didn't answer you this time, silence taking over as he avoided eye contact with you, acting more childish than ever. you couldn't help but smile, hand reaching out for his with a gentle squeeze. 'you know that they could never steal me from you, right?'

silence.

'oh, come on, you're sulking like a five year old baby right now.'

'says the one who acts like a baby all the goddamn time.' his remark made you crack a smile, happy that you got him to talk. 'it's annoying. and it's not like i don't trust you either. it's something different.'

'hm?'

he let go of your hand, taking a few steps forward, the setting sun hitting his face as he stared into the magine in front of him; the hill he had to run up and down at least five times that day, barely noticeable roofs of homes situated not far away.

'don't you think that at least one of them could be, you know.' you already knew what point he was trying to make, and yet hearing it from him made your heart break a little. 'better for you?'

a moment of silence passed, the chirping birds being heard from away.

'no.'

he could hear the sound of your shoes hitting the ground with each step you took towards him, your arms gently wrapping around his torso from behind, face nuzzling into his back.

'look at me, tsukki.' hearing your words, he slowly turned his head around, only to be met with your lips already on his in a sweet, short kiss. 'listen carefully, alright?'

'i'm.' kiss. 'not.' kiss. 'going.' kiss. 'anywhere.'

he couldn't help but smile at your actions, breaking out of his aloof persona for a split second, hand searching for yours to hold it tenderly.

'besides,' you added, lips curving up into a sly smile. 'none of them could give me the same level of sarcasm that i love so much.'

you continued smooching his lips, cheeks, forehead, nose, trying to cover his entire face with kisses.

'alright, alright.' he mumbled quietly, pulling you away as he adjusted his hair. 'don't be so touchy here, though. not that i don't like it, it's just-'

'i knew it!' you recognized the voice behind you immediately, and tsukishima's shocked face only confirmed your suspicions.

'let's leave the lovebirds before kei kills us with his death stare, bokuto.' another familiar voice was heard, and as you turned around, you immediately noticed the spikey black hair and kuroo's tall frame.

as they ran away, shouting a familiar rhyme of 'y/n and tsukki sitting on a tree', you couldn't help but laugh, resting your head on your boyfriend's shoulder. he didn't look half as content as you, lips in a straight line as if he just got caught doing something so utterly embarrassing he would never recover from it.

'if they continue this, everyone will know.' he mumbled, back to his usual, annoyed tone.

'look at the positives, kei.' you nudged him on the shoulder, smiling up at him. 'at least now no one will flirt with me anymore. no more frustrations for you.'

and maybe you were right.

or maybe you weren't, as he found out later, when the information of your relationship got to the ears of his overly excited upperclassmen.

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita @haechansbbg @luvvrgirll @serotoninbarbz @sugaraddict301

[carmenberzattosgf]

when you and carmy finally decide to start actively trying for kids, it’s like you’ve created this insatiable man. he’s waking up early to fuck you, coming home for breaks to fuck you, then once (or twice) when he gets home. he’s sending pictures from work of his bulge pressing against his jeans, or even a photo of him in the bathroom, jeans unzipped and his cock out, his hand squeezing the base of it, saying: Thinking about you. Gonna fuck you the moment I get home.

so he’s cumming in you at least three times a day (more if he can). sticking pillows beneath you to keep your hips elevated, thrusting into you so hard that his load from the previous round is seeping out. “shh, i know, i know, i got ya. such a good girl.” he coos when he pulls out momentarily just so he can scoop his cum up with his fingers to push it back in you. then he’s lining himself up and fucking into you again so he can give you more -💫

Oh he’s so fucking dedicated to getting you pregnant. Plus he’s getting to fill you up with his cum multiple times a day, which is something that makes his head spin. He already had a thing for seeing his cum drip out of you, but seeing it when he knows you’re not on birth control? And when it’s so much cum? It’s no wonder he’s hard all day.

The waking up early part—yeah I feel like this is when some somno comes into play. You have to beg him to do it though, because he’s terrified of going too far.

“Carm, please it’s okay. If you start while I’m asleep I’ll have an easier time getting back to sleep. I am not made to be awake at four am, baby.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to. I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m positive, Carmen.”

That next morning he wakes up hard. He debates jacking off in the shower to make the urge go away, but he can’t resist your sleeping frame laying next to him. You’re on your side, back towards him. Carmy carefully kicks off his boxers before he presses up behind you; his chest is flush to your back.

You haven’t moved yet, still deep in sleep. He slips his fingers underneath your shirt, caressing your skin before letting his hand rest flat against your stomach. A quiet, broken moan leaves his lips as his cock grinds into your still covered ass.

Carmen can’t tease himself anymore. He gently pulls down your underwear to your ankles. You shift slightly, but don’t wake up. With his bottom lip in between his teeth, he sinks his cock fully into you with one smooth thrust. He whimpers, feeling the cum he fucked into you last night seep out around him. He starts a slow, deep pace. He wants to savor the feeling of your warm cunt for as long as he can before he has to pull himself out of bed.

The sound of his muffled moans wakes you up. “Carm?” You barely have your bearings. You note darkness in the window of the bedroom, so it must be early.

“Baby—baby, baby, baby—so good. So fucking warm and tight.” Now that you’re awake, he sucks on the skin of your neck, and quickens his pace. He sounds utterly debauched, whining with no shame into your neck. “Love you—love you so much. T-thank you for letting me do this—fuck.”

“Love you, Carm. Feels s’good. So—so full,” you mumble sleepily. You muster enough strength to reach an arm behind you, threading your fingers into Carmy’s hair as he sucks a deep bruise into your pulse point.

“Shit—“ Carmy groans, cock twitching inside of you. “Close— so fucking close, baby. Such a—such a good girl for me.” He moves his finger tips to your bud and circles it in a way that makes your head spin. Carmy knows you inside and out. Every touch of his finger tips is skilled, desperate to bring you pleasure.

“Carm—Carmy. Please. P-please fill me up. Wanna go back to sleep dripping. W-wanna make you a real daddy.”

That one little word brings Carmy to orgasm. He buries himself inside of you, wanting his cum to spill deep in your cunt. Deep enough that it’ll still be there when he gets home from work. The feeling of his cock stuffing you full sends you over the edge, too. You try to keep your eyes open, but as soon as your peak is over, you drift back asleep.

Carmy stays inside of you until his alarm clock goes off. It takes him every ounce of strength he has to pull out of you and get ready for work, but he manages. He makes sure your all covered up with the blankets before he kisses your forehead and heads out the door

He struggles all morning at work. He can’t focus on the dishes in front of him. Instead his mind wanders to you. Your body, your moans, and how your cunt squeezed him replays in his mind over and over again. Eventually, he has to excuse himself to take a break in his office.

His text pings your phone at around 2:00pm. There’s two picture attached. In the first one, the camera is angled to show off the bulge between his legs, prominent in his slacks. He’s in his office chair with his legs spread wide.The next image is taken from the same angle, but his tattooed hand grips his cock through the fabric in this one. Another text comes through a moment later.

See what you’re doing to me? Can’t work one out. I don’t want anything to go to waste. Gotta save it all for you.

The text you send in reply is simple:

Only a few more hours until you get to come home to me. I love you <3

You don’t expect another reply back, but evidently Carmy isn’t finished yet.

I think imma have you sit on my cock while we watch a movie or something. Want to make sure it takes.

When he gets home, he doesn’t pounce on you immediately. In hand, he has your favorite take out. If there’s one thing about Carmy, he always feeds you good before he fucks your brains out.

He gets you to cum twice around his cock before he even thinks about his own high. He read online that the female orgasm increases the chance of implantation.

When he does finally cum inside of you, your brain has already gone a bit fuzzy. Carmy sticks to his word, though. He reaches to the back of the couch to pull a blanket out over your connected bodies. Your back presses up against his chest as you watch what he’s put on the tv.

Carmy is very pleased with his efforts when your next period is late.

[littlemissaddict]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

She's sweaty, tired and gasping for breath and yet Simon still continues. She ducks, dodging the incoming blow to the head but she's exhausted so the next blow that he throws hits her in the side, winding her even though they both know he's pulling his punches.

Collapsing to the floor, arms around her middle as she tries to catch her breath, "Enough, I can't, s'not fair fight" she gasps as Simon's stance finally breaks and he holds out a hand to help her up. She gratefully accepts it, letting him haul her to her feet and then makes a beeline for her water bottle, welcoming the refreshing feeling flooding her body as she drinks.

"Ya know if ya wan' go out in ta tha field ya'll hav' ta learn ta take down those twice ya size" he speaks, looking like he's barely broken a sweat despite being covered head to toe including his mask. It makes her a little mad if she's honest.

"Twice my size! You're easily more than twice my size! And I'm not going to be fighting hand to hand combat every single mission" she huffs, slamming the bottle back down on the bench.

"Ya don' know tha', love" he smirks, well she can't see the smirk but she can hear it in his tone, "but think of it this way, ya can take down me, ya can take down any fucker tha' gets in ya way"

He has a point but at this point she's starting to believe that he's unbreakable, that nothing is going to take him down. At least in the field she'll have a weapon that she can use to take out anyone who gets in her way if it comes to it, it's not like she can take out Simon in that way so she's going to have to think outside the box.

They spar another couple of rounds before she gets her chance, somehow she's ended up on her back with Simon between her legs, not an unfamiliar situation for them but this is where she takes her chance. She surprises him by wrapping her legs around his waist and in that moment that he drops his guard she uses all the strength she has to flip them both over until she's the one pinning Simon to the floor. A triumphant grin on her face as she stares down at him.

"S'not a tactic ta use in tha field" he almost growls up at her.

"Aw shush, you're just upset I finally managed to beat you," the grin still present on her face as she taunts him.

"Upset s'not tha word 'd use" he grumbles as she finally registers the lustful look in his eyes.

Let's just say the reward she gets for taking him down is not one she'll easily forget, nor is the ache that leaves her unable to train for a couple of days afterwards.

John Price

She's doom scrolling. She just hasn't realised it yet, but John has. She'd been asleep when he'd first gotten up to go for his morning run, but somewhere in between him leaving and then coming home and showering, she'd picked up the phone.

At first, he'd thought nothing of it, but when he'd come in the room after showering and started speaking to her, she completely ignored him. Well, not ignored him, so to say, more that she was just so invested in the phone in her hands that she'd not heard a word he'd said. To test the water further, he dropped the towel leaving him stark naked in the middle of the room and still nothing from her which as John knew from their years together was not like her in the slightest.

Deciding enough was enough, he dressed first before coming to her side of the bed and plucking the phone straight from her hands.

"Hey, no fair!" She cried, pathetically reaching for the phone that he was currently holding out of her reach.

"No, it's plenty fair. You've spent your morning rotting in bed, glued to this thing" he waved the phone in front of her which caused her to make a grab for it again only for it to be pulled from her yet again. "And you've ignored me when I've spoken to you so I think it's time you spent some time without" he added, pocketing the phone and exiting the bedroom.

On his way down the stairs, he can hear the grumbling coming from her and meer seconds after he sits on the couch she enters the room with a pout on her face.

Her feet pad softly against the carpet as she makes her way over to him and joining him on the couch, "M'sorry" she professed, sealing her apology with a kiss to his cheek.

"I know sweetheart," he assured, leaning in a pressing a sweet kiss to her lips that wipes the pout from them. "Now c'mon go get dressed and we'll get breakfast at the cafe you like" he encourages, patting her behind lovingly when she stands up from the couch.

He expects her to go running to get ready but instead she stands and stares expectantly down at him. It takes him a second to realise she's after her phone back but he just shakes his head with a chuckle, "Uh-huh sweetheart, I'm gonna hold onto it for a bit longer" he informs her as he sends her off again to get dressed so that he can show her why she doesn't need to be glued to her phone white she's got him.

[yolli-es]

I’m so sorry I loved your yandere jinx headcanons I was just wondering if we could get a alphabet yandere jinx since we both love it

Yandere!Jinx alphabet 💥

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, mentions of death, mentions of blood, PROBABLY some points were misunderstood by me due to not knowing the language. LET ME KNOW IF I GOT IT WRONG!

Yandere!Jinx was liked by so many people :D

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Physical contact is number one on her list of "how to show people you're not disgusted by them." She certainly showers you with attention before the relationship begins, but you will notice a dramatic difference once it's official. Jinx tried to keep her boundaries and stay away from you for at least a couple of hours. But why would she do it now? You always hold hands, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable. Even if you're in the middle of a shootout right now, don't worry; she has a gun that she can use with one hand. 

Most of the time, Jinx's hands reach out to you unconsciously. She doesn't worry about it much. 

Another way Jinx speaks is by suddenly becoming talkative. She is usually not eager to tell anyone anything about herself, even if it's something insignificant like her favorite food or what she did that day. But with you, she can't shut up, she wants to tell you everything, preferably twice. You'll notice that at some point she'll stop talking right in the middle of her story, awkwardly looking down. After the question "What next?" she starts to beam and continue as if nothing happened. She likes it when you really listen. 

Over time, Jinx will become greedier about this, and if you tell her "no," she will get angry. 

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not really much messy. Jinx definitely won't just watch someone try to beat the crap out of you, but she won't destroy anyone who looks at you the wrong way either. More often than not, it ends with just one shot to the shoulder or knee. That was, is, and always will be the most clear explanation of why you shouldn't be killed.

She won't let them repeat what they started if one warning wasn't enough.

However, sometimes the voices get loud, and in a fit of rage, Jinx can kill a couple of people. Insecurity and doubts overcome her at such moments, and she sees no better way than to simply remove the threat and competition. She won't be sorry, but it certainly won't be part of her plan or desire.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Find yourself a replacement for Jinx, say you're going to leave, and she will kidnap you. She will never let you go so easily; it will not happen. Jinx will console herself with the fact that you are simply naive and stupid, that the other person took advantage of this, and now she is simply saving you from an irreparable mistake. After all, in reality, you do not want to leave her, and no one except her is really interesting to you, isn't it?

But Jinx isn't stupid after all. She knows what she's doing, and you definitely won't be thrilled by that. Jinx will be patient. As much as Jinx can be, of course. Yell at her, call her names, and try to break free; she will endure all this. Until you say that you will leave her forever, like everyone else before you. Her emotional breakdowns won't take long to come. During this, Jinx may scream, get angry, and even swing at you. But she will never hurt you, even if you are a pain in her ass. Even if you try to fight her, she will patiently endure the blows, simply immobilizing you and not causing additional damage.

Jinx didn't want to resort to it, and she's really worried that she's only made things worse.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Jinx will definitely control your every move and will be aware of everything that happens in your life. She sees nothing wrong with forbidding you to walk alone, communicate with certain people, and do dangerous work.

At first you'll even like it, but later you'll understand how suffocating it is. She won't leave you alone even in the shower, won't let you communicate with your childhood friend, and won't let you do your favorite archery. What once seemed like concern to you turned out to be just the whims of her insecurity.

"All this is too dangerous; you know that I want the best for you, trinkly?" Jinx will say for the thousandth time with the most innocent eyes in consolation, knowing full well that your opinion about this is of no interest to her. You know this, but you still fall for it, unable to escape its trap.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Jinx tells you a lot, but not everything. She finds it hard to be vulnerable with you, even though she knows how warmly you embrace her flaws. Whenever she thinks about telling you about her past, Mylo shuts her down. Jinx can't help but think that her past makes her a weak Powder, and you only need a strong Jinx. And she can't be a disappointment for you, that's what Claggor said to her. 

Only once will she be able to tell you her real name.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Surprise, adrenaline, pride, affection and a strong desire to suppress it.

She appreciates your fighting spirit, but she can't ignore your attempts at resistance, no matter how much she wants to. After all, it could become a problem in the future, and Jinx genuinely doesn't want to confront you in a serious fight. No matter how strong you are and how seriously you attack Jinx, all your attempts will be a joke in her eyes. You will never compare to her sister in this.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It depends on her mood, the weather, her plans for the day, and the noise level of the voices in her head that day. Jinx is very unpredictable, so one moment she's laughing and counting to ten, and the next she's threatening to amputate your legs. You know these are just threats, so Jinx has to chase you around the building until she catches you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

That moment when you told her you didn't need her and wanted to leave for the first time. That was when she kidnapped you, and you so desperately wanted freedom.

Jinx had definitely gone crazy, and the echoes of your words still tormented you both. Unfortunately, you said it too confidently, viciously, and sensually. Jinx was silent for a couple of seconds, while her breathing stopped, her pupils became wider, and her face turned pale. After realizing how serious this was, Jinx jumped up from her seat and rushed towards you. But not with the purpose of hitting, but only to put your tied hands on her throat. She didn't even cry while she frustratedly told you to kill her since you didn't need her under your hysterical screams and requests to forget about it. She looked so apathetic, broken, and disappointed that you began to hate yourself for it. Why did you say that? Do you hate this fragile girl so much? You couldn't stop thinking about it while you tearfully begged Jinx to stop strangling herself with your hands.

You apologized more than a hundred times that day, and you will never forget this the scene. It is truly traumatic to watch your beloved girl strangling herself with your hands because of the cruelty of your own words.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Next to her, and the rest is completely unimportant. Jinx never thinks about the future, wanting to live in the present. It is difficult for her to follow the plan in Zaun, so she can only hope.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

She's jealous as hell, and there's no better way to deal with it than to blow something up. Someone, to be precise. She won't be able to do this and will simply shoot them. Jinx is very insecure and thinks that everyone around her is a better option than her. She is afraid that you will also realize this as you become more sociable, so Jinx does everything possible to prevent this.

Jinx herself doesn't realize how jealous she is. Just doesn't want to realize. She won't take responsibility for it, so denying the problem is the best way to survive it.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If you're here, it means Jinx is nearby and everyone knows it. She'll be back in a few minutes and let everyone see Jinx obsessed, dependent, and loving again. She won't hesitate to hold your hand, body, or even your ass in front of everyone. She doesn't indulge in kissing often, but sometimes Jinx feels the need to do it, even if it's awkward for you while everyone is watching.

She can't stay too far away from you; it physically hurts her.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

What would seem romantic and loving in Zaun? Protection and shelter for free. That's what Jinx did first. It seemed most logical to her to do it in a way you understand and only then resort to the romance she knows. Without saying a word to you, Jinx will sort out your problems as deftly as she creates her weapons. Still, the years with Silko take their toll, and even the most fearsome thugs are just children to her. Don't think too much, and just enjoy caring from Jinx before she gets too much.

Then don't be surprised when you see burning buildings in Piltover with the words "love my trinkly <3" written on them.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Jinx with you and Jinx without you are completely different, strangers to each other.

People who have never dealt with Jinx and see her for the first time with you mistakenly think that she is just a petty idiot and everyone around is afraid of her for nothing. Never shows violence, uses small guns, and is just busy with you most of the time.

And then they meet the real Jinx. She still seems harmless, but her aura is suddenly completely different. You don't know what to expect. Laugh at her, but don't shout too loudly when she jokingly rips your arm off because you weren't paying attention to her instructions. "Oh, it's not fatal; don't whine like that. Shut up and listen," Jinx smiles tightly, making funny faces. She'll give him the shimmer, but not right away; maybe it'll teach him to take life-threatening situations right in front of them more seriously. Only then do they get it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Not too cruel, something like "no dessert this time." Jinx doesn't see you as particularly dangerous or serious about escaping.

But what if she senses it? Jinx will lock you away somewhere for an indefinite period of time again. If you were close to escaping, be prepared for heavy security measures and possibly no chance of ever getting out. There are no windows, minimal furniture, and belongings; your hands and feet will always be chained to the wall. Don't make her do soft upholstery in the room; don't hit yourself the walls.

Jinx may punish you during sex, but it will be playful and for pleasure.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It's easier to say that you will be allowed to do basic things like eating food, have a safe hobby, go outside, participate in safe deliveries, attend negotiations, and help Jinx in the workshop. Of course, all this together with Jinx and nothing more.

Remember, she does all this out of caring.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

As I said, as patient as Jinx can be. She forgives you a lot of things. A lot, but not everything.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. This will be the end for her.

One can only imagine what she will do. Kill herself? Go completely mad? Blow up all of Piltover? Start a war? Perhaps she will do all of these things in order. Jinx's psyche is cracking every day, and you were the only one who supported her. Someone who would always be there and who she could rely on in difficult times. She did everything she could just to know that you would feel all the love, care, and acceptance from Jinx. If you abandon her like everyone else after all this, then what is left for her to exist for? All the good will be destroyed by her own hands, and she will not be able to forgive for it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

She let you go when you confessed your love to her, and your relationship became official. Of course, not right away and only after Jinx was convinced of it. Sometimes she even doubts her sensitivity to the emotions and real desires of other people.

She regrets that abducting you, but she'll do it again if she feels the need. Jinx just hopes it doesn't affect you too traumatically and that you understand why she's doing it.

For love and only for love.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Jinx has always had her own peculiarities, and after Vi and Silco left her, they only made the problems she already had worse. Insecurity, a sense of worthlessness, and weakness haunt her every day. She desperately needs to have support, someone she can trust and not be afraid of being abandoned again.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Shit. It's like her soul was turned inside out.

Jinx is very good at understanding people's emotions and their intentions. After spending a lot of time with you, Jinx can tell by just one look that something was wrong with you. And she immediately starts feeling the same way. No matter how good she feels, everything changes if you feel differently. So when you scream, cry, and are completely broken, Jinx feels the same way. It's hard for her to be supportive at that moment because grief has overwhelmed her too. But she still will be there, always. And no matter how shitty or super good you feel, Jinx will always share your feelings.

Only once did she manage to look at you blankly while you cried and screamed, pleading with her to forget your words.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While other yandere act by the rule "you will be mine!", Jinx is more like "I beg you to be mine".

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None. Sorry, but she is too smart and sensitive to understand your true intentions. All that remains is to hope for her mercy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, no, and no again. Jinx wants you to stay, not break.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

You are the only one who looks good in her eyes in any state and the only one who attracts her sexually. She will definitely idolize you, although she may not tell about it.

Jinx will also do anything. Tell her to make you president, and she will. Don't be silly about it; Jinx will take your task seriously and will expect love and appreciation in return.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? (This is the question that I couldn't understand, so the answer is short)

Not for long. Jinx is impatient, and her feelings weigh on her more than most people.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No matter how carefully Jinx treats you, no matter how loving and patient she tries to be, you will still break. It is impossible to be sane when your entire world is filled with just one person. There will be too much Jinx and too little of the other world. You will also face a lot of manipulation just to stay with her, many of which will be traumatic.

And yet, you love Jinx. You did.

I spent 4 hours of my life on this, and I'm still not happy with the result. It could have been better, but I'm just tired of writing this, and it might be noticeable in the end..

[cherrysurf]

Hello! I was maybe thinking to help with the writers block, that maybe you could do Katsuki helping the reader in the gym! (They don't actually know each other, but they were basically the only people in the gym and the reader, or Katsuki, needed a spotter) :]

Early morning gym session !

professional trainer!bakugou x f!reader

little ooc, yn is athletic but not super (kinda half proofread)

It was 4am when you decided to hit the gym before work, you liked waking up early to be prepared for the day and another thing about it was that there was hardly anyone at the gym during those hours, a few people here and there but that was it. The only downside to this was the fact that when you needed a spotter you couldn’t ask because of lack of people or the fact that everyone was in the zone doing their own thing. So here you are again at the gym it was 4:30am it was only you and maybe two other people as you were setting up the weights on the rack to do squats, you were trying to reach a new rep but you were hesitant just in case you couldn’t lift it backup and didn’t want to cause a severe injury on your back right before work, so you look around to see if anyone was taking a break between their sets so they could help you real quick, that’s when you see a tall spiky blonde man sitting on a bench wiping sweat off his face and drinking water, although he did look intimidating you had no other choice it was that or the group of grandmas on the tendmills you decided to suck it up and go ask him if he says no you’ll just stick to the same rep you can do by yourself. You slowly walked up to him. He was down looking at his phone with his headphones in black sleek beats just like yours but yours were blue. Then he saw a pair of shoes on the floor and looked up to see you awkwardly waved hi and pointed at your ears to signify that you wanted to say something, he took off his headphones and then said “what do you want?” in a monotone voice, “uhm i’m trying to reach a new rep but i need a spotter and i saw you were talking a break so i wanted to ask, but if you can’t that’s totally okay! i understand so you don’t need to worry about it or feel forced or anything” you said rambling “6 reps of 14 or i’m not doing it.” he said “what?” you say confused “6 reps of 14 or i'm not doing it. How do you expect to grow your glutes without a proper amount of reps?” he said almost in a snarky manner “mmh can i at least get a break in between?” you say “if you do them right. If not, you start over” he said. “Why did you ask him you” wondered annoyingly. “So why should I take your advice?” you questioned the man “because i’m a personal trainer and i know a lot more than you.” he added while taking a sip of his water “oh?” you say stunned “mhm so let’s get started before i don’t want to do this anymore.” he standing up you simply just turned around and walked to where you were while he followed behind—

the time he spent as your spotter was hell, filled with yelling about not squatting properly, how weak you were, how he squats twice as much, you were sweating so much you looked like how he looked when you approached him after it was done you laid down on the floor trying to catch your breath “that was nothing i don’t know why you are so dramatic clearly you’ve never trained properly.” he said laughing in a mocking way all you could do was roll your eyes from the lack of energy to fight him back. “So what's your name?” he says looking down at you “yn. you?” you responded heavily breathing “bakugou.” he said “i could train you if you want to get better” he continued on “no thanks i don’t want to pay for someone to yell at me” you say “free of charge for now. We go to the gym at the same time and I'll have you follow my daily routine just for a girl” he says, offering his hand to get you up, which you are shocked by how quickly he was able to get you off the ground with one hand. “free for now?” you asked confused, “think of it like a free trial if you’re not annoying and do the workouts right we can keep it free.” he shrugs “gimme your phone so i can put my number in” he said you comply handing him your phone and he returns it back before walking off “enjoy the rest of your measly work out see you tomorrow for a real workout.” he said going back to the area he was in leaving you shocked and outta breath ready to go home and shower thinking about how sore your going to be “maybe i should call out of work. I’m gonna have jelly legs.” you say groaning in annoyance.

the next couple of days of this new found routine helped you out a lot despite you coming home sore the first few days, you looked and felt better and noticed results faster than normal so one day after you and bakugou had finished the gym session you wanted to thank him, so as you both were walking out to leave and go your separate ways you stopped him “hey uhm i actually have something for you as a thank you gift but it’s in my car, would you mind if i go get it really quick.” you say nervously “we can just walk to your car so you don’t have to walk all the way back here” he said, “okay” you say as you both walked to your car it was awkward but that’s how it was if you and him were working out, you make it to your car to unlock it and pull out the gift basket with pre-workouts and a thank you car and some other gym essentials, his face was shocked at the sight of it all he rolled his eyes “you know you didn’t have to do this.” he said looking at you holding the gift basket “i know but you don’t charge me for lessons and they’ve been helping so it’s the least i can do.” you say looking at him. “Whatever, thank you I guess.” he said, taking the basket. “See you tomorrow don’t be late” he said walking off with his gift in hand, which made you smile to see that hint of amusement on his face from the gift. just as you were about to drive off you get a text from him saying “let’s go out to eat this weekend so i can tell you what you can eat for the the best results” he said which made you squeal like a little girl “okay sounds cool” you text back trying to be nonchalant but we’re really freaking out in real life excited for your little “date” with the cute boy from the gym.

a/n- thank you meeya for looking over it 😞🤞🏼, also ty darhina for requesting this? i rlly enjoyed writing it!!

[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,”

[qqueenofhades]

Leaving aside possible reversals, disasters, doom & gloom, can we take a moment to savor the Trump meltdown over Harris/Walz and the momentum that makes a possible blue tsunami seem an entirely plausible outcome? I'd love to give you the space to ramble about it if you'd like, as my current fandom at least for the moment has shifted back to US politics (but not, for the first time in a while, to doom scrolling politics!).

Aha, I feel as I have probably already said most of my current thoughts, but here are a few things that really make me desire a heaping helping of butt-whooping blue wave in November:

The state that has had the most volunteer sign-ups since Harris took over the ticket? Fucking Florida, with over 18,000. The Villages, formerly a hotbed of Trump support (and y'know, probably still is), also had a major pro-Kamala event, and she is allegedly up 15 points in Miami-Dade (after Biden won the county by 7% and lost the state only by 3%). Now, we all know that Obama won Florida twice, but it has become such a symbol of retrograde Trumpian/DeSantisian politics that winning there would be literally seismic. I'm not going so far as saying that it's in PLAY play, but let's just hold onto that happy, happy idea.

Likewise the poll I mentioned the other day, where Trump is struggling to break 50% in Ohio, once a swing state and now also reliably red. The fact that this is Vance's home state and he's dragging the ticket down every single time he opens his mouth, thus offering the smallest sliver of hope that Ohio (which DID legalize abortion and weed by major margins last year) could also go blue? Incredible. Amazing. Showstopping.

Harris is also tied with Trump (46%-46%) in North Carolina and there is a lot of chatter about how the terrible GOP governor candidate could give a boost to Democratic turnout statewide.

The Mormons have apparently announced their intention to abandon (or at least support much less than they usually do) the Republican presidential ticket in 2024. Remember when Obama won Indiana in 2008? In my wildest dreams, I imagine Utah going blue in 2024. It won't but shh.

Basically, where we were braced for another agonizing nail-biting grind-it-out three-day election determined by a few thousand votes in key states (because etc etc the Electoral College sucks) we are now looking at the very real possibility that Harris wins at least one state, and possibly more, that Biden didn't, and which have been seen as out of reach for Democrats since Trump came on the scene. I don't think I need to counsel anyone against complacency, because we're all too damn scared for that, but yeah. Polls, even the good-looking ones that we like, don't vote. They are still skewed and subjective and do not represent the actual reality, whatever that may end up being. The Republicans and the media will be trying their absolute goddamnfuckingest to ratfuck us again in the 80-something days that remain, but:

WE CAN DO THIS, WE WILL DO THIS, WE MUST DO THIS.

WHAT IS THIS.... JOY SCROLLING? FOR AMERICAN POLITICS? IN THE YEAR 2024 WITH DONALD TRUMP ON THE TICKET FOR THE FUCKING THIRD TIME?

UNPOSSIBLE.

[fakesimp]

Mr. Wolfman — ft. Wriothesley

Crack? ; Fluff ; Unintentional indirect confession ; Unestablished Relationship ; Wolf Hybrid! Wrio

How? What did he drink? Did sigewinne put something in his tea? No.. there's no way right?

Then why is he having this, weird fluffy tail and ears on him? What is happening?

He stood by his own reflection, quite literally trying to figure out what's going on with him. That's one of the reason why he's, quite. Late upon arriving at the office, it's, unusual for him to be late.

And so when you heard hushed whispers amongst the fortress about Wriothesley's new appearance, your interest was piqued.

Afterall, you're his assistant. It's okay to pay him a visit outside scheduled meetings right?

And so here you are, standing before the door to his office, you knocked twice, you then heard a muffled 'come in' from behind the closed doors. You pushed them open, "it's me, your grace." You announced yourself, it was quite at first, there's no sound coming from upstairs. For a good minute at least before you heard shuffling from above, "Your grace.. are you, okay?" You asked as you enter, walking upstairs. Oh so, slowly, scared that the man you're visiting is, afraid of your sudden appearance.

The moment you reached upstairs, he stood there, back facing to you, him pinching the bridge of his nose, his fluffy tail sway behind him ever so slightly, his ears twitching above his head.

Oh.

Oh, Archons.

"Oh— Y, Your grace— so it's true.." You owlishly stared at him, "I thought.." "Excuse me for a minute, please be quiet. Just. For a minute." He cuts you off, his ear folded back as he slowly turn to you. "First of all, no, this is not a costume, I have no idea what happened, but one thing for sure is that, I woke up and already have these. Ears, and tail. So don't ask what happened."

. . .

That was the day you saw him so, defeated, confused, yet also, intruiged. Now it's the 4th day of him having those animal ears, everytime you visit him, you cannot miss how his ears that previously folded down just a bit, to fully up whenever he sees you. And his tail? It definitely wags. He literally had to hold it down. Trying to save his dignity.

Seems like his tail is way more honest than the man himself, sometimes you wonder what's going through his mind whenever he sees you to the point his tail wags like so.

Right now you're on your way to visit him again, with another pile of paper works, poor man couldn't catch a break. You knocked and excused yourself to enter, your shoes echoed throughout the office as you go up the stairs. As soon as you reach the upper floor he is making a cup of tea for himself, "Oh, hey." He turned, his ear twitched, his tail wags behind him. "Your grace, I.. have another papers for you to.. sign.." No matter how hard you're trying to not pay attention, you couldn't help it when that fluff behind him is swaying from left to right. Completely the opposite from his face, he didn't say anything at first as he followed your gaze.

"Spare me, do not ask why it wags, it just happens whenever you're around." He sighed, averting his eyes, letting out a sigh as he sip his tea. His tail sways behind him as he heard you let out a chuckle, "Funny huh?" "I'm sorry.. it's just that, your tail seemed to be more honest than you, your grace."

Wriothesley looked at the tail wagging behind him, "I guess so, at least now you know that I'm, always fond to be in your presence. To be with you." You blinked, he didn't look at you and just casually strides over to you and grabbed the papers off your hands. "Thank...s...? I—.." "Hm?" "Nevermind."

Wriothesley sat on the chair, putting away the cup of tea and stared at you, raising a brow,

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, but your words, just now. It almost sounded like a confession."

"...Oh.

Well, do you want a proper one then?.."

— ©fakesimp . 2024 ; do not copy/translate/use for ai

[sinsolstice]

GIRL DAD (1)

SINGLE DAD MIGUEL X TEACHER READER (AFAB) CHAPTER ONE SYNOPSIS: Miguel comes to his daughter's school to pick her up but seeing you was an unexpected and nice meeting. TRACKING POST: follow #𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝 (miguel o'hara) for new content and updates.

tags ✮  modern au, single dad miguel + afab teacher reader, found family, slight angst, eventual romance + smut. 

wc ✮ 3,147

part two → // mlist

Miguel remembers why he avoids driving around the city in the late afternoon.

He stares out the front window with a frown and a bored look. One hand grips the steering wheel, while the other props up his arm next to the door, supporting his face. It’s typical Nueva York traffic: cars honking, drivers speeding and flouting traffic regulations, and pedestrians oblivious to their surroundings.

Miguel sighs in frustration. He can’t believe his friend Jess goes through this every weekday afternoon just to pick up the kids. It's taking all his patience not to hit his palm on the wheel and tell the drivers in front of him to move. But Miguel endures the traffic, despite his irritation. Minutes pass like hours, with the cars inching forward. When he checks the time, it’s ten minutes to four in the afternoon. The only thing keeping him sane is reminding himself of the purpose of this entire trip.

Gabriella’s school should be a few buildings away from the traffic.

A smile crosses his face at the thought of her. His daughter. The only person he cares about in the entire universe. His bundle of light and joy. As much as he loves his daughter, Miguel rarely picks Gabriella up from school after three in the afternoon. His job as a geneticist isn't as flexible as it seems. It’s a nine-to-six job, five days a week. Despite the long hours, Miguel makes every effort to spend time with Gabriella either before he goes to work, after work, or on the weekends.

But today, he’s breaking the routine. He’s picking up his little girl from school. And Gabriella doesn’t know he’s coming.

The traffic finally eases. The cars in front of him start to move. Miguel seizes the opportunity to drive forward. He maneuvers steadily through the busy road until he reaches an urban area that’s familiar to him. Miguel continues driving through the streets of Queens until he sees Gabriella’s school and comes to a stop.

Miguel gets out of the car and locks it behind him. When he looks at his watch, it’s already four-thirty, and he's definitely late. He glances at his reflection in the car window. Dressed in casual blue denim jeans, a white shirt under a black leather jacket, and black sunglasses that hide his eyes, he looks like a typical father picking his kid up from school, not like a man who just got off work.

Miguel hasn’t visited Gabriella’s school in a while. The last time he was here was for a parent-teacher conference. As he enters the school building, he’s unfamiliar with the layout. The quiet, peaceful setting is devoid of students or teachers. He didn't expect the main area to be so vast and isn't sure where to go to find his daughter. He decides to wander around, hoping to find his way.

The hallways grow eerily quiet as Miguel walks, feeling he's farther away from where he should be. School buildings have always been like mazes. He doesn't recognize anything familiar. Unsure of his direction, Miguel considers calling his daughter for directions. But he decides against it, wanting to surprise Gabriella when she finishes soccer practice.

Maybe a teacher in one of these classrooms can point him in the right direction. Surely, not all the teachers have gone home for the day.

Miguel looks down the hallway and decides to try the door at the farthest corner on the right. He’s not sure why he chose that door, but he has a feeling someone might be in there who could help him. Or at least, he hopes there will be.

Miguel knocks twice before turning the doorknob. When he opens the door, he pokes his head into the room, seeing that it’s an empty classroom. A frown appears on his face, disappointed. Looks like he'll need to find someone else.

He’s about to close the door and leave when he hears a voice. “Hi, can I help you with anything?”

Miguel still doesn’t see anyone. But when he steps further into the classroom, he spots a woman behind a desk he didn’t notice before. The person turns around, and Miguel finally sees her—sees you.

You seem preoccupied, and he must have interrupted you. The locker behind you is wide open, filled with stacks of papers and boxes. He guesses you were in the middle of organizing when he disturbed you.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you respond, a hint of a smile on your face as you place the box on the desk. Miguel removes his sunglasses out of courtesy, taking a better look at you. You’re wearing a polo shirt and white jeans, casual attire for a staff member. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I…” Miguel’s voice trails off. Judging by your youthful appearance and demeanor, he guesses you are in your twenties, making him a few years older than you. You must be a teacher here. Miguel clears his throat lightly. “Sorry, I think I got myself lost. I’m looking for the sports field. I’m here to pick up my daughter. She has soccer practice today.”

“Oh, right.” You smile apologetically. “Well, you’re a bit far from where you need to be. The field is on the other side of the building.”

That makes sense. No wonder he hasn’t made any progress. He’s gone the wrong way. School buildings are always a maze. “Thank you for your help.” Miguel nods in acknowledgment. “I hope you have a good rest of the afternoon, señorita.”

Miguel is about to leave when you stop him. “I can show you where to go if you’d like,” you offer. “So you won’t get lost again.”

He looks at you, contemplating the offer. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you, yet you’re willing to help. He watches you close the cupboard door, lock it, and turn to him. You’re still smiling kindly, waiting for his response. “I’d appreciate it if you could help me out.”

“Sure thing,” you say, grabbing your keys from the desk. They jingle as you grip them. You walk around the desk to approach him. Miguel immediately notices the height difference between you and him—you’re about chest-high to him. “Shall we get going?”

Miguel opens the door wider and gestures for you to lead the way. You step out, and he follows, closing the door behind him. Walking beside you down the hallway, Miguel observes your stride—elegant, confident, and relaxed. He wonders if you might be one of Gabriella’s teachers. There's something about you that piques his interest, an inexplicable feeling of appreciation for every second of your presence.

“So, what’s your daughter’s name?” you ask, breaking the silence. “Maybe I recognize her from one of the classes I teach.”

It takes a moment for Miguel to process your question. “Her name is Gabriella O’Hara,” he says. ��She’s in seventh grade. Brown hair, wears a purple backpack, about this tall?” He estimates her height with his hand.

Your eyes light up at the mention of Gabriella’s name. “Oh, Gabi O’Hara! She’s one of my students.” Miguel looks at you, intrigued. “I’m her homeroom teacher this year. She talks about you a lot in class.”

He smiles politely. “Ah, she has?”

“Gabriella often stays behind to help me tidy up when she doesn’t have soccer practice, usually while waiting for Jessica to pick her up,” you explain.

Miguel wants to ask more about his daughter, but you continue speaking. Your confidence and politeness, coupled with a hint of wisdom, make him feel comfortable around you. He’s only just met you, but he feels a sense of ease. Surely, Gabriella must have mentioned you before. Miguel tries to recall anything his daughter might have said about you.

After a moment of silence, you speak again, hesitantly. “I’m sorry if this sounds ignorant or assumptive, but… is Jess Gabriella’s mother?”

“Ah, no. Jessica is a good friend of mine,” Miguel replies. “I often work late and can’t pick Gabi up from school. But today is different.” He explains briefly, feeling reluctant to delve into the complexities of his relationship with Gabriella’s mother. “It’s a surprise. Gabi doesn’t know I’m here today.”

You turn to him with a genuine smile. “I think she’ll be thrilled to see you after practice.” Your smile is sweet and kind, and Miguel thinks it suits you. “Gabi told me a few days ago that you have yet to see the new kicks she’s been practicing. From what I’ve seen, she’s a star player on the girls’ team.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing it,” Miguel nods.

You and Miguel continue walking, and when he spots a large door ahead, he hopes it leads to where he can find Gabriella. “The girls’ soccer team is just beyond this door.”

You open the door, revealing the outdoor environment. Fresh air greets him, along with a wide view of the track and soccer field. Students and teachers are scattered around, engaged in various after-school activities. Miguel scans the field, searching for any sign of Gabriella among the groups of girls. His eyes stop on a familiar brown-haired girl in a purple shirt and white shorts. She moves swiftly, kicking the ball until it sails into the goalpost. The girls around her cheer, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Oh, look, there’s Gabi,” you say. “Gabi!”

Gabriella looks around and spots you and Miguel. A wide smile breaks across her face. “Papa!”

“Mija!” Miguel calls back, waving to her. Gabriella rushes over, her excitement evident.

Gabriella calls your name when she sees you, the happiness on her face unwavering. You wave back at the young girl with a cheerful smile and laugh as Gabriella yells across the field, asking if you saw the game. "I sure did!" you respond, still laughing.

Miguel can't help but smile at the scene. He watches as Gabriella joins the rest of the girls for a team huddle with their coach. Her soccer practice should be done in a few minutes. "Do you want to sit on the bench while we wait?" he asks.

"I don't mind," you nod. The two of you approach the benches and take a seat. Miguel sits next to you, his gaze fixed on Gabriella as he admires her from afar. "She's a great kid, isn't she?" he says.

"Definitely," you reply.

Miguel gazes at his little girl and then turns his attention to you, curious about your work life. "So, how long have you been teaching?" he inquires.

"I've been doing this for two and a half years," you explain. "I started as a substitute teacher during the summer when I moved to the States."

Miguel nods, learning something new about you. Your mannerisms and subtle accent suddenly make more sense to him. Your voice is calming, and even though he's known you for less than an hour, he feels at ease. "So, what do you teach?" he asks.

"I mainly teach Biology and Chemistry, though sometimes I also help out with English and reading enrichment," you say. "English isn't my first language, but it's rewarding to help kids build confidence in theirs."

Miguel nods again. He understands the challenge of speaking more than one language. "It's not an easy language to completely master, but you speak it well. Gabriella and I often switch between Mexican Spanish and English, which sometimes turns into Spanglish."

You laugh quietly, and your shoulders shake. "It's often easier to express certain things in your native language, isn't it? Although when I do, I can sound a bit... 'expressive.' Or 'explosive,' as my family puts it."

Miguel chortles. "I always encourage Gabriella to speak more Spanish at home. It's important not to lose your cultural identity."

"I agree," you say. "It's easy to lose yourself in a crowd, but your roots never leave you."

"What made you move to the States, if you don't mind me asking?" Miguel asks, curiosity piqued.

A smile spreads across your face. "I was looking for a sense of adventure and decided to take a leap and move here on my own."

"That takes courage," Miguel says, glancing at you. Your smile remains, and he wonders what prompted your move but holds back from prying too deeply. "How old were you when you moved here?"

"I was nineteen," you reply. "I stayed in Canada for two years, then moved to the States when I was twenty-one. I've been here for three years now."

Miguel notes the age difference between you two. You're only seven years younger than he is, and you moved to a new country at such a young age. His interest in your story grows; what besides adventure led you to such a big move?

You and Miguel sit together in comfortable silence. The sky is bright and blue, the sun warming the field. Miguel's red eyes, hidden behind dark sunglasses, are fixed on you. He feels unusually relaxed in your presence, a rare feeling for someone he's just met.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to look at him and smile. He's grateful for his sunglasses, as they hide the potential blush creeping up his cheeks.

You turn your attention elsewhere as Gabriella runs towards you both. You're the first to rise, and Miguel follows, smiling at his little girl. "Papa! I can't believe you're here!" she exclaims.

"I wanted to surprise you, mija," Miguel says, lifting Gabriella into the air and kissing her forehead. She wraps her arms around his neck. "You did great today at practice. I'm so proud of you."

"Gracias, Papa." Gabriella kisses his cheek in return. She beams at you, clearly thrilled to see you. "What did you think of my moves, Miss?"

"They were impressive, Gabs," you say, affection evident in your voice. "You're getting better and better. You'll be a star on sports day soon."

"I think it's time for us to head home," Miguel says, noting the approaching sunset. He prefers to be home before dark.

"Can we stop at Wendy's for dinner?" Gabriella asks hopefully.

Miguel considers this. He’s forgotten to prepare dinner and sees this as a perfect excuse for a treat. "We can do that, sweet girl."

He turns to you, "Thank you for your help earlier."

"It was no problem, Mr. O'Hara," you say. "I hope we meet again. It was nice getting to know you."

Miguel nods, ignoring the slight pang in his chest. He makes sure Gabriella has everything before they leave. As they walk away, Gabriella waves enthusiastically at you. "Bye-bye, Miss! See you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow, Gabi! Enjoy your dinner!" you call back, waving. "See you again sometime, Miguel!"

Miguel waves back and watches as you turn to speak with another teacher before he finally turns away. Gabriella decides to walk on her own, and Miguel puts her down, holding her hand as they head toward the school building. With each step, Miguel finds his thoughts returning to you, wishing he could see you one last time before they go.

He glances back to find you still chatting with the other teacher. You laugh at something, your face lighting up. He watches as you say goodbye and turn away. When you notice him looking, you give him the sweetest smile he's ever seen, even from a distance.

He thinks your smile makes you even more beautiful, especially when directed at him.

"Papa, let's go to Wendy's now!" Gabriella urges.

Miguel looks down at her with a gentle smile. "Alright, princesa. Let's go."

When he looks back, you’re no longer in sight. He leaves the school grounds with his daughter, your smile lingering in his mind.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

As planned, Miguel and Gabriella have dinner at Wendy's. At the moment, Gabriella is indulging herself with a child's Wendy's meal. Seeing his little girl happy brings Miguel immense joy—a natural feeling for a father with his daughter. Despite his busy schedule, he seizes every opportunity to spend time with her. Gabriella is his top priority in life, and he wouldn’t trade these moments with her for anything.

“So, your teacher is nice,” Miguel speaks up. Ever since he met you, you’ve lingered in his thoughts. Your sweetness, kind personality, and the way you interacted with Gabriella earned his trust. Personally, the way you behaved around him was refreshing. There were no ulterior motives or signs that you were trying to establish a relationship with him. As a single father, Miguel's status has gained quite a reputation at Gabriella's school. He appreciates that you were simply a kind soul, great with kids like his daughter. “The one who helped show me where you were at school.”

“Miss [Last Name]?” Gabriella asks, taking two scoops of ice cream and shoving them into her mouth. Miguel learns something new about you—your last name. He thinks about how your first name fits with your surname; it has a nice ring to it. “Oh yeah, she is, isn’t she? And pretty too,” she adds.

Miguel pretends not to notice her last comment, even though he agrees. “How come you never talked about her when I asked you about your day at school?” he asks.

He’s about to take a bite of his food when he notices Gabriella looking at him with one eyebrow raised, giving him a curious look. “What is it, mija?”

“Papa, I have told you about her before. Numerous times,” Gabriella says, placing her arms at her sides, indicating her skepticism. “I told you about how she brought Mr. Oscar to a show-and-tell two weeks ago, and that she likes to bake and brings treats to school for the class to share every month. And my teacher is from England…”

Miguel presses his lips together. He vaguely remembers hearing that story. Gabriella shares so many things with him daily that it’s hard to keep track. But Miguel feels he would have remembered you if Gabriella had mentioned you before. Who could forget someone like you?

Gabriella giggles. “Papa, are you getting old and forgetting stuff now?”

Miguel gives a sheepish smile. He doesn’t consider himself old, but if it keeps his little girl from being suspicious about his interest in you, he’ll accept the indignity. “It seems so, princesa. I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay, Papa. I forget things too sometimes,” Gabriella says, shifting the conversation quickly as children often do. “I really do like Miss [Last Name]. She’s the best teacher ever.”

“Make sure you tell her that tomorrow when you see her, Briella,” Miguel smiles. “I’m sure she would love to hear that you appreciate her.”

“I will!”

Meeting you was unexpected, and if he hadn’t picked Gabriella up from school as planned, he wouldn't have met you earlier. A tiny part of him hopes he will see you again someday, perhaps by chance in the future.

aesthetic dividers are credited to cafekitsune.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

I recently came across your blog and I enjoy your fics immensely, so this is a first for me.

This interview of Hozier killed me in the best possible way, so curious to see what you would do with Andrew driving. Also if it would have a NFWMB vibe, I wouldn't be mad. But do whatever you want with it :)

My dear, I cannot thank you enough for this request. This interview has been playing on repeat these past few days. I just...I can't get it out of my head. Seeing this man behind the wheel does things to me. And believe it or not, I had already been planning to write this. I had even compiled a tiny mood board to go with it. The NFWMB vibe was a challenge though, I'll have to admit. But I think I managed (kind of?). Hope you like it. 💚

warnings: language, maybe; one tiny insinuation to smut, blink and you'll miss it; otherwise pure fluff

It was not terribly hot, not for a summer’s day anyway, still the sun stung as it burned down on you from the highest point of its ellipsis. You checked your watch, then scanned your surroundings if there was a shady spot to be found. There was not, at least not anywhere close by, and he had told you to wait for him right here. He had been very specific about that.

That had been about ten minutes ago, and you were almost beginning to wonder if he would come back for you after all, when you spotted him in the distance, fashionably late as always. He circled around a corner, hair flying in the wind, and you could not help but laugh at the peculiar sight in front of you. Like a giraffe in a toy car, you thought, as he came closer. Still he seemed so pleased with himself, on his lips a smile so bright it put the sun to shame, and which, no doubt, reached all the way up to his beautiful eyes. You had never loathed a pair of sunglasses more for hiding them from you.

“What is that?” you burst out laughing when he came to a stop right next to you.

“A golf cart.”

“I can see that.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “I meant, what are you doing in that thing?”

“It’s ours for the next two hours. Come on, get in, loser.”

He did not have to tell you twice. Two hours alone with your man sounded like heaven, even if he would potentially kill you both with that thing. And so you squeezed in next to him, not forgetting to nudge his arm.

“That’s for calling me a loser.”

He could not help but laugh upon your pouty face, still he leaned in to press an apologetic kiss to your cheek.

“Worth it,” he mumbled against your skin, making you shake your head in fake annoyance to hide that beaming smile that wanted to break loose. He was just too sweet for his own good.

“So, where are we going?” 

To have a picnic, you assumed, judging from the blanket and basket that were safely stowed away on the back seat.

“You’ll see,” he grinned, obviously enjoying being all mysterious about it. There was a snappy reply already forming on your tongue, but you almost choked on it the moment his large hand found the bare skin of your thigh. He just let it rest there, still it was enough to send a shiver up and down your spine, and for a second you thanked the fates that you had opted for those denim shorts this morning. 

It took you a moment to reach the exit of the vast festival grounds, also because he was going unusually slow. It was unmistakable that he was itching to go faster, and as soon as you had left the main road, you were proven right. 

“Let’s open that baby up,” he bellowed excitedly, slapping the wheel as he did, while his other hand squeezed the pliable flesh of your thigh. You felt dizzy for a moment, your thoughts spiralling upon his reckless antics, but as soon as his foot pushed down the pedal, they were washed away in an instant. You squealed as the two of you zoomed through the deserted landscape. Who would have known these vehicles could go that fast?

“Mr Hozier-Byrne, you are such a menace,” you hollered, breaking into another squeal as the cart went into a turn at full speed.

“True,” he admitted unashamedly. And as soon as the vehicle was reaching a straight again, he leant in. He took his sweet time to taste the skin of your neck, totally forgetting about the road once his lips had found you. You let him, it would have been a sacrilege to tell him to stop, so instead you reached for the wheel, gently correcting the course while he devoured you. “But I’m your menace,” he continued as soon as his head resurfaced, “So you better deal with it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I certainly will.”

The audacity this man had. After almost crashing the cart because he could not help himself from having a taste of you, he now chose to counter your statement with a wink. “Can’t wait."

When he finally slowed down again, the sound of the festival had faded completely, not even the deep, rolling echo of the bass was following you anymore. There was only a welcome silence, and some happy birds chirping their joyful songs into the blue afternoon sky. He stopped underneath a large tree by a small track that split a flowery meadow in two.

In seconds he had rounded the cart, basket and blanket in one hand, he held out the other to you.

You took it without hesitation, and as always, your fingers immediately entwined with his, woven firmly together, inseparable. And neither of you did let go, not as long you strolled through the meadow anyway, the palm of your free hand floating along the high grass, enjoying the tickling sensation. 

After a while you took up camp in the shade of a tree, a blackthorn, you realised, and quietly smiled to yourself. Sated and wanting for nothing but each other’s company, you had leaned your back against the stem. Andy’s head lay safely in your lap. You loved when he did that, entrusting himself to you completely. And you knew he loved it too, to give himself over to you while he let the world be what it was for a moment, eyes closed, hair gliding through your fingers, braiding a few strands, leaving some flowers here and there. He had started to hum a while ago, unconsciously so, you believed. It was one of your favourite sounds in the world, along with his boisterous laughter, and the sweet, mewling sounds he made when you satisfied him. 

Another time, you thought, and smiled in anticipation. Not now though. Now was the time to be soft, to shed the hard shell you usually carried. It was the only way you knew to protect yourself from a world you hardly recognised at times. But with him, you did not need to. 

Ever since you had met him, Andy had never left any doubt that he loved you, all of you, the strength, the weakness, the anxiety and kindness, your joy and your sadness, every little fragment that made you you. He saw it all, and he loved you despite all that, no, because you were all of that. A love that was reciprocated to the fullest.

[meiandue]

my sweater? or yours?

◖ 🌸 ° ✮ — seeking comfort after an exhausting day is a requirement. maybe hugs and kisses will ease the tiredness you're feeling. from who? of course your lovely girlfriend!

◖ 🕢 ° ✮ — today, serving you with...? pure fluff !! try your best to relax and take breaks, there is no time for drama today; pairing: newjeans ot5 x female!reader

◖ 💌 ° ✮ — mail for you: hi hi! guess who's back! i'll be explaining my semi-long (?) disappearance here. aside all the crazy things i've done in my life, first sem is done! so far i'm not pressured or stressed about any school works, i fixed my schedules, managed my time and all. i grew a lot ! hoping my brain did too, anyways take this as thanks to my loyal readers out there ! special thanks to @ilovekimminji for the kisses and requesting this hc ! ◖ 💬 ° ♪ — word count: 2,731

in what might some consider as dramatic, your tiredness has truly reached its limit. the silent but audible groans escaping your lips serve as a sign that you're getting more exhausted with every step you take. the walk to newjeans' dormitory, which the girls granted you access to, feels like a long travel at this point. each step is paired with a quiet sigh, a mumble of a protest against the weight of drained energy.

at last, you arrived at the front door of the building; when the view of the elevator opening entered reach of your sight, you felt a feeling of relief for your tired legs, you don't have to take the stairs! you made your way inside the dormitory, hoping that your girlfriend was home...

🌸 — minji

you know she was home because of her favorite slippers all messy on the rug of the front door. you knelt down, followed by a click of your tongue while you fixed the house shoes neat and well-arranged. after, you take your coat off and hang it on the rack, excitement of seeing minji growing second after second. rushing to the living room with a big smile on your face.

there she was, entirely carefree of your presence, but still undeniably beautiful while slacked lazily on the couch. the tv plays a playlist of her all-time favorite old rock love songs on youtube, and she listens to them with you twice or thrice a week, but it looks like she missed you so much that she had to listen to them alone for the 6th time this week.

you wasted no time and jumped on the couch, your mind going back to your intention of receiving hugs and kisses from your girlfriend, and went blank when you felt her wrap her strong arms around your waist. the both of you missed the warmth you shared with each other. it felt so long and cold as an endless winter night without being cuddled up on each other's arms.

"missed you so much."

words were muffled as you stuffed your face in her chest, she chuckled at your words as a reaction.

"same here. i had to play the songs all day because i can't get you off my mind."

"i knew. but at least give time to fix your slippers on the front door!"

you two shared a moment of laughter before staring into each other's eyes, closing them after feeling your lips touch. sharing the sweet moment passionately and expressively that lasted for a minute.

"i love you bro."

you pecked her lips between every word, her smile growing after receiving every kiss.

"i love you too, miss bro."

minji whispered as a distraction, for her to sneak her hands on your waist, fingers preparing for the right time to attack you with tickles.

"no, i love you more."

you teased.

"god, you're so annoying, i love love you more!"

minji replied after you, and she knew it was going to be an endless exchange of "i love you's", all set and go!

laughs escaped your mouth as minji's fingers turned into tickling machines, squirming and weak under her touch. you desperately tried to escape the torment to catch your breath.

"i swear! if getting tickled by you is a workout, i'd be really fit right now."

you blurt out, calming yourself after laughing too much, you then lay back on her chest, breathless and grinning from ear to ear. minji welcomes you again into her embrace, holding your head softly, this simple gesture sends sparks into your heart.

she rambled away, sharing how her day lacked its usual spark without you around. but excitedly, she spoke about some new songs she discovered, recommending them to you. as she was getting carried away with a new topic, she yearned to steal a few kisses from you. however, you remained silent. minji glanced down and found you peacefully sleeping on her chest, looking utterly adorable in your slumber.

she wouldn't dare wake you up, she knew you were tired, and you deserve a good rest. maybe she'll get those kisses tomorrow morning.

wait! before she closes her eyes and go to sleep with you...

"hold on, who's sweater are you wearing? my sweater? or yours?"

🌸 — hanni

of course, the familiar sounds of what she self-assuredly called "hanni music" echoed through the living room. it was visible that today was her specified lazy day. the remnants of her favorite delivered food were scattered messily on the floor, with even the plastic containers adding to the mess. straw wrappers had flown chaotically, and you unknowingly stepped on one.

now, she's sat on the sofa with her ipad in hand. it seems like she's busy doodling and playfully experimenting with the drawing app she shared with you. funny to you how it was so obvious what she was doing based on her crazy hand movements and a big lopsided grin on her face.

you break into her childlike moment by turning off the speaker that's been playing her songs. responding quickly, she wears a mix of guilt and silliness on her face. putting down her ipad next to her, hanni gazes up at your figure with crossed arms, resembling a scolded child caught in the act.

"hehe~ i'm done now, see...?"

hanni opened her arms and offered a hug, together with a gummy smile to ease the mood around the both of you. you're going to forgive her, right? she swore she'd clean up her mess, she was just too lazy to do it right away.

hanni, with a tender gesture, unfolded her arms and extended them towards you, warmly inviting you for a comforting embrace. hoping you'd give in to her, hanni's lips curved into a gummy smile, an easygoing expression showing to clear off any tension lingering in the air between the two of you. the atmosphere seemed to soften as her arms remained open wide, offering comfort in the form of an affectionate hug.

the unspoken question floats around in the air: were you willing to forgive her right there, right now? her eyes, filled with sincerity, pleaded for your understanding. she assured you that she would settle the situation, promising to tidy up the outcome of her apparent laziness. her intention was clear, seeking reconciliation through the simple act of offering an apology wrapped in a warm, embracing hug.

"sorry babe, i'll clean that up later. so why don't you get into these arms and cuddle with me?"

in that moment, a wave of conflicting emotions swept over you. despite the remaining second thoughts about fully accepting her apology. the hug felt nice, it was a gesture that goes beyond words, and you found yourself succumbing to the pure comfort she offered.

hanni, with a smile gracing her face, was content. having you back at home, embraced by her arms. though unsaid, her emotions showed that she missed you like how much you missed her too.

and the both of you had that connection between you, understanding each other without any effort. reciprocating the embrace, perhaps; in this instance, you would let her win, recognizing that sometimes the embrace of understanding speaks louder than the words left silent.

"i feel so small in this sweater."

"is that why you acted like a kid?"

"you know i look cute when i do."

you didn't really care when she wore your clothes; you both practically shared them anyway. however, with a glance at your tired expression, hanni sensed your weariness. so, she leaned back, inviting you to rest your head on her chest. the longing for her company was so strong that you ended up falling asleep there. well as she promised, when you wake up tomorrow, you'll find everything around you magically cleaned.

"maybe you should wear it more then. wait- is that my sweater? or yours?"

🌸 — daniellle

you can tell danielle's definitely home – dishes cleaned, table looking shiny, and neat. plants by the hallway appear refreshed, probably just had their daily hydration session. the living room, bathed in a cozy purple glow, the mist of the diffuser, leaving a trail of lavender goodness in the air. it's all relaxing as soon as you set foot inside. danielle's turned the dorm into a zen paradise, and you can't wait to spend your night with her.

she just knows you best, danielle had the movie you both agreed to watch. she obviously planned all this, as she was aware that you were coming home a little late and exhausted. your girlfriend always wants the best for you and is ready to do anything to help. you appreciate her for it, and like her, you'd do the same in a heartbeat. love works both ways.

you hurried to the room where she was, so eager to see your girlfriend. danielle was lying all cozy in a sweater and waiting for you, she had the remote resting in her hand, thumb hovering over the play button. noticing the familiar shadow, her eyes met yours. you were greeted with a soft smile and a flying pair of soft clothes she had prepared, hitting your face.

"think fast!"

she laughed while you rolled your eyes, picking up the clothes and changing into them inside the bathroom.

"i would if you didn't throw the clothes first."

you replied, finding a cozy haven on her chest, now she had her arms wrapped around you. inhaling the subtle fragrance that enveloped her, it felt like an immersive experience, almost ethereal. the scent, a delicate blend uniquely hers, it was her favorite, and wears it almost every day (which became your favorite on her as well), evoking a sense of comfort and security. it wasn't just a fragrance; it was an essence that described her sweet personality. all of those gave you a feeling that, at that moment, could genuinely be described as heavenly.

"how'd you do all these?"

"learned them from you."

"i see, welcome to my world."

a few minutes had passed and you were falling asleep in the position you were both in, the movie continued playing, danielle was keeping her focus on it while giving your head massages (that she knew would help you relax even more). you had your hands gripping gently on her clothes, feeling the familiar texture, you recognized it was the shared sweater of you two. you took note that it was her turn to wear it this week, danielle giggles when you rub your hands on her sides sleepily.

"i thought we shared this, i don't know if i should still consider this as my sweater? or yours?"

🌸 — haerin

in the dormitory was all silent and inviting compared to the busy city outside, and there was food in the cat's bowl. the presence of haerin was a quiet yet reassuring sign that she was indeed home. haerin, an up-to-time cat feeder, maintained a schedule, making sure that the fluffy friend was never left waiting for its meal. not even a minute too soon or too late.

as you stepped inside, you swiftly hung your coat before joining rangheo. soft purrs filled the space as you engaged in a playful moment with him, and he enough reminded you of haerin when she's away.

having slipped into a set of fresh, clean clothes, you make your way to the living room where haerin awaits. greeting her with a warm hug, your head finding a comfortable resting place on her chest. in an instant, she releases her hold on the phone, reciprocating the hug with a lovely smile on her face.

"didn't know you like laufey."

"i may or may not have been going through your playlists."

the soft sounds of laufey's music fade into the background as the two of you share this moment. that when the soft, tired breaths escape you. without a word, she senses your exhaustion and knows well how to give you an embrace full of relaxation around you, offering serenity in the warmth of her arms.

"how was your day?"

"boring without you."

"i'm here now though."

"day went better."

you softened at her words, you're glad you can spend the night with her (and rangheo); then you felt soft paws climb on your back and up to your head, resting snugly on your nape. haerin can't help but let out a giggle at the cuteness overloading in front of her. she had one of her hands on your head giving small scratches, and one rubbing under rangheo's chin.

suddenly, a set of gentle paws made their way up your back, reaching up to perch on your head, settling cozily on your nape. haerin couldn't contain her delight, and a let out at the sheer cuteness overloading before her. she had one of her hands on your head, sending small, sweet scratches. the other one rubbing gently under rangheo's chin. the scene was surely going to be in her gallery of memories, the picture of shared joy and the adorable bond between you, haerin, and the furry friend atop your head.

how easily haerin made you sleepy, just from the gentle touches she gave, it was better than you daydreamed about.

"i love that on you."

you point to her top,

"which one? my sweater?"

claiming it's hers and she's wearing your clothes again.

"huh, really... my sweater? or yours?"

🌸 — hyein

the hallways looked like the aftermath of a fashion hurricane! there were paper bags from famous clothing stores, a pastel pink beanie doing its best to blend in with the chaos, a random brown fur coat hanging off a doorknob, and the missing pair of purple socks in the middle of the floor. no doubt about it – hyein had turned the place into her very own fashion runway.

sure, you'll do her a favor and clean her mess but has to be repaid by hugs and kisses. hyein may forget about her own mess, but she does things for you willingly and without asking. once you're done tidying around, you change into your cozy house clothes and have a fun time cuddling with your girlfriend.

as you entered, relief washed over you at the sight of the living room, neat and tidy, it's pleasing to the eyes. however, a sudden click of a camera shutter broke your moment of silence, drawing your attention to the source. there she was, sitting gracefully on the couch, looking all gorgeous, capturing multiple pictures in various poses.

you couldn't help but assume that this unplanned photoshoot was destined for her phone gallery. curiosity sparked, and you wondered you wonder if she did the same with the tons of clothes all folded neatly at the edge of the sofa.

"oh, you're home! sorry for the mess in the hallway, i'll clean-"

"don't bother, i already cleaned them for you."

setting aside her phone, she created a space for you to lie down beside her. without hesitation, you accepted the invitation, sighing in contentment as you lay your head on her chest.

"tired?"

"very much."

arms wrapped around you in an instant, showering soft kisses across your face, exactly what you were yearning for earlier. maybe cleaning up her mess wasn't such a chore after all if the reward was this. aside from that thought, you found yourself blessed with daily affection from her, and you cherished every single gesture.

"any more plans for today?"

asked her, you shook your head no, you were too tired to think or do something.

"great! i just have one more request, and i'm dying to tell you."

you were getting sleepy at that very moment, well oh well, maybe you can make an exception, you hummed for her to continue.

"since you're here, let's take photos together! i've been wanting to try this sweater for soooo long."

she raised the familiar fabric, and it was yours.

"that's mine."

"nuh uh, found it in my closet."

"whatever, so is it still my sweater? or yours?"

◖ 💌 ° ☏ — you've reached the end! hi's and hello's once again, i hope you had a fun time reading! i enjoyed working on this, i can finally voice out my thoughts about the girls 😭 totally went crazy on danielle's, i love newjeans so muchjksjdjjdy

[kisses4kuna]

How I think the jjk characters would comfort you after a break up !!

Includes: Satoru, Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi.

(Hurt/comfort, mentions of break ups (obviously) murder and vandalism (jokingly), might be ooc, written with fem! reader in mind but anyone can read!! Please ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes, I accidentally posted this twice...!..!.!!! So fixing it was a little difficult so ignore it if any paragraphs are merged......)

Satoru Gojo:

You've been isolating yourself in your dorm for about three days now.

The guy you've been dating just dumped you and you've been devastated since.

Of course, Satoru, Shoko, Nanami, even Yaga have reached out and tried to comfort you, but you brushed it off with a muttered “I'm fine.”, being sure to shut the door in each of their faces before they could say anything more.

But you weren't fine. Of course you weren't.

You were so in love with your ex. He was your entire world and he just left like you were nothing.

You've spent the last three days crying, sleeping, and rereading old texts.

You probably looked like shit, but you couldn't care less. What was the point in trying to look or act decent now that he was gone?

You're forced to pull yourself out of your thoughts once you get a knock at your door.

You groan, you really, really don't wanna talk to anyone, but you force yourself to get up.

You open the door and before you can even get out a full “What do you want?”, Satoru shoves past you into your room with a shit-ton of snacks.

“Did you really think I was gonna let my favorite person stay isolated and wallow in their sadness forever?” He asks, giving you a teasing grin.

You can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

“What's all that for?” You ask, pointing to the snacks that were now covering the entirety of your bed.

“Movie night!! We're gonna watch a bunch of movies and eat a bunch of snacks and stay up all night until you stop being all mopey!” He exclaims, and you feel an excitement replicating his bubbling up in your stomach.

“If your big ass doesn't eat all the snacks...” You mutter back with a sly grin as you get into your bed, sitting beside him.

He immediately puts his hand over his heart and squeezes his shirt with a look of faux offence.

“What!? And to think I went out of my way to be all nice to you after your dick-head boyfriend dumped you!” He whines, crossing his arms to look more angry.

This only pulls laughter out of you. His face immediately softens, it feels much better to see your pretty smile than your depressed frown.

He pulls you into an unexpected hug, and once you process it, you hug him back.

“I can hollow purple him if you want.” He says, muttering the words softly against your hair in order to keep the moment quiet.

“That's not happening and you know it.” You whisper back. Suddenly, this break up isn't seeming so bad.

Maybe you just need Satoru and your other friends, and you'll be better in now time.

Nobara Kugisaki:

Ever since you found out that your boyfriend was cheating on you, you've been visibly down in the dumps.

Right now, Nobara is the only one who knows since she helped you catch him.

“I just can't believe him. All that time together and he fucking cheats.” You groan before looking up at Nobara, who's currently going through your closet to help you pick what you need to throw out and what you need to keep since you've got way too much clothes.

“Yeah, he's a total moron. Keep or no?” She asks before lifting up one of your shirts.

“You can throw that out. And with my best friend too? No offense to you, of course, but seriously? He could've slept with anyone, and he chose one of the girls I trusted most in the world.” You shake your head and your heart clenches at the thought.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this.” She says, tossing your shirt into the ‘keep’ pile.

“What?” You ask with major confusion. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She thinks it's good that you got cheated on?

“Now I get to be your best friend!” She smiles and laughs, and that causes you to laugh as well.

“Yeah, and I guess if he had cheating in his mind, I don't want him anyways.” You then get up off of your bed and sit next to Nobara, leaning your head on her shoulder.

She puts the pair of pants she was holding down and wraps her arm around you.

You both just sit like that. Neither of you says a word, but you feel a sense of peace washing over you for the first time since the break up.

“So do you wanna beat up his car now?” Nobara says, breaking the silence, and all you can do is smile and laugh.

Yuji Itadori:

“He did WHAT??” Yuji practically screams and you immediately slap your hand over his mouth.

About thirty minutes ago, you found your boyfriend (well, now ex-boyfriend) kissing another girl.

Your first reaction was to run to Yuji's room despite it being midnight and pray to God that he was still awake.

When he answered the door, you could hear Human Earthworm playing in the background, basically telling you that you hadn't woken him up or anything.

Yuji stares at you with wide eyes and says something from under your hand, buts it's muffled.

“Yuji, you have to shut up! It's midnight and I'm not supposed to be in here! We'll both get our asses kicked if we wake anyone up!” You whisper-scream to him and he begins frantically nodding his head.

You remove your hand from his mouth and wipe it on your shirt since he got a little bit of his spit on it.

“Ew...” You whisper softly.

“I can't believe him! You're supposed to be his Jenifer Lawrence, guys aren't supposed to cheat on their Jenifer Lawrence's!!” He whispers back, somewhat aggressively.

You can't help but chuckle at his dumb reference.

“Tell me his address!! I gotta square up with this guy!!” He whispers again and you laugh again.

You don't know it, but he's acting stupid on purpose. He's not super skilled at comforting people, but he's great at making people laugh.

“‘Square up’??? Yuji, what is this? A 2000's drama comedy?” You whisper through hushed giggles, your hand now over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing too hard.

“I'm serious, no one cheats on my best friend without catching these hands!!” He whisper-yells back, which only causes you to laugh harder.

He continues making dumb statements until you both forget the time and are now laughing hard, not even whispering anymore.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door that snaps you two out of your laughter.

Yuji quickly throws a blanket over you to ‘hide’ you in case it's a teacher then gets up to see who's there.

When he opens the door, he's met with an extremely annoyed and tired Megumi.

“Listen, I don't know what the hell you two are doing up at 1:30 in the morning but if you could shut up and go to sleep so that I can sleep, that'd be great.” He groans, glaring at Yuji then you.

“Do you think hiding under a blanket is actually gonna work?” He asks and you get out from under the blanket, your face is slightly flushed from embarrassment.

“That was Yuji's fault.” You say while pointing your finger at Yuji who them gasps.

“What!! I was trying to keep you out of trouble, how dare you push the blame onto me!!” He jokes back, and Megumi groans loudly.

“Just shut up.” He says before storming off back to his room.

Yuji shuts the door then walks back to his bed and sits beside you.

“We should have a sleepover!” He suggests with a big smile.

You tap your chin with your index finger, pretending to think.

“I dunno... You kick a lot in your sleep.” You tease him.

“I do not!” He retorts in offence.

“Fine. But if you kick me even one time then you have to do all my homework for the next month!” You say before laying down in his bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

He smiles and lays beside you.

“Deal.”

Megumi Fushiguro:

You hate this.

You can handle a lot of things, curses, training, homework, fighting...

But break ups?

You would rather take on a hundred special-grade curses all at once.

Megumi knows that about you. Which is why he's decided to let go of his nonchalant ‘I don't care about anything or anyone’ act for just today for you.

He knocks on your door and you answer.

“Oh, hey Megs. What're you doin' here?” You ask, your gaze shifting from his gaze to the blankets and snacks in his hands.

“Don't play dumb. You know I'm here to comfort you.” He rolls his eyes, walking into your room and setting everything down.

“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” You smile.

One of your favorite things to do is tease Megumi.

He knows that about you.

Come to think about it, Megumi probably knows everything about you. He's definitely your best friend. You'd probably choose him over anything and anyone. He knows your favorite songs, snacks, meals, movies, drinks, your biggest fears, your type, your pet peeves, everything.

So of course he came with every single snack you've ever said “Hey, this is really good” or “You know what you really need to try -!!” about.

Of course he came with his laptop to watch your favorite movies.

Of course he came with blankets and pillows to build a fort to watch said movies in.

Because contrary to popular belief, Megumi Fushiguro was the most thoughtful person you've ever known.

That's why he's your best friend.

“Oh, by the way, if you get a very detailed and remorseful apology from your ex, don't respond.” He randomly blurts out while building the fort for you two.

It's basically muscle memory for him after how many times he's done this for you.

“Megumi, please tell me you didn't threaten my ex into an apology...” You wince at the thought.

“I didn't threaten him.” He smirks as he puts the final blanket on the fort before crawling in.

You barely catch the smirk because it's gone within the same second it appears.

“Uh huh.” You reply sarcastically before crawling into the fort with him.

“So what do you wanna watch first?” He asks as he lists off all your favorite movies.

If you told anyone that the cold-as-stone Megumi Fushiguro was here in your dorm, building a fort for you and watching your favorite movies with you and cuddling with you when you both fall asleep, they'd laugh in your face.

But that didn't matter to you, since all you cared about was that you got to see that side of Megumi, and you wouldn't trade moments like this for the world.

---

A/n: this is basically just because I have evermore stuck in my head rn and it made me think ab Satoru helping reader after a break up!? Also, guess which one of them is my favorite 😋😋 I think it's obvious but idk..

[thefanficmonster]

Reader being jealous of Carmen and Sydney

Oooh I love that idea, dear! Hope you enjoy 💕

Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing, Minor SPOILERS for The Bear (S2)

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance

The regular hustle and bustle of people making their way home from work has taken over Chicago now that the clock has passed 3 PM. Although sounds of chaos have been rattling the establishment since the hollow ungodly hours of the morning. Shouting bouncing off the walls, shit breaking, Fak and Richie being Fak and Richie. And all you've been trying to do is difuse the situation.

Sugar needs a break, as she very clearly told you with a single glance from across the room. You gave her a nod and let her close herself off in her office to take a breather while you took over keeping the circus in a somewhat straight line.

Currently, you're on your hands and knees, scraping all the debris and dirt that's gotten on the new tiles while the rest of the repairs were still taking place. You warned Carmy the tiles would look far from new if they were the first thing he chose to replace but he still stubbornly put his foot down on the matter. And now he realizes he shot himself in that same foot, giving you an apologetic look from where he's standing.

"Quit staring, Berzatto. Do your job." You scoff, continuing your task with a newfound aggression that threatens to take out the whole tile not just the stain.

You've been blowing him off and avoiding him all day - quite the abnormality since arguing with him is to you what a cup of coffee is to other people. A day for you ain't right unless it starts with a disagreement with him. To be fair, it still is a fight, just a silent one. It all but guarantees you a win when he can't even defend himself, oblivious to how he could've pissed you off in the first place.

"Why are you being mean?" It irritates you, that tone of amusement to his voice. He's entertained, he's fucking enjoying himself.

"I'm always mean." You reply without even sparing him a glance. Your point is accentuated when you hit Richie's knee with your free hand just as he starts getting rowdy with Fak. He yelps, scowling down at you before lifting his arms up in surrender. "See?"

Looking up, you see Carmy is no longer in his previous spot. Instead, he's knelt down a couple feet away from you, a scraping tool of his own in hand. "Oh I see just fine, Chef."

Your skin flushes with heat as you try to curb your annoyance - how is the fucker winning an argument he doesn't even know he's entered. "Not well enough as it would seem." You tap the stain he'd scraped at once or twice before moving on to the next, "This doesn't look clean to me, Chef." The amount of bitterness and sass compacted into that single word is almost palpable in the air between you two.

"Alright, that's it." He says, exasperated, dropping the tool and getting to his feet. He dusts his knees before offering you a hand, "Cigarette, now."

You don't budge, still at the stain you've been struggling with for the past five minutes, "I'm busy. Ask Syd."

At that, Carmen has the audacity to straight up laugh. That's' what pushes you to reach your boiling point. You look up to tell him the fuck off just to have the tool swiftly stolen from your grasp, "Hey!"

"Cigarette, Chef. Now." His eyebrows are raised, giving you an earnest look that is meant to pull at the strings of your apperhension. He's not dumb, he can see you're particularly ticked off today. He can also take an accurate guess as to why. But he sure as hell isn't about to have that talk in front of Dumb and Dumber. Not that they'd pay you two much mind considering they've entered another screaming match but still - they have a tendency of paying attention when one would least want them to.

You feel like a child being scolded for throwing a tantrum. The only reason you oblige and stand up is to preserve your own pride. You make a point of not taking the offered hand, getting to your feet yourself and dusting off the pants of your overalls that have now been decorated with a lot of dust.

Contant is still established when Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the back door and out in the alleyway. To be frank, here, it's not like you tried to wiggle free from his grasp but that's semantics at this point.

He plucks a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking two out. He traps one between his lips before extending the other to you.

You're not a regular smoker but you also don't turn it down when you're offered one. Especially not when you're stressed. With that taken into consideration, despite Carmen being the root of your stress at the moment, you still accept the offer and reach up for the cigarette.

Much to your annoyance, however, he snatches it away before you can take it.

Your hand balls up in a fist as you glare daggers and any other sharp objects at his smug expression. With a shake of his head and a fucking chuckle he offers it again, hoping you got the memo this time around.

The only reason you cave is just so you can put an end to this back-and-forth. So, despite your better judgement you bite the bullet and lean in, taking the cigarette between your lips.

It brings a smile to his face that you happily smack off had you not been at work at the moment. Instead, you focus your gaze on the flame he flicks on and inches closer to the cherry of your cigarette.

You take a long drag, inhaling the smoke with relief. It doesn't last long though since Carmen just has to open his mouth again.

"I'll ask you again - why are you being mean?" He lets out a cloud of smoke in the air, once more exhibiting exasperation you believe he has no right to feel.

Your jaw is set and so are your narrowed eyes as you follow suit - releasing the nicotine from your lungs, "And I'll tell you again - I'm always mean. I'll do you one better - why are you wasting time? We've got a lot of shit to do and we gotta do it in a very short fucking time and you're here taking smoke breaks! Sugar is losing her mind, Fak and Richie are gonna kill each other, Cicero is breathing down our necks, Syd is counting on you..."

"And you're not?" He cuts you off, the smugness now long gone from his features.

One hand rests on your hip while the other brings the cigarette back to your lips, "That doesn't matter."

You're almost satisfied to see the irritation you've been feeling all day now take hold of him, "Like hell it fucking doesn't."

Rolling your eyes, you flick your wrist to check your watch, "You should get going. Don't you have a menu consultation with Syd?" You mumble around the tobacco stick in your mouth, avoiding his gaze entirely now that you've lost all sense of subtlety to your anger.

If he were to ask you point blank if you are jealous of his close partnership with Syd, you'd laugh. And it is indeed laughable when you factor in the knoledge of how disinterested she is in terms of Carmy outside of a work setting. But still there's that nagging little piece of shit voice in your head...

Before you know it, Carmy has discarded his cigarette and has closed the space between the two of you. One set of fingers tilt up your chin while the other plucks the cigarette from your mouth. You're given no time to argue before his lips crash into yours.

You kiss him back instinctively, your brain momentarily short-circuting and conveniently wiping all the anger from your system. It returns only briefly when Carmy pulls awat from you. "It can wait."

You reestablish your sass a second later, grounding yourself into the annoyed act once more, "Nope, none of that." You shake your head, taking a step back, "I can handle you being corny but not inefficient and irresponsible." You steal back your cigarette before waving him off, "Go on, shoo."

His bright blue eyes twinkle with amusement, crinkles appearing at their corners as his face is lit up by a smile, "Alright, alright." He mutters in defeat. Still, he manages to sneak a kiss at the corner of your lips before reentering the restaurant-to-be. He stops in the dorrway, turning around to face you, "We're doing a movie night tonight. For real, this time."

A small chuckle escapes you as you attempt to feign nonchalance with a shrug, "You said the same fucking thing last time."

He points a finger at you, giving you his word, in a way, "You'll see." With that, he disappears inside, leaving you to finish your cigarette alone and with the dorkiest smile adorning your face.

It turns into a full blown laugh at the thought of how offended Syd would be if she knew of that little spark of jealousy within you. Truthfully, you owe her an apology.

[rulerofstars]

the unlikely schemer

oneshot: after breaking up with kuroo, you and your cat, kevin, are stuck in an awkward co-parenting arrangement. but with kevin’s matchmaking skills and some help from friends, old feelings start to resurface. will your tangled past and kevin’s scheming bring you back together, or is it too late for second chances?

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x reader

tags: fluff, exes-to-lovers, co-parenting

i. the cat custody misunderstanding

You’re just tying your shoes, running late as usual, when your phone pings. The text is short, so typical Tetsu.

“Is Kevin with you?”

It takes a minute to sink in. You’d just assumed Kevin was at Kuroo’s place today—it was his turn, after all. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the screen as if you’re about to reply, then think better of it. You know exactly where this is going, so you text Kenma instead. He’s usually somewhere between Kuroo and sanity in situations like this.

“Hey, tell Kuroo to check his laundry basket. Kevin always curls up there.”

Minutes later, Kuroo sends a photo of an empty laundry basket with a sarcastic caption: “Look at this. So Kevin. Very here.”

So, it’s going to be one of those days.

By the time you reach Kenma’s apartment, you’re not surprised to find him gaming quietly in the living room, headphones half-off and tapping away at a console, with Kuroo leaning against the counter, arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow at you, which you promptly ignore, focusing on Kenma, who’s practically part of your support network at this point.

“Kuroo lost Kevin. Apparently, he’s ‘everywhere but nowhere,’” you explain with a mock eyeroll, making quotation marks in the air.

Kenma barely looks up from his game. “Pretty sure I saw Kevin’s cat carrier in your car last time we hung out.”

You freeze, suddenly remembering. In a rush to get back to work yesterday, you’d left the carrier in your back seat. Kuroo notices the realization flicker across your face and lets out a sigh, shaking his head in that trademark half-exasperated, half-amused way that used to drive you crazy.

“So,” he says, voice low and full of dry amusement, “you’re the one texting me about losing the cat when you had him all along?”

You cross your arms defensively. “In my defense, I assumed he was curled up in some basket in your laundry room. It’s his thing, you know?”

Kenma finally looks up, glancing from you to Kuroo. “Maybe you guys should put a tracker on him.”

“Right? It would save us a lot of hassle,” you say with a chuckle, nudging Kuroo’s shoulder. “Or, we could always get two cats. Double the trouble, double the mess for both of us.”

Kuroo smirks, and his gaze lingers a little too long on you before he finally looks away, back to the counter. “Yeah, we’re barely managing one cat. Two? I think I’d lose my mind.” He pauses, then adds with a slight edge to his tone, “Though, at least if I lost him, I’d know it.”

The silence hangs a little too long. You know that Kuroo hasn’t really moved past how things ended between you both, and neither have you. But here’s Kenma, already back on his console, looking pointedly unaffected by the tension in the room, which, of course, is his way of telling you two to work things out—without actually saying it.

“Well,” you sigh, determined to keep things light, “guess it’s settled. I’ll take Kevin today, and you can have him next week. Just—keep him out of your laundry basket.”

Kuroo’s lips twitch, caught between a grin and a frown. “Yeah, maybe you should check your car twice next time.”

A few days after the “Kevin custody confusion,” you find yourself at a small gathering hosted by the Karasuno volleyball team—Hinata’s idea of a “relaxing team bonding” that somehow ended up including you, Kenma, and, inevitably, Kuroo.

The evening is full of the usual chaos. Tanaka and Nishinoya are arguing over whose spike hit harder in the last practice, Yamaguchi’s laughing, and Tsukishima’s making sarcastic quips from the corner, clearly trying (and failing) to look uninterested. Amid the friendly noise, you notice Kuroo leaning against the kitchen counter, idly stirring a drink, his gaze following the playful banter with a faint smile.

You try to ignore the little jolt that hits you. It’s unfair, really, how seeing him in a setting like this—a few stray hairs falling out of place, that casual but slightly competitive air—still makes your heart stutter.

Kuroo catches your eye and smirks, jerking his head toward Hinata and the others. “They’re treating this like the Olympics, you know.”

You roll your eyes, feigning indifference. “Some people just have team spirit, Kuroo. Not everyone’s as calm and broody as you.”

Before he can reply, Hinata bounds over, practically glowing with excitement. “Hey, you two should join our game! It’s totally volleyball-related—sort of. It’s, uh…a spike accuracy contest, but with plastic cups!” He gestures to a pyramid of plastic cups stacked against one wall, courtesy of Nishinoya and his “training ideas.”

Kuroo raises a brow, glancing at you with a teasing glint. “I don’t know, do you think you can handle it?”

“Please. I was beating you in these games back in high school,” you scoff, hoping the heat creeping into your cheeks isn’t obvious. This was supposed to be fun, a way to forget for a few hours. But here you are, trading familiar jabs with Kuroo, half-suspecting he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

“Alright then,” he grins, a competitive spark lighting up in his eyes. “Loser buys the winner’s next cat food haul?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes as you square off. “Deal.”

You’re both lining up for a turn when Kenma appears at your side, his voice a low murmur. “You know, you could just talk to each other. Without the middle school competition part.”

You shoot him a playful glare. “Don’t act like you’re not rooting for me.”

He shrugs. “Just saying. Even Kevin’s tired of the back-and-forth.”

Before you can respond, Kuroo lands his “spike,” sending cups tumbling dramatically across the floor. He raises his hands in triumph, throwing you a smug glance. It takes all your self-control not to stick your tongue out.

“Guess that means you owe me,” he says, voice low, as the noise of everyone laughing and cheering fades into the background.

You take your turn, successfully knocking over even more cups, and smirk right back. “Guess again. Your treat.”

The words are casual, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, something questioning and almost vulnerable. For a brief second, it’s like you’re back in high school, sharing inside jokes and trading glances that say so much without saying a word. And just as quickly as the moment comes, it’s gone, replaced by the clamor of the team celebrating your win.

Kuroo doesn’t push it; he just steps back, smile dimming a little but still there, an unspoken challenge lingering in his eyes.

ii. kevin’s plan

Kevin, it seemed, had developed a mischievous knack for engineering his own little reunions, and he was subtle, a master of feline subtlety. For starters, he had a way of "escaping" whenever he sensed you were home. One minute you'd find him snuggled up on the windowsill, eyes half-closed, as if he'd happily stay put for hours. But the instant he saw you putting down your bag, Kevin would dart to the door, yowling at the handle in a way that you knew meant, I'm not just done with Tetsuro today. And you knew—this was a game. Kevin wanted out, because that meant one thing: Tetsu needed to come pick him up.

"Hey, Kenma?" You called Kenma up one evening after a particularly trying cat-chase. You could practically hear the amusement through the phone as he listened to your woes.

"So he climbed into Tetsuro's basket…again?" Kenma's quiet laugh was the only real noise on his end, and even though he sympathized, he found the whole thing hilariously on-brand for Kevin. "Are you going to call him again, or…?"

You groaned, resting your head against the cool surface of the window as you watched Kevin curl up and blink at you innocently. "Apparently, I'm not the one with a choice."

Kenma’s voice softened. “Maybe it’s for the best, you know?”

“Kevin meddling is ‘for the best’?” You grumbled, throwing Kevin a look. "He's a cat, Kenma. I swear he’s got a playbook or something."

Kenma laughed, “Well, you could ask Kuroo to stay for dinner next time. He’d probably be less willing to ‘rescue’ Kevin if he got to see you in a normal setting for once.” There was a beat. “I just think he misses you. A lot, actually."

As you listened to him, you thought about what he’d said—about seeing Tetsuro in a setting that didn’t feel so strained or impersonal. You couldn’t deny it sounded…nice. There were moments when the banter softened, moments that reminded you of how easy everything had once felt. It was different now, of course, but maybe Kenma was right.

That weekend, you decided to take a chance.

Kevin, true to his antics, found his way into Tetsuro’s room yet again. But this time, when Tetsuro came over with the usual look of bemusement and mild exasperation, you were ready.

“Dinner’s on the stove if you want to stay," you said, sounding more casual than you felt. "It’d save Kevin from his…habit.”

For a moment, Tetsuro looked stunned, almost as if you’d suggested something outlandish. But then, a familiar, quiet smile broke across his face as he nodded, the unspoken warmth of old memories settling in between you. And for a while, it was like nothing had ever really changed at all.

As Tetsuro took off his jacket and washed his hands, you felt the unspoken tension hang thick in the air. He was careful not to look at you too closely, like he was afraid of pushing something fragile that he hadn’t quite realized he wanted to hold onto again. Kevin, meanwhile, weaved around your ankles, giving you what could only be described as a smug look before he trotted over to Tetsuro, meowing with an air of absolute satisfaction.

“So,” he started, voice light but a little uncertain as he settled at the table. “Kevin’s getting pretty good at this whole escape thing, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, gesturing toward the little troublemaker. “He’s like an escape artist at this point. Or…a schemer.”

Tetsuro smirked, glancing down at Kevin, who was rubbing his face against Tetsuro’s leg with an innocent expression. “He gets it from his favorite co-parent.”

“Oh, so it’s me now? Not you?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you spooned some soup into his bowl. “You were the one who taught him to open doors, remember?”

“Hey, I taught him how to close them, too,” Tetsuro replied, trying not to laugh. “He just…ignores that part. Selective memory.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, he’s got selective memory alright. Probably picked that up from someone, too.”

Tetsuro’s smile faded a little, and for a second, he looked like he was about to say something serious. But then, with a rueful little shrug, he muttered, “Touché.” His gaze lingered on Kevin, who had now curled up comfortably in the spot right between the two of you, purring contentedly as if his mission had been a complete success.

For a few quiet minutes, you both ate, sharing the familiar silence that used to be filled with so much unsaid affection. Even now, there was something comforting about it, like the past was a blanket thrown over the room, warming you both without permission.

“So…have you thought any more about…?” He trailed off, his voice unexpectedly softer.

You didn’t need him to finish. You knew what he was getting at: the breakup. The distance. The plans you’d made separately that had edged each other out.

“I have,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “And…I think I’m realizing some of it didn’t have to go that way.” Your eyes met his, and for once, neither of you looked away. “I guess I just wanted to feel like I could do things on my own. And I thought…” You trailed off, taking a breath. “I thought you’d understand if I needed time, but maybe I didn’t need so much time away.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze shifting from you to the empty space between you, that chasm that had grown in the months apart. “I get it. I think we both felt like we had to prove something, but in doing that, we…kinda lost what we already had.”

The words hung there, and Kevin, in the timeless way of cats, chose that moment to yawn dramatically, pushing his face closer to yours with a nudge that felt suspiciously well-timed. You could feel the little nudge of his head against your knee, almost like he was trying to physically push the two of you closer together.

“He’s persistent,” Tetsuro murmured, amusement warming his voice. “Like he won’t stop until…well, he gets what he wants.”

You laughed, scratching Kevin behind the ears. “Sounds like a certain someone I know,” you replied, nudging Tetsuro’s foot under the table with your own.

The casual touch, the gentle press of your ankle against his, was so small yet felt monumental in that quiet moment. Neither of you pulled away, and for the first time in months, the space between you felt smaller.

“Maybe…” Tetsuro started, voice uncertain. He glanced at Kevin, who seemed completely at peace, oblivious to the storm of feelings he’d orchestrated. “Maybe we could…try again? Start with small things, I mean. Like, um—Kevin dates?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected and genuine. “Kevin dates? Seriously?”

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hey, he’s a big fan of them, clearly. And we wouldn’t want to break his heart, right?”

You met his gaze, something familiar flickering in the warmth of his smile. It was the same look that had been there in high school when he’d confess he’d waited outside in the freezing cold just to walk you home. The same look that told you maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth holding onto.

“Alright,” you murmured, voice soft but firm. “Kevin dates it is.”

And as Kevin let out a satisfied little meow, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe he’d had the right idea all along.

Weeks had passed since that night in the kitchen, and things between you and Tetsuro had gradually shifted back into a comfortable rhythm, like slipping into an old pair of shoes. The cracks of time, once jagged and deep, had started to fill in with laughter, shared moments, and the kind of quiet affection that only came from familiarity.

Kevin, of course, continued to play the role of orchestrator, his paw prints everywhere—on the pillows, on the couch, and especially on the small, shared space between you and Tetsuro that no one could quite explain.

It was a Sunday afternoon when you found yourself at Tetsuro’s apartment, leaning against the couch, watching him and Kevin "interact" in the most absurd way possible. Kevin had somehow managed to get himself tangled in Tetsuro’s headphones, and the two of them were locked in a standoff: Kevin, half-playful and half-aggressive, tugging at the cords, and Tetsuro, trying his best to untangle the mess with the patience of a saint.

“I swear, this cat is too smart for his own good,” Tetsuro muttered, glancing up at you, clearly exasperated.

You chuckled, biting your lip to hold back a grin. “What did I tell you? He’s a schemer. You’re just his latest target.”

Tetsuro let out a breath of frustration, shaking his head as he finally freed the cat from the headphones. But Kevin only looked at him with that smug, knowing gaze that said, I’ve won.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Tetsuro grumbled, but there was no real bite to it. “I can’t believe I’m co-parenting with someone who has no shame.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Someone? Are you sure you’re not referring to yourself?”

He shot you a teasing look, but there was something different now—something more vulnerable behind the playful facade. “You know, I don’t mind this. The whole co-parenting thing. And I think…” His voice softened as he picked Kevin up gently, cradling the cat in his arms. “I think I like the idea of us being in each other’s lives again. Even if it’s just for Kevin’s sake.”

A silence settled between you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy, the kind of quiet that came from knowing each other for far longer than you’d care to admit. You sat down beside him, your fingers brushing against his lightly, just enough to feel the spark. Kevin, now settled in his lap, gave a low, contented purr.

“Well,” you started, voice gentle, “Kevin’s a pretty great reason to keep showing up. I guess we’ll just have to stick together for him. And, you know… maybe for us, too.”

Tetsuro met your gaze, his dark eyes warm. He didn’t say anything right away, but the look he gave you was enough. It was full of understanding, of patience—of someone who had learned the value of quiet moments and the unspoken things that meant more than grand gestures.

Kevin, once again, seemed to know just when to intervene, hopping from Tetsuro’s lap and nudging his way toward you, as if to say, This is how it’s supposed to be. You couldn’t help but smile as you reached out to scratch behind his ears, and Tetsuro, catching the moment, did the same.

In that little, seemingly insignificant moment—Kevin purring contentedly between the two of you—you realized the truth of it: Maybe we didn’t need grand gestures to fix what was broken. Maybe, we just needed to be here.

And as Tetsuro leaned back, letting the warmth of the afternoon sun spill through the windows, you felt the smallest but most important shift—the promise that, this time, you wouldn’t have to let go. Not again.

Maybe it was always meant to be this way—small moments, messy, imperfect, but full of love all the same. And maybe, just maybe, Kevin was the real genius for knowing it all along.