#scribbled this so quick in response

[bellandeano]

LETS FUCKING GOOOOO canon vampire minhkhoa khan. once again i experience what it is to win

[keeps-ache]

I AM SPEED

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. 

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

though if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to his circumstances. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

(but you aren’t worried.)

[itadoring]

Toji remains seated on the carpet with his children's small toy table in front of him, too small to allow him to even place both of his hands on it.

“What would you like to order sir?” asks Megumi holding a crayon and notepad full of drawings, and looks at his father with a serious expression, or at least tries to.

Toji parts his thin lips for a brief moment and looks at the paper with coloured lines that should, in theory, represent the menu of the well-known restaurant “Fushigurosʼ Restaurant”.

“Is it possible to have the special of the day?” he asks as he carefully searches for the right words and smiles, highlighting the scar on his right side.

With a quick nod of his head, Megumi walks over to his three-year-old sister and informs her of their customer's request. In response, the little girl turns to him, looks at him from head to toe with her big green eyes and shakes her head slightly, causing her black hair to move as well.

After this dramatic reaction, her brother goes to the table and reports the cook's reply. “Well, the dish of the day is made of,” he pauses briefly and pretends to read the note scribbled a moment before, “biscuits and water.” he finishes by flashing a smile.

“Biscuits and water?” repeats Toji and nods slowly. “Alright thank you.” he finally says and, again, Megumi walks over to his little sister.

The latter starts mumbling and with every word spoken her brother nods and agrees. Toji does not know exactly what the two are saying to each other but he can't help but smile.

“Oh, there's a tea party?” your voice catches the attention of the three raven-haired who turn towards you; your two children happily run over and hug you as if they haven't seen you in years while your husband remains seated next to the toy table.

“Mummy, Daddy has so many demands!” the little one complains and her lips form a pout as she looks towards her confused father.

[orphicmusings]

giving a sleepy, overworked viktor head late in the lab..? and because hes so tired he's just dumb and needy....???? (ig somno if you squint)

18+ ᴍᴅɴɪ

“what do i have to do to pull you away from that?” you sighed, practically hanging off the back of your lover’s chair. you took a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the room, soon to approach midnight. viktor answered you with a simple, deflective hum and you rolled your eyes. if he didn’t complain about the exhaustion making his chronic pain flare up, you would have pulled him away from that desk with your bare hands and throw him on the nearest plush surface. you sighed again, a little louder this time, a little pointed.

“am i boring you, love?” he rasped, exhaustion heavily coating his voice and thickening his accent.

“you really can’t take your eyes off that thing for just a second?” you leant down over his shoulder, exasperatedly nodding toward his project. “not. one. second.” he answered, not even raising his eyes to meet yours, focused entirely on scribbling down what looked to be an equation.

oh. you took that as a challenge.

wordlessly, you gently nudged the wheels of his chair away from its place flush against his desk. he barely noticed, only giving you a slight furrow of his thick brows. you rounded the chair in front of him and slowly sank to your knees. “not one second?” you tilted your head coquettishly. at your words, he allowed himself to spare a glance at you, kneeling before him, under his desk. his breath hitched in his throat, trapping his response in his chest. a glance was all he could afford if he wanted to focus. even in the dim lamplight, you could see the faintest brush of pink across his cheeks. smirking triumphantly, you carefully reach up for the zipper of his pants. he loudly clears his throat when he feels your fingers so close.

“darling.” he called as a warning, stopping short in his work but still refusing to tear his eyes off of it.

“you want me to stop?” you asked earnestly, though you were sure you already knew the answer. he fixed you with a look. a permissive look, but a firm look, like an ‘i can’t resist this but i also won’t endorse it’ kind of look. you bit down on your grinning lip and pulled his pants down entirely. you could feel him tensing his muscles under your hands, willing himself to keep his focus on his work. you slowly pulled his cock from his constraints, giving it a single kiss on the head.

a soft groan rumbled in his throat, one hand dropping his pen and moving to cover his mouth. he could not look at you. he could not look at you. if he looked at you, he’d be done for the night, his brain would be absolutely fried and, oh, goddammit. your cheeks are hollowed, pretty plump lips wrapped around him, mischievous eyes glinting up at him. “fuck.” he groans again, closing his eyes and letting them open in your direction, finally. you braced your hands on his thighs, making sure to dig your nails into the pillowy flesh of his good leg. you finally got those pretty whines to come out. “evil…” his chest rises and falls heavily with each labored breath, becoming more and more ragged the more you fill your mouth with him. “evil woman.”

you giggle as much as you can with him on your tongue and it vibrates oh so good around him, causing him to toss his head back and whimper, “please…” one hand blindly reaches for your hair, gently tangling his long fingers in your locks, guiding you. oh, you’ve got him now. “oh, god, please don’t stop…” you will yourself to take him as deep as you can, and he hisses as he feels his cock hit the back of your throat. he opens his eyes to check on you, pulling you off for a moment. he takes the brief respite to tilt your chin up and give you a few quick kisses, babbling things like sweet girl and i love you so much and i’m sorry for neglecting my poor little darling and i could never say no to that pretty face in between. you can’t help but giggle at his sleepy verbage, more mushy than usual.

“that’s cute.” you take his hand off your chin, threading your own fingers through his. looking at his achingly hard cock. “i wasn’t done, though.”

he gives you one of his cocky, lopsided smiles and pats his lap. “no, no you weren’t.”

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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[fushiguro-megloomy]

The Dean's Assistant

request: “may I request something where viktor is eating out needy reader (established relationship) 👉👈” tags: afab!reader, oral (f receiving), humiliation kink if you really squint, miláčku = honey wc: 1.9k notes: iiiiii got carried away with this LMAO-

dividers from cafekitsune

You had always been a particularly persistent person, some might even say bordering on arrogance. At least, that’s how others might describe you. Admittedly, it has served you well over the years, helping you climb the academic ladder and often pushing back against regulations in the name of scientific pursuit. You liked to think you simply knew how to charm people—professors, lab partners, anyone who could help you get ahead.

That was, of course, until you met your match. A brilliant mind, quickly flying through the ranks and overtaking you in academic seniority. It ruffled your feathers, to say the least. It didn’t help that he had a way of turning your own tactics against you, leaving you flustered and, on rare occasions, at a complete loss for words.

Even after you’d started dating, it felt like a never-ending game of cat and mouse—though you were never quite sure which of you was the cat and which was the mouse.

You leaned against the doorframe of Heimerdinger’s lab, your arms crossed and an exaggerated pout on your lips. Your boyfriend in question was in a familiar haunch, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled along his reports.

“Viktor,” you called out, your tone bordering on a whine.

“Mm,” he hummed absently, not looking up.

“I’m bored,” you said, stepping closer.

“Then perhaps you should find a hobby,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice dry but laced with a hint of teasing.

“Oh, I have one.” You rounded the workbench, slowly until you were hovering near him. “You.”

That earned you a glance, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned against the edge of the bench, letting your fingers trail over the scattered papers. “And you’ve been very bad at entertaining me lately.”

“I've been busy,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the stack of notes in front of him. “Some of us have responsibilities, you know.”

You scoffed. “I’m just saying you could take a break once in a while. I mean, when’s the last time we…” You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

He gave you a sideways look, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “You are incorrigible.”

“And you are stubborn,” you shot back, your fingers curling around the edge of the bench as you leaned in. “Don’t you miss me?”

His lips parted as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you slipped closer, your hand brushing against his thigh. “Come on,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “Just a little break. For me?”

Viktor let out a sigh, his head tilting slightly as he finally set the pen down. “You do not play fair,” he said, his voice tinged with mock disapproval.

“I never claimed to,” you countered, your grin widening as you stepped fully into his space.

He rose to meet you, quick to pull you flush against him. The action caught you off guard, and you let out a surprised squeak as a hand settled firmly on your hip.

“Careful what you wish for, miláčku,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his eyes locked onto yours. “What exactly do you expect me to do? Push you up against the workbench and have my way with you here, in the lab?”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it. “Maybe,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

He chuckled. “Unbelievable.”

“You like it,” you quipped, your hands sliding up to his chest.

He hummed, eyes flickering to your lips. “You’re lucky I do.”

Your hands quickly found their way around the white fabric of his tie, practically yanking him in for the kiss. Whatever lingering sense of responsibility he had was quickly tossed out the window, cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt leaving goosebumps in their wake. You responded by letting your own touch wander, fingers carding into his hair and giving a light tug, earning a small grunt from deep in his throat.

“You are a menace.” He grumbled, voice low, though his lips barely left yours long enough for it to carry any weight.

A giggle escaped you when his hand met the underside of your thigh and squeezed, you didn't hesitate to let him guide you up onto the workbench. The movement sent loose parts and sheets of paper tumbling to the floor, but neither of you paid them much mind as he moved to nip along your jaw.

“Me?” You countered. “What about you? This is what the Dean's assistant gets up to when nobody is looking?”

He froze for a moment, pulling back to meet your gaze. His expression was half amused, half threatening as one dark brow cocked.

“Do you want me to stop?” He challenged, hands finding purchase on your thighs giving them a squeeze.

“No—” it left your mouth too quickly, too eager, and heat crawled its way up your neck. “Not even a little bit.”

He pursed his lips in an attempt to hide the shit eating grin breaking across his face before he dipped back towards your neck. You could already feel yourself growing weaker at his touch, heat pulsing low in your belly, moaning meekly when his mouth bruised your neck.

As he pressed himself between your legs your hips bucked involuntarily to meet him, drawing a low sound from his throat. Your lips crashed together in another heated kiss, quickly growing desperate as his tongue swept across yours. Sensing your impatience Viktors grip shifted, pushing you down until you were flat against the benchtop. His teeth scraped your collarbone before he descended lower, leaving wet, hot kisses across your skin. His hands moved down your body, one roaming the curve of your hip while the other hooked into your waistband. His fingers hooked beneath the fabric, pulling at it with enough force to leave your heart hammering with anticipation.

His lips ghosted their way down, knowing just where to press to have you crumbling beneath him, hot breath tickling your skin. When he reached your hips you instinctively arched towards him, lifting just enough for him to slip your bottoms off in one quick motion. Despite the warm room your skin prickled, especially as his fingers traced idle patterns over your bare legs.

When he lowered to his knees in front of you a needy whine escaped your mouth, fingers already gripping the edge of the table. He smirked in response, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis.

“Patience” he murmured, but the teasing edge to his tone only made you tremble.

Moving more deliberately he nipped at the skin of your inner thighs, leaving small marks in his wake. Lanky hands gripped your legs, keeping them firmly parted as he inched his way closer and it took everything in you not to squirm. Finally he flattened his tongue against you, licking a lazy strip over your clit. Your body tensed, a grunt spilling from your throat. He was growing a bit hazy already himself, dragging his thumb experimentally through your folds. His breath audibly hitched when your arousal coated his skin, and he began slow circles on your puffy clit.

“Look at you,” his voice was gravelly now, slightly strained. “So eager.”

You whimpered in response, hips now bucking towards his touch. Your reaction seemed to pull a quiet, almost dazed chuckle from him before his lips found your thigh again.

“Who knew you were so desperate for the Dean's assistant.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he threw your own words back at you.

“Viktor-” you breathed, a mixture of frustration and need clawing its way out of you.

Before you could protest further two long fingers slid inside of you, the sudden fullness stealing the words from your mouth and replacing them with a keening moan. His thumb continued its maddeningly slow assault of your clit and he watched you with a hungry gaze. He leaned in closer again, breathing out against your skin as he kissed back towards your center. His movements were unhurried despite the way you writhed under him.

“Say my name again.” His voice was low, and you barely processed his words, your focus splintering when his fingers started moving faster. Still, you managed to respond, his name tumbling weakly past your lips. It seemed to satisfy him, a quiet hum vibrating across your skin as his mouth replaced his thumb. The first pull of his lips against your clit had you reeling, crying out as your head fell back against the table.

His name slipped from your mouth again, more fervently this time and he rewarded you by suckling gently, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled around him, his free hand now pressing against your hip to steady you, though you could feel his grip tightened each time you squirmed.

Your fingers found their way back to the brown threads of his hair, pulling lightly as you grind your hips into his mouth. His fingers curled inside of you at just the right angle, sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you and your walls clenching around him. This time, though, it was Viktor who moaned. It was muffled and low but it reverberated right into your aching cunt, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your head as your grip on his hair tightened.

He was practically drunk on you now, lapping you up as his own arousal burned hot and insistent, cock straining in his pants. The way you pulled him in, every moan only spurred him on.

“That's it-” he cooed in a low condescending tone, breaking between teasing licks and soft kisses to your clit. “So desperate, aren't you miláčku?” He purred, words dripping with such mocking sweetness that it made you shiver.

You couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but whine and curl against him, not with his fingers bullying into you,spreading you just right while his lips brushed against you over and over. You were unraveling, quickly.

“Making such a mess,” he teased. “and on my boss's desk, no less.” a small tisk left him and he smiled against you. “What would Heimerdinger think if he walked in right now?”

It only made you burn hotter, eyes pinching shut as a strangled moan ripped its way out of you, the coil in you snapping violently. He was quick to latch back onto your clit, tongue flicking as your orgasm rolled over you. It was so overwhelming your body twisted and writhed in an attempt to escape, your voice cracked as you wailed his name. Yet he was nothing if not stubborn. His arm tightened around your thigh, pinning you in place. He refused to let up until he had you on the brink of overstimulation, cunt drooling against his hand, tears pricking your eyes as your entire body convulsed under him.

Only once he was satisfied he'd drawn every last tremor did he finally relent. He slowed, pressing a few more soft kisses along your thighs. You were an utter mess, panting, boneless body thrumming from the aftershock while your head lulled. Viktor lifted himself from the floor, hands smoothing over your thighs as his gaze raked over you. A smug grin pulled at his swollen lips, hair disheveled, and heat rose to your cheeks again.

“You're stunning like this.” His tone was thick with satisfaction.

You huffed in response, a sheepish smile forming on your face. Forcing your tired body up from the bench your hands found his collar again, pulling him in for another kiss. He gladly accepted, the taste of yourself lingering on his lips. Quietly you pushed him back towards his chair, a playful glint in your eye.

“Your turn.”

©lilsworks 2024

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2203

Warnings: none

Summary: when Alexia is sick and more stubborn than ever, yo do everything possible to make her feel better. [Based on this request, though I did change it up a little to make it fit alexia better. I hope that’s okay.]

[prompts]

It was rather late when you wonder into the living room from your shared bedroom, spotting Alexia sat on the couch clad in one of your shirts and a pair of baggy sweatpants just where you'd left her a few hours ago. In her hands was a small notepad and pen, and her eyes were fixated on the TV in front of her where one of her last Barça matches was playing.

It was against Sociedad, and they'd won, of course, but win or lose Alexia always had to watch the match back. There was always something she was under the impression she could fix. Always something she or someone else could do better.

Analysing, is what she likes to call it. Obsessing is what it actually was.

Normally, you were content to leave her be. However, today, you weren't so keen to let her do so. She'd woken up somewhat under the weather this morning. Nothing too terrible. Just the sniffles and maybe a light fever if her flushed skin was anything to go by, but despite that all you wanted her to do was relax. Maybe take some medicine or eat some soup. But getting Alexia getting her to admit she was sick was like trying to find something to watch on Netflix; almost impossible and always ends in a fight.

And so you had simply watched. You'd watched as she'd stifle somewhat heavy sneezes into the back of her wrist. You'd watched as she'd swallow heavily before wincing and reaching for the warm tea you'd purposely left out for her. And you'd even watched as she laid her head back against the couch before rubbing at her temples. All you had wanted to do was to pull her into your arms and convince her to let you look after her. But you hadn't, despite how much it had pained you to do so.

With a quiet exhale, you make your way properly into the room and sit down on the opposite side of the couch. Due to the fact that she was still so enthralled with the TV, you're able to give her a quick once over without her noticing. She appears okay, you think to yourself as you watch her scribble something on her notepad. A little sleepy maybe, but that was to be expected after a long day at training. But despite your longing for that to be the truth, you knew for a fact that it wasn't.

Alexia was amazing at hiding the fact she was sick. The last time it had happened was almost six months ago, and you'd been none the wiser until Mapi had snitched on her one night after training.

Alexia had cursed at her. Mapi made a sarky comment in response and whilst the two of them had chased each other around the house yelling obscenities at each other, you'd been left to sit on the couch trying to figure out just how you'd been so oblivious. There were no signs. No symptoms. She went to work, slept and ate fine and was still her usual stubborn self at home with you. In the end, it taken Ingrid comforting you to realise you weren't at all oblivious and Alexia was simply just really good at pretending to be okay.

It tells you now that despite the nonchalance she was currently displaying on the outside, beneath the surface was an completely different story that for some reason she doesn't want you to see.

It wasn't that she doesn't trust you because you knew for a fact she does. You'd been through way too much together for that not to be the case honestly. It was just how Alexia was, So, so stubborn.

The room goes quiet a few moments later, and you flicker your gaze away from Alexia and over to the tv to see that it was now off. In the reflection of the screen you could see Alexia setting her notepad onto the table along with the remote and pen. You look back at her just in time to see her stifle a quiet sneeze into her the back of her wrist.

"Bless you." You murmur, speaking for the first time in what feels like forever. Alexia does no more than nod with a smile that looks more like a grimace, settling back against the couch with a quiet sigh.

You do no more than watch her for a second before turning around in your seat and holding out your arms. Alexia raises an eyebrow, and you were quick to shrug as you spread your legs, one on the ground and one laid flush against the back of the couch.

Right now, you had no ulterior motives, you just simply wanted to hold her. Seeing the fact that you were being genuine, Alexia crawls over to you and all but collapses against your chest. She curls up on her side, letting out a congested sigh as she secures her arms around your waist with her cheek flush against your sternum.

You wrap your arms tightly around her shoulders, your hand cupping the back of her head as you press a kiss to the top of it and let out a quiet sigh. No words were spoken. They didn't need to be. You both knew for a fact she wasn't feeling all too great but neither one of you were willing to admit it for completely different reasons.

Right now, however, you weren't too concerned. She was allowing you to hold her, to comfort her, and that was way more than she'd done the last time and for that you were incredibly grateful. As you lay there in a comfortable silence, you feel Alexia slowly but surely growing more limp against you. Her breathing slows; her arms loosen, and when you look down, you see that her eyes were now closed.

Not quite knowing if she was completely out for the count just yet, you make sure to keep as still as possible as you trail your hand up and down the length of her back. Her head shifts slightly, now buried into your neck, and you feel more than hear the slightly raspy breaths that hit your skin. It takes a further ten minutes before you were sure she was actually asleep, allowing you to reach for one of the many blankets you kept on the back of your couch before laying it over the both of you.

You tuck it beneath her body, making sure it covered all of her so that only her head was peeking out. Alexia doesn't make a peep as you scoot a little further down the couch so that you were properly laying down, and you sigh a little in relief as you allow your own eyes to close . If she didn't want to admit she was sick, or take any medicine or eat any soup, you were at least grateful she was allowing herself to get some much needed rest.

*

You wake up the next day feeling uncomfortably hot, your skin damp with sweat and your cheeks deeply flushed. There was a heavy weight on top of you, and as you force your eyes open and glance down, you see that it was Alexia and that she hadn't moved a single inch throughout the entirety of the night.

With a quiet groan, you yank off the blanket in hopes it would help cool you down a little. It doesn't, and it makes you realist that it wasn't the blanket that was making you hot, but a very fever induced Alexia.

You take a few seconds to contemplate your next actions before slowly and reluctantly slipping out from beneath her. You land on your knees, soothing Alexia's furrowed brow with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It's okay. I'll be back." You whisper hoarsely, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you rise to your feet and head through to the kitchen to grab the things you would need to help Alexia feel at least a little better.

You grab a cloth, soaking it with cool water before squeezing out the remanence and placing it onto the counter. You then grab some cold medicine along with some Tylenol, taking a mental note of the dosage Alexia was allowed to have as you carry everything back through to the living room.

Alexia was thankfully still asleep, although now she was laid on her back. Her breathing was so hoarse it almost sounded like snoring, and you can't help but smile slightly as you perch on the end of the couch and place the cool cloth on her forehead. Her brows furrow as her head turns a little to the left, and you place a gentle hand on her chest, rubbing it in gentle circles in hopes it would help sooth her.

It appears to do so, but her eyes do flicker open, her gaze hazy due to her fever.

"Hey, you," You murmur, stilling your hand before bringing it up and gently cupping her cheek. "You're pretty sick."

Alexia simply blinks as she brings a clumsy hand up to try and push off the washcloth on her forehead. You shake your head as you take her hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze and guiding it back down to her side.

"No, baby. Keep that on. You have a fever."

Alexia blinks again, her face scrunching up in mild discomfort as she lets out a single, hoarse sounding cough. You wince a little at the sound as you reach for the cold medicine, pouring the allotted dose onto the small plastic cup before holding it to her lips.

"No." She grunts, clumsily trying to bat your hand away. Her efforts prove futile as you move the cup before it could be hit, earning yourself a rather grumpy pout.

"I know," you sooth, reaching up to adjust the wash cloth slightly. "But it'll help you feel better, baby. You know this."

Alexia sniffles before once again shaking her head. She eyes the cup in your hand with a dirty glare, almost as though it was offending her by simply existing. You can't help but laugh a little despite the concern you were feeling.

"Alexia..." you trail off.

"No." She murmurs.

"Baby, come on," You shift a little closer, leaning down to press a kiss to her flushed cheek. The heat the greats you makes you all the more determined to get some medicine into her. "For me, please?" You weren't against begging if that's what was necessary.

Alexia hesitates before letting out a quiet whine. It was evident she didn't quite know what to do. She didn't want to take the medicine, but she didn't want to upset you by not talking it either. She stares at you with a pleading look on her face, her bottom lip quivering just slightly.

"I know," you whisper in understanding. "How about we come to a compromise?"

Alexia's gaze flickers over to the cold medicine you hands before looking back at you, almost as though she was saying anything but that.

"You don't have to take the cold medicine right now, but only if you take some Tylenol to help get rid of that fever." You say, and though Alexia hesitates again, this time she nods her head making you let out an almost silent sigh of relief.

Progress.

"Good girl," You praise genuinely, switching the cold medicine with the Tylenol pills, holding a single one to her lips. Alexia's lips part, and you set the pill on her tongue before helping her swallow it down with some water. "Good job. One more, baby." You assure, repeating the process once more before capping the bottle of water and taking her hand in your own.

Alexia squeezes weakly as she sniffles again, heavy lids threatening to close as she stares up at you with a pleading look on her face.

"What do you need baby?" You ask, trailing the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

Alexia wets her dry lips with her tongue as she reaches to loosely grab your shirt. "Cuddle." Is all she says, and though you internally wince about being once again trapped beneath your own personal furnace, you don't hesitate to nod your head as you slip back beneath her in the same position you'd been in before.

Alexia coughs hoarsely as she clings to your shirt, her cheek flush against your chest as her eyes once again slip closed. You use one hand to hold the still cool washcloth to her forehead as the other slips beneath her shirt to trail gentle circles on the too warm skin of her bare back.

"Thank you for letting me look after you." You whisper into her hair as you press your lips against the top of her head in a lingering kiss. Alexia says nothing, but she does crane her head up to press a kiss to your neck although it was more so just a brush of lips against the skin.

"Go to sleep baby. I've got you."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @xxnaiaxx @marysfics @liloandstitchstan

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀(4)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Profanity, illness, fluff, mentions of blood, no curse AU, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒: 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇

A/N: ik i haven't posted in a while (in my defence, school is taking up too much of my time to focus on anything else) but I got an off day and this was a quick write up (actually not) jhjhjhs wc - 3.7k. Hope you enjoy <3

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑

It's not usual for Sukuna to fall ill.

However, when he does it’s like all the pathogens known to mankind have taken it upon themselves to infect him.

This time, it isn't so different after all.

Since the break of dawn Sukuna's been awake. Body twisted in an uncomfortable manner under the duvets, the dim flicker of the night lamp proves to be a companion in the otherwise solitary room.

"Fucking hell," He curses under his breath, shifting his position to ease the persistent ache that ripples through his body; his joints, for some reason, seems to have tightened itself to his bones. Slight movement proving to be difficult. While the air conditioner functions properly, a sheen of perspiration aglows his forehead—he swabs the moisture only to meet with another thin layer marring his skin, seconds later. He forces open an eye, trying to contemplate why your figure beside him does seems so fuzzy. No sooner, he can clear the mystery does a wave of shiver runs down his spine. "What the hell is this?"

The question leaves his lips, followed by strange churn of his stomach and on instinct he smacks his hand over his mouth.

The next minutes are blurred. Literally blurred for the brief time as if his body is set on auto-pilot, beckoning him to rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom.

As the expunging liquids leaves his throat and down the toilet does his distinct vision returns. Lips apart, he breaths in copious amount of air while the room seems to spin in a whirl. Once his senses have returned, he reached to flush down the contents only to halt.

Is that... blood?

.

"Temperature 101.6 °F and he threw up in the morning."

Sukuna would rather be anywhere but here.

Sitting in a doctor's cabin with you while the former wouldn't stop with his ridiculous questions. Inadvertently, he rests his scalp against the wall, a searing pain ripping from his chest every once in a while, causing him to jolt as if he's being electrocuted.

"Any other discomfort? Body ache or...?" Shinzo trails off, continuing with the physical examination of his patient.

In response, Sukuna shakes his head negatively. However, you take it upon yourself to be honest, "He does and he coughed through the whole drive."

"Not the whole—"

"Keep your mouth shut." Harshly you rebuke, shooting a scornful glare his way.

His lips curl down, on the verge to retaliate before the notion of it seems indolent. He's already been through a series of blood test and chest X rays since the last thirty minutes, exhausting him beyond relief; no need to add more to the list. Therefore, his mouth forms a thin line.

Shinzo hums, finishing with the check up as he returns to his seat across you. Scribbling down on the prescription, a knock sounds from the door and soon his assistant strides in with a number of reports. While the doctor reads through the files of his current patient, your hypertension manifests itself upon your being when your eyes find your boyfriend.

Awfully muted, his throat must have chipped while he threw up—reason to the unusual bleeding. Shoulders raised in a manner, tints of red stains his skin and the groans that escalates from him whenever he attempts to move just causes you to wince. You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with the fabric of your jacket as the momentary silence in the room stretches. For too long that this might be the loudest silence, you’ve been in.

"Does he need to be hospitalized?"

"No—"

"I am not talking to you."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, just taking a mental note to give you an earful once all of this shit is over. It's so fucking funny. Oh, for heavens... he is perfectly fine. Well yeah, maybe some coughing fit but he can work through that for the day. No way did you call Kenjaku and call in sick for him. And he allowed that? Allowed you to drag you here as well? Alright, maybe he is sick.

Shinzo sets the files down, "Stage I Pneumonia," He concludes, straightening his posture and continues with the prescription. "No need for hospitalization but I am prescribing an antiviral— Tamiflu. Thirty minutes after breakfast, lunch and dinner for three days. Ibuprofen remains whenever he gets high fever and for the cough..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, ripping the sheet before passing it to you. "There's the Honiitus syrup, he can have 10 ml now. Rest, you know."

You nod, scanning the sheet in your grasp, irises halting on the specific medications. Craning your neck upto him, you ask, "Thank you and anything else?"

"Adequate rest and homemade food and he's good to go."

.

"Don't be difficult now, drink it."

"No."

Sukuna scowls at you and you scowl back. His eyes shifts to the tin medicine cup-cap in your hand filled with the amber coloured liquid which is supposed to heal his sore throat.

Currently, confined inside the four walls of his room, this place is 100 times better than that doctor's cabin and any hospital bed. He is sure just a whole day of sleep will make him back on his feet but you just have to be so... persistent.

"I am not asking, drink it." You extend your hand, bringing the liquid to his lips, only for him to turn his face away.

"And I said no," He spits back, eye twitching as he disregards your terse call. "Get that shit out of my face."

"This is for your own good, Sukuna. Stop acting like a child."

Sukuna only huffs in response, muttering a string of curses under his breath. No way is he letting you win this plus that thing in your hand smells disgusting.

“Absolutely not.”

You heave out loudly, "I don't want to force you."

That draws an almost amused chuckle out of him, he tilts his head—eyes shutting down and mouth clamping with a sound as another wave of nausea overrides him. Once composed, he reopens his eyes, challenge swirling in the crimson hues, "You think you can force me?"

“I don’t think so,” A mirthless smile curves into your own mien, you regard his dare with one of your own. "I know so."

"Sure."

"So are you going to be a good boy and drink it or do I need to make you?"

He scoffs, "Go on and try."

You pause for a second, bringing the cup down, gaze settled on him and for reasons unknown, Sukuna senses trouble. "Remember, you asked for it."

He shuts his eyes, rolling the irises behind the lids. You are just so funny sometimes. To think you can force him? Really? Even in this state, he can easily overpower you without even trying. Pick you up and throw you on the bed without any effort. But just for the jokes and laughs, he will let you get a head start.

In the reverie, he is when your warm palm grazes his jaw.

Here it comes.

Until it doesn't.

There's no hint of strength, no force, nothing as you let your palm trail over his skin. He opens his eyes and good lord's... You are close. Too close for his liking. Not that he is complaining. Of course. You can be closer if you want but wait– he is infected, right?

So you shouldn't be near him.

But it's like some hypnotism that's in play as he gazes into your eyes. With the added bonus of your soothing touch on his jaw, the pad of your thumb running on his lower lip—you pull down the flesh. He can see you more clearly than ever, from the slight furrow of your brows to the twitch of your lips and the light reflecting on your eyes.

It's clear.

So, so clear.

A heat spreads through his cheeks, mingling with the blood flowing in his veins and in seconds, his heart rate amplifies. Was it one of the side effects of Pneumonia? Shinzo obviously didn’t mention this but- fuck! You are here and the proximity only hitches the breath in his throat. Your rhythmic exhalation of air fans his skin and he swallows a lump.

Fuck!

He is truly sick.

You draw him in, "Open your mouth."

Before he can make sense of the situation, his body complies. Lips parting and soon you are pouring the medicine down his throat. He gulps, eyes still trained on you and yours on his.

You sit back on the bed and Sukuna blinks.

Wait– what just happened?

"That wasn't too hard now, was it?" You chuckle, pouring some water on the cup and swirl it.

"You– you tricked me."

"Oh? Did I?" Feigning innocence, you laugh again. "And what if I did? ...Oh, and don't make that face now, it doesn't taste that bad.”

“Taste it yourself then speak.”

“I am not the one who’s sick, you are” You muse, cleaning the cap and fastening the lid. He mutters an incoherent curse under his breath and you stand up. Straightening the duvet, you beckon him to lay down.

Something he does without any protest. However, his eyes flickers to the door for a brief second and now only, he is met with the yellowish eyes of a feline.

He raises an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

Kuro passes him a languid stare, his whiskers tremor once almost like its scowling. Only serving for the former’s vexation, the man waves him off without a thought. A low squeal is erupted from him and he is on the verge of pouncing of him when step in.

Picking up the cat, you bring it up to your face, “See Kuro, your papa is sick. So no trespassing here for a week.”

He blinks and answers you as though he understands what you mean.

You’re pretty sure he will try to barge in the second you leave but hey! What’s the problem to hold a little hope? Setting the cat down, you usher him out. Turning towards your boyfriend, you shoot him a heads up. One which he returns with a dismissive gesture.

“Get some rest in the meantime. I will be in the living room, just call if you need something.”

The lights dim out, curtain pulled over – creating the perfect atmosphere for an hour or more nap. Chirping of birds and the revving engines of cars from outside fades into background as comfort envelopes Sukuna amidst the sheets.

Despite it all, hollowness unfurls into his being.

The notion of silence returning again while he the room cloaks itself in darkness strikes an anonymous melancholy though his chest. A garter wraps around his neck, tightening with each passing second. And just like that the calm veneer crumbles into dust.

He pries an eye open and although the blackened room vanishes everything, its difficult to amiss your retreating figure. The haze increases, mouth sealed shut – he can’t speak. So, he extends an arm.

Wait-

The door closes shut.

.

He is walking through a mirage.

Surely, he has strolled through this area before. Once. Twice. Thrice. This is the fourth instance he is met with the same beige tinted cottages with scarlet thatched roofs.

He walks through the secluded lane across them.

Where is he going? He doesn’t know that. Just he is walking all alone. On his own. Just cause he has to.

Sky obscured with thick clouds, every once in a while does the thunder cracks. Lightening over the whole region. Sound so prominent, so daunting that it shakes the whole neighbourhood. For reasons, Sukuna finds an undulating spark tightening over his frame as every step forward becomes a struggle on its own. Down pouring heavily, the droplets causes his clothes to stick to his skin. Dripping down his ink stained countenance, clouding his vision. Breaths filled with raggedness, he wipes the moisture off- it isn’t removed.

He tries again and again and again.

Doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

How can anything ever work when-

Only a singular step he has taken and its like he is pushed off from a building.

Falling down, he doesn’t know what awaits him.

However, when he returns to his feet, the whole scenery has changed.

Instead of the murky countryside stretching with grasslands till the horizon, he is met with the picturesque view of a beach. Sparkling waves rises with all its glory, flaunting its sheer power before crashing on the sandy soil. Seagulls fly over the water bodies, their voice being a distinct reminder of this serenity. Murmurs of human life accompanied by distant tune from seaside eateries greet him. The gentle wisp of the sea breeze ruffles his hair, wafting sand into his eyes and nostrils; he doesn’t flinch.

When he looks around, everyone vanishes.

From the footprints on the soil to the sea castles to all the tourists. No one’s here.

The seclusion stalls on him only a second later. That’s when he realizes, everything’s truly gone.

The scorching sun blazes in fury, momentarily blinding him. Humidity persists in the air, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The waves crash again and he walks towards it. For some unknown reason-this feels right.

What’s the point of continuing anymore?

The sand prickles under his feet as he staggers towards the water. Sky high waves flicker and dance, crashing onto him and even though the musky salt should cause him to recoil, the intensity should strike some agony – he feels nothing.

Paving his way through the water until the very liquid surrounds him. All of this, just seems so empty.

“Sukuna,”

As if broken out from a trance by the mere call of his name, he turns.

Once again the vast expanse of the world does everything shift.

“You’re holding yourself well,” Jin remarks, wiping some specks of soap water from a plate. “Better than I expected you to.”

Sukuna’s eyes drift to take in the surroundings; standing across the kitchen counter of his apartment. His brother indulges in cleaning some utensils, a forlorn lilt of his lips prompts the former to raise an eyebrow. The room remains quiet only broken by the usual cling of the cutlery. From his periphery, he could see his nephew crouched down before Kuro, the boy ruffles the feline’s hair and now the cat should retaliate. Until it doesn’t.

“Taking care of Kuro as well,” Jin stares down at the duo. “Give yourself some credit y’know.”

Wait- since when did his brother know about the cat? And since when did Yuji turn to silent?

Gazing out the window- his eyes widen.

When did his neighbourhood change so much?

Without any explanation, Sukuna marches out of the apartment.

Greeted by a hoard of stones situated all over the grassland. Each of different shapes, sizes and perhaps… something just might be written on it. He doesn’t wait to read. Why should he doesn’t have his reading glasses with him?

Feet squashing the lifeless grasses, the leaves don’t crunch under his boots. His steps are steady, turning round a corner or more whenever he so pleases. Maybe this is the way out of the labyrinth of stones.

However, he halts before a particular stone.

For reasons unknown, Sukuna feels life slipping out of his fingers.

.

Sukuna wakes up with a jolt.

Eyes wide open, he breaths in through his mouth. Fingers trembling with the surge of adrenaline as his shoulders rise and fall in a cadence. Think coat of sweat mars his whole body, vest clinging to him like a second skin and the duvets covering his form renders him panting fit.

What was that? The beach? His brother? Those stones?

What- what was happening?

The eerie maze where he walked? Ran?

Wait- what occurred?

The ceiling lights blinds him with all the intensity, he shuts his eyelids, grunting out like a wounded animal. Some external voice rings out, too loud, too disturbing that he’s forced to press his palm over his ears. Touches guide his skin from his cheek to shoulders and a burst of repulsion compels him to push the person away.

Who the hell was it to hold him like that?

He’s got a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. Get the hell away from him.

However, instead of leaving him alone they are inching closer. He is met with the same touch again but the noise starts to clear as well.

“…Just a dream, you’re fine...”

Albeit begrudgingly, Sukuna removes his hand from his ears.

“…You’re home, calm down…”

It’s a gamble but he manages to reopen his eyes.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

Sukuna blinks, stupefied for the second.

There you are, standing before him while cupping his face in your little palms. Thumb running circles over the tattoos on his face, irises pooling with sheer concern, your eyes are solely focused on a subject. That subject being him.

He looks around.

Notably, nothing has changed. He is still in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the comforter pooled around his hips. From the traces of light pouring from the ajar window, he can make out how the light fades to dark as twilight tints the skies in hues of violet and blue.

“Hey,” You tap his cheek, urging him to face you, “Why aren’t you speaking?”

He only responds with long stare.

“Sore throat? Should I bring honiitus again?”

“Don’t even think about it, woman.” He barks, lips curling down in utter disgust as the very prominent taste of the damn syrup lingers in the back of his mouth.

Without making a fuss about his sudden outburst, you place your backhand over his forehead. “Mhm… you don’t seem to have fever.” You nod, “No ibuprofen, then.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Don’t celebrate too early,” You snort, a mirthful smile creeping onto you, “Tamiflu after lunch, remember?”

“Well genius, I didn’t have lunch.”

You snap your fingers, “I know, and there it is,” You point to a tray stacked with a lidded container resting on top of the nightstand.

He stares at it for a second too long, “What’s that?”

“Boiled vegetables and… no–” You flick your index finger in the air, a clear negative sign. “No more tantrums, you’ll shut up and eat.”

“As if,” He scoffs, twisting his body away from the utensil, he faces the wall as if the blank canvas seems more interesting than the food you cooked.

You sigh, sitting down on the limited space provided for you on the bed across him, “Just because I call you baby doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

“I am not enacting–  no, just– fuck,”  He curses under his breath, fumbling with the words too many times before he reaches a conclusion. “I am not acting like a god damn child.”

“Sure.” His eyes narrows down while he regards you. You stretch your arms, the joints cracking under the evident tension, “I added a few pieces of meat for taste, just so you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, retorts accumulating in his mouth. Just a second away from being unleashed before his gaze lands on a bowl and a pack of damp towels. “What happened with that?”

“What?”

“That.”

You glance at the way he points, taking a moment to contemplate before you answer, “I called Dr. Shinzo again, he said applying cold water towels will help with the fever so…”

Sukuna doesn’t know why, but he stills. “You were doing that all this time?”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

You tilt your head, “Maybe cause you need it?” He blinks and you find your patience wearing thin. Dismissing the confusion clouding his visage, you reach for the tray and pick it up. The clattering of the utensils due to your unstable balance rings through the whole room. “See, this won’t be that bad. Besides, it’s only for a few days, you can manage, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Aw c’mon, now,” You unfasten the lid, dipping the spoon. “I will feed you as compensation. How does that sound?”

He still doesn’t answer but with the way he doesn’t protest your offer, he hopes to let you know his affirmation.

.

Sukuna refuses to let you know that the boiled vegetable soup isn’t as bad as he thought.

.

Two days later

.

Credits to his above average immunity or whatsever but Sukuna is almost back to complete health in just a span of few days.

Finally.

Done he is with all the ibuprofen and every other shit he has to endure.

Never again.

As a ritual, only does the lunchtime ends with the empty hot pot of boiled vegetables being lidded back does Sukuna notice the uncharacteristic clattering of the utensils as you try to hold them in place.

“Give me that.”

Before you can reply, the tray is already being grabbed by your boyfriend as he sets it down on the nightstand.

“That needs to be in the kitchen.”

 Instead of gracing you with a proper answer, you are met with his crimson hues filled with something you can’t quite put a finger on. He urges you to sit with him and you comply. Feeling the need to for some reason.

“What?” You ask. His eyes darts down, following his gaze, confusion clouds your head for he is looking at your hands. “Huh?”

No sooner does the word leave your mouth than he grasps both of your hands on his own. You gasp yet don’t try to pull away.

Sukuna traces his thumb over the ridge of your knuckles to the tips of your nails. Turning them around, he draws every single contour lines on your palm as if he’s etching them onto his memory. It’s not the first time, he is holding your hand but it’s the first time he is noticing all the details. Like how a tiny callous has formed beside the edge of your thumb or how the tiny scar runs down the side of your ring finger.

His grasp tightens over yours, nothing to make it hurt. He would never.

He brings them up, pressing his lips over each and every, societally deemed, imperfection. At last, he turns to your backhand. This time, keeping his gaze stilled on you, he kisses your knuckles.

Perhaps, he’d have kissed you too but he doesn’t want the infection to pass.

Perhaps, you’ll know someday that… he is grateful.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @sweetpo1son @malazloje @tadabzzzbee @o-ikawaii

[icallhimjoey]

please bestie i want some soft love that's so second nature joe doesnt even have his attention with you whilst he gives it, please can you write something like that?

im not allowed to write right now because work and stress and boundaries and mental health etc etc so 🥰fuck you🥰 for this Wordcount: 1.8K

---

Cotton Soft Touches Gentle Voices Smooth

“What are you doing?”

You barely even heard Joe ask the question from across the room. You were so buried in whatever was happening on TV, focus completely zoomed in, mind somewhere else entirely. It took Joe another try for you to register the question directed at you.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” you turned your head to Joe before your eyes followed and for a moment, you just slowly blinked at him. Something about his face combined with the fact that it really took you a minute to find yourself back in the room made you smile. You were so cosy.

“Watching TV.” you answered innocently, because you were, eyes back on the screen already.

You were warmly nestled into the sofa, curled up, knees pulled in, all comfortable in your white ribbed cotton pyjamas. The throwpillows and blankets on the sofa created the perfect nest for you to happily curl up into.

Snug.

Soft ambient light from several lamps placed in strategic corners lit up the room just enough. If you stood and opened the curtains a bit more, you could still catch the faint and fading oranges of the sunset.

You were shower fresh, limbs covered by white clean cotton, nose still a little cold from the difference in temperature after getting out of the hot stream, and wet hair cool where it touched your skin.

But you felt so warm.

So fucking cosy.

When you’d walked back into the living room post shower, skin glossy and wet hair brushed back, Joe had installed himself at the dinner table with his laptop and a notebook.

He’d cleared away the mess from dinner and had turned his spot into a desk.

“Just need to do these e-mails,” he said after you’d let your arms curl around him from behind, arms that he grabbed hold of for a second, and you kissed the top of his head.

“Will only be a minute.”

You’d left him to it then, not minding that Joe had some work to do, just happy that he was in the same room instead of hidden away in what he called the office and you called the guest bedroom.

The ‘only a minute’ easily turned into an hour plus. Joe kept busy on both his computer and his phone, and would sometimes scribble some things down onto paper. There was a phone call or two, just quick “Sorry to call so late, but have you seen the...” and, “Hey, yea, I'm just reading it now, can I call you back in a minute?” type things.

Joe became background noise to you the second you snuggled up, and similarly the low sounds coming from the TV were just a nice reminder that Joe wasn’t alone.

But then, halfway through typing a response to an e-mail, something in Joe’s peripheral vision caught his attention.

Something moving slowly.

A little rhythmically.

When he peeked over his laptop screen and saw his girlfriend looking just about the most comfortable she’d ever looked, he didn’t even think you were aware that you were doing it.

In your layers of soft cream fabrics, head slumped to the side, Joe saw how you let your fingers softly skim over the area below your ear. They danced in circles and lines by your jaw, onto your cheek just a little before trailing back to your neck and—

That was what Joe always did.

That’s where Joe let his fingers draw shapes.

He would brush some hair from your face and would then let his fingertips linger, and it always made you hum. Made you relax. Gave you tingles that made your hearing go funny for a second.

Joe watched you lazily self soothe, and after a moment he decided that he’d actually done enough work. He could finish this e-mail tomorrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Watching TV.”

Your eyes were back on the screen before Joe could’ve even said anything about how you were touching yourself.

It was nothing sexual - not really. Not what he was witnessing right now anyway. He imagined it just felt nice.

He closed his laptop and got up from his seat, and without looking away from the TV, you moved to make space for Joe next to you, knowing he’d make his way over to press himself into your side.

Joe smiled as you moved blankets aside but kept that one hand near your ear, index finger mapping out your hairline towards the nape of your neck and back.

Instead of sitting down though, Joe pushed a knee into the sofa right next to your thigh and placed his fingers right were yours were, pushing them aside.

“I do this,” Joe said as he hovered over you, and you grinned as you let your head fall to the side more. “This is my job.”

Joe tickled his fingers along your soft skin, fresh and clean from the shower, and it only took a few seconds for you to sigh into his touch.

It was nicer when Joe did it.

“S’nice?” Joe murmured, still with just one knee on the sofa, and you hummed, eyes closed, nodding.

“Is nicer when you do it.”

“Yea?”

Joe leant forward to press a kiss to your cheek, getting you just under your eye, and then he moved to sit down next to you.

After a shuffle of throws, pillows, and limbs, you found yourself under Joe’s arm, curled up into his side.

You were comfortable before, but this would always be infinitely better.

“Hmm, you smell nice.” Joe commented after taking a moment to press his nose into your still damp hair.

“Yea? What do I smell like? Shampoo?” you whispered, voice not wanting to be any louder.

Joe easily bit, taking the invitation to get another real good whiff of you, his whole face now pressing into the crook of your neck.

You relished the attention, feeling fuzzy on the inside, heat blooming in your chest.

“Yea, sort of lemony… all fresh and clean.”

You blushed and were unable to hide your smile as you settled together for some TV watching, warm bodies pressed together, always fitting just right somehow.

Joe’s arm rested on the back of the sofa and bent around your head just right for his fingers to play. To touch the skin around your ear like you’d been doing before. To lightly trail and leave goosebumps down your whole body.

You could easily fall asleep like this, legs intertwined, head on his chest.

You lazily watched TV in silence for a while and if Joe was going to keep up the barely there shapes drawn down your neck you knew you actually would fall asleep.

It was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open, every blink a comfortable invitation to just keep them closed, but then the soft buzzing of Joe’s phone pulled you both from your haze.

Joe had your earlobe in between his fingers when he answered, and for a moment you were fully expecting him to get up. Move to where his laptop lay shut to open it once more to maybe finish something he hadn’t yet.

But when you tried to sit up a little for Joe to slip out of this cocoon you’d created, you felt his arm tense. He wasn’t letting go of the soft skin of your ear and to make sure you stayed put, he bent a leg to keep yours in place.

“It’s past ten, mate,” Joe answered and although you didn’t know who was calling him, just from his tone of voice you knew it wasn’t work related.

Joe gently rubbed your earlobe between his fingers and it felt so nice, it turned the world blurry as you unfocused your eyes.

When you relaxed back into him, sinking into the line of his body, Joe tilted his head down to look at you, barely catching your little smile but happy to see you were still enticed by whatever was happening on TV.

You weren’t though.

Not really.

Because as Joe spoke, he let his fingers continue what they’d been doing and if he thought you were able to try to follow his conversation as well as what you were watching whilst he made you melt with his touch, he was wrong.

You were bad at multitasking on a good day, and you knew Joe was too. The fact that he was somehow able to keep you lax and floating whilst simultaneously being mentally present for this phone call was impressive.

Joe laughed through casual conversation with a friend who had some questions about future plans they’d made. Their chat quickly turned into a hey-now-that-I’ve-got-you-on-the-phone catch up.

The low vibrations from his smooth voice were nice. You felt them where your face rested on his chest and relished in the tender love you were receiving that felt like a second nature sort of thing.

“No, I’m just at home. Watching TV.”

Not being mentioned suddenly made Joes fingers feel a little scandalous. Like the person on the phone wasn’t allowed to know you were there and how he was making you feel right now.

It got a little worse when you felt how Joe let his fingers trail down your neck to disappear into your pyjama top where they slowly caressed over your collarbone.

Your voice let a little noise escape when his hand snuck back up again, finding its way into your hair, and Joe chuckled lowly.

You let yourself balance on the borders of consciousness, half asleep with thoughts so far removed from where you were, yet half laser focused on Joe’s fingers and where they tickled your skin.

Unsure of when you’d drifted off, or when Joe had finished his phone call, the next thing you registered was a soft and low far away, “Have I done a plait?” that pulled you back into the room a little more.

With your eyes still closed you reached a heavy hand up to feel what was essentially just a twirled strand of hair, not a plait at all.

You couldn’t hide the little smile that spread at how adorable you thought it was that Joe’d just been playing with your hair and thought he’d actually done something.

He hadn’t.

He just made you feel loved, which was actually far better than a plait.

“Mhm,” you hummed approvingly, snuggling up into Joe more, understanding that it was likely much smarter to just get up and find your way into bed, but you’d quite literally never been more comfortable before.

“I’ve done a plait.” Joe whispered, gleefully proud of himself and making sure that you knew, that you’d heard him, give him some praise.

“Well done.” You lied, because he’d not done a plait, but that was okay.

You weren’t going to shoot yourself in the foot, because you were about to sink back into sleep and there was just one thing that’d make you feel even more comfortable.

That would send you right back off into sleep.

 “Do another.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[bunnycvnts]

rafe being told ‘i love you’ for the first time!

pairing: rafe x reader

warnings: fluffy as fuck

his arm was tightly wrapped around you as the two of you lay in his plush bed, the curtains pulled closed, and his LED lights shone a soft purple color. rafes favorite movie played on the tv, but neither of you were paying attention, too wrapped up in the sweet kisses shared between you. your lips felt like warm, soft pillows pressing into his; he could never get enough of the way you kissed him. like if you kissed him too roughly, he’d pull away. you were always gentle, making sure every emotion was felt carefully through your lips, comforting his soul. that wasn’t to say you weren’t fervent sometimes, but you kept a kind of softness he’d never felt before.

you two had spent the entire day swaddled in blankets, switching between movies, sharing kisses and sweet whispers, and making sure you were as close as possible. his hand was either around your shoulder or splayed across your stomach or hips, never letting you far from his reach. he’d been struggling lately, with harmful thoughts and feelings clouding his brain, and his only escape was his pretty little girlfriend, who hadn’t had a care in the world. being with you was like floating; his worries went away, and all he could see was you. a bright light in his sea of darkness.

he wasn’t sure why you were with him and was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. for you to realize he was psychotic, angry, and hard to be around, like everyone else had. that you’d turn around one day and not look back, leaving him behind without a second thought. he wasn’t shy with his arguments or anger; he was never in the right mindset to hide it from you. but you’d never questioned him, only ever tried to calm him. you’d saved many people from feeling his wrath and saved him so many lectures from his father. you weren’t trying to change him; he knew that. you were just trying to ease the burden he felt weighing on his brain.

days like this were his escape with you. spending hours feeling your soft skin pressed against his, your warm breath on his neck anytime you’d whisper about the movie or giggle at his reactions, your fingertips trailing down his shirtless chest, tracing random scribbles and hearts onto his skin. the way you’d blush anytime his hands crept a little too close to your ass or wiggled their way under your shirt to feel your warmth. it was practically a fever dream for him. no one had ever spent so much time carelessly lying around with him, not worrying about what they’d do next, only enjoying the moment with him. the first girl to make him feel something without having to involve sex.

he was broken from his thought process by your fingers tapping against his cheek.

“whatcha thinkin’ about over there?” a soft smile was on your lips, and he sat up a little to get a better look at you.

“cheesy shit. got my mind all messed up, ya know?” his response had made you giggle—that redness he loved returning to your cheeks. you pursed your lips as a silent gesture to kiss you. his lips met yours with a quick, gentle touch, and he only pulled away slightly to look at you. you were looking right back at him, a look in your eyes he couldn’t pinpoint.

suddenly, you sat up, throwing your leg over his hip to straddle him, and ran your fingers through his hair while his hands met your hips and squeezed lightly. “you’re so handsome.”

your fingertips trailed his cheek, and your thumb pulled on his bottom lip. he groaned and rested his head back against the headboard. his stomach fluttering at your words and the softness they held.

“stop it.” he knew you meant it, but hearing it turned his heart into mush, and he could only let himself be so soft.

“i love you.” the confession spilled from your lips before you could stop yourself. rafes head snapped forward to meet your gaze, looking at you confused. it was your turn to groan, and you pushed yourself off of his lap.

“stop, don’t look at me like that.” you ran your hands through your hair, feeling somewhat distraught at his reaction. had it been too soon? did he not feel the same way? you peeked over at him, doing a double take at his watery eyes.

“hey, i’m sorry; i shouldn’t have just thrown that on you. i can go.” you rushed to sit up and get off the bed, but were stopped when he pulled you into him. he kissed you with all the softness he could muster, both of his hands on your cheeks.

“no. i’m sorry. no one has ever said that to me before. no one i thought really meant it, at least. i love you, too. seriously. as mushy and corny as that sounds.” his confession saddened you but warmed you at the same time.

you rested your head on his chest, pressing small kisses to his skin and muttering little ‘i love yous’ after each one. blood rushed to his cheeks, and little laughs fell from his lips when you’d kiss ticklish spots. he felt emotions he couldn’t describe, but his heart was racing and his stomach felt like a zoo was shuffling around in him.

he pulled you up by the collar of your shirt and kissed you again, whispering something against your lips.

“my fucking girl.”

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @cxsmiclore @mousie101 @ditzyzombiesblog @judessangel

[lilsmv1]

orange cat - OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: What happens your neighbour's adorable orange cat starts to pay you daily visits?

Word count: 1k

London welcomed me with its perpetually gray skies and damp weather, a stark contrast to the sunny shores of California I had left behind. As I settled into my new apartment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness for the warmth of home.

For the first few weeks, I hardly saw my neighbours, lost in the shuffle of unpacking and adjusting to my new surroundings. But one persistent visitor soon made himself known – a vibrant orange cat that would perch itself on my windowsill, peering into my living room with curious eyes.

At first, I found it amusing, but as the days went by and the cat became a regular fixture, I grew concerned. Surely, someone must be missing their furry friend. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I scribbled a quick note on a yellow post-it, explaining the situation and tucking it under my neighbor's door. "Your cat seems to be visiting me often," I wrote. "Just wanted to let you know in case you're worried."

Days passed, and I received no response. I wondered if my neighbor had even seen the note or if they simply didn't care about their wandering pet.

But then, one evening, there was a soft knock on my door.

Opening the door, I found myself face to face with a handsome young man, his expression sheepish yet friendly. He held a small box in his hands, the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting from within.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he began, his accent unmistakably Australian. "I'm Oscar, your neighbor from next door. I just wanted to apologize for my cat bothering you. And, well, to say thank you for looking out for him."

I couldn't help but smile at his genuine demeanor. "No problem at all, your cat is lovely, I was simply worried you might wonder where he was" I replied, accepting the box of pastries. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Oscar" I replied, introducing myself as well.

"Do you maybe wanna come in? I can make us some tea or coffee and we could eat the pastries you brought?" I added.

"I would love that!" replied Oscar with a warm smile.

From that moment on, Oscar and I struck up an unexpected friendship. We bonded over our shared love for his cat and baked goods, finding comfort in each other in the big city of London, so far from our respective homes. Oscar told me all about his work as a Formula One driver, and I could not help but be in awe of how passionate he was. I, on the other end, told him about the teaching opportunity that got me to move here, and I would often tell him cute stories from my classroom.

As weeks turned into months, our friendship deepened. Oscar proved to be not only a generous neighbor but also a reliable friend. Whether it was helping me fix a leaky faucet or lending a hand with heavy groceries, he was always there when I needed him.

Our weekly movie nights, whenever Oscar wasn't out of the country, became a cherished tradition, a welcome break from our everyday lives. We'd take turns picking films, debating over classics and hidden gems late into the night.

But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, I couldn't ignore the growing feeling in my chest whenever I saw Oscar. He was kind, funny, and undeniably attractive – qualities that drew me in despite my best efforts to keep my distance.

One day, as I scrolled through Twitter during a lazy afternoon, I stumbled upon something that caught me off guard. Pictures of Oscar, smiling brightly alongside a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.

A pang of jealousy shot through me, surprising in its intensity. I realised then, with startling clarity, that my feelings for Oscar ran deeper than I had initially thought. But it was too late – I was now pretty sure he was already taken, and I had no right to interfere.

Unable to shake off my newfound jealousy, I began to distance myself from Oscar, avoiding our usual interactions and retreating into solitude. But my sudden coldness did not go unnoticed.

One evening, there was a sharp knock on my door, and when I opened it, there stood Oscar, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern.

"What's going on with you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with hurt. "You've been acting strange lately, and I want to know why."

"I'm not" I replied defensively.

"Come on, don't give me that bullshit" replied a rather angry Oscar. "You've been avoiding me. Have I done something?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability.

I hesitated, the weight of my emotions heavy in the air between us. But then, with a surge of courage, I found myself blurting out the truth.

"I... I think I'm in love with you, Oscar," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "And seeing you with someone else... it hurts more than I thought it would."

For a moment, there was silence, the tension palpable. But then, to my surprise, Oscar stepped forward, his eyes burning with intensity.

"God, you can be so dense sometimes" he breathed

"Hum, excuse me?" I replied, clearly offended.

"The girl you're talking about, that's my new PR manager."

"Oh..."

"I thought I was being fairly obvious as to how I feel about you." he said softly, reaching out to cup my face in his hands.

And with that, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a heated and passionate kiss, leaving me breathless.

[heavenlymorals]

Details I've noticed about Arthur Morgan Part 2 cuz you guys seem to be devouring the first one 👍🏼 :

- Him and Dutch share the same sense of humor- dry, sarcastic, and usually at another's expense.

- However, both Arthur and Dutch get really annoyed whenever they direct that same humor to eachother.

-When Dutch and Arthur quick draw, they both turn their bodies to make them a smaller target. They are the only ones in the gang that do this in idle animation.

- Arthur's journal is filled with many half done, not fully rendered drawings. Some pages have one small drawing on them and are then skipped over. Other drawings are just shapes and strokes that represent the schema of an animal or person. It's very realistic to an actual sketchbook and not the Pinterest dream sketchbook.

- Arthur, prior to Hosea's death and Micah overturning his position as Dutch's right hand man, is always there whenever a big decision is being there and is asked for feedback too. Arthur isn't just a member of the VDL gang, he's a leader of it too and people seem to forget that.

- Arthur is very emotionally tough and when I mean very, I mean VERY. He doesn't cry when Sean dies, someone he considered like a little brother. He doesn't cry when Lenny dies, someone he probably saw as a son. He doesn't cry when Hosea dies, someone he saw as a father figure. Of course, they were all in high stress situations that could've stopped an emotional reaction, but even later when he can process things, he doesn't cry.

- There is one time in the game where we see Arthur tear up from emotional pain and that is when he speaks to the nun about his life and what he could've had. Still though, he doesn't cry. It says a lot about him.

- In the final journal entry, though, we see a splotch next to the entry on the empty left page that looks like a tear drop. Take that as you will.

- Arthur's hand writing becomes much more spaced out, messy, and words will be scribbled out more often the sicker he gets. Shakey hands.

- He's very witty and quick with insults, like fascinatingly quick.

- He is pretty intelligent but does allow others to dumb him down like Hosea- as the gang's strongman, this could be so the people they work with would put more emphasis on Arthur's strength so he can be more intimidating.

- The picture that Jack gives Arthur has the male figure wearing a black gambler hat like Arthur and John didn't wear a hat in chapter two. Jack probably saw Arthur as his father figure during that point, not John.

- Does want Jack to learn responsibility ("About time you started to earn your keep" "You got to stick at things, Jack") , but he's very kind, patient, and reasonable considering how young the kid was.

- He doesn't let women carry their luggage if he can do it for them (Mary, the nun)

- He's casually mean or teasing to the younger men and generally polite to the women but he will go off on them in the same way if they anger him enough.

- I wish he was a real person

- I'd like to drink a beer with him

- For I love him ❤️

[ticklishfiend]

Distracted

Lee!Viktor x Ler!Jayce

Word Count : 4761

Summary : Jayce can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to tickle Viktor. When they get tipsy together one night, he doesn’t have to imagine anymore.

a/n : i love them. sm. also, two things: 1) this is lowkey an out of character fic but i realized that it’s kinda hard to write a tkl fic with lee!viktor and it not be a lil ooc so bear with me LMAO, and 2) i said i was working on a lee!jayce fic, and i still am, but it’s a little longer and more thought out than this one so again. BEAR WITH ME! okok love yall hope u enjoy

this is a tickle fic! not nsfw, but don’t like don’t read 😝

…

It’d be so easy. Almost too easy. Viktor would kill him for it, probably yell at him for 45 minutes for breaking his concentration with something so stupid and childish. But it would be worth it just to hear the cute sound Viktor would make when Jayce finally dug his fingers in sides, crawling up to his ribs and playing them like a piano, maybe even drill his thumbs into his hips just to hear him cry–

“What about this one?”

Viktor’s voice broke through his concentration, and Jayce nearly jumped. The slim man looked over his shoulder at Jayce, bringing his arm down from the top of the black board. Viktor has been writing near the top of it for a few minutes now, working on an equation as he mumbled under his breath. His arm had been outstretched over his head so he could reach, and with his whole side exposed like that, his ribs and underarms were on beautiful display for Jayce to stare and daydream.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Jayce had only been thinking those thoughts instead of acting on them, with the way his fingers itched and curled into the leg of his pants just looking at Viktor like that.

Shit, he should probably focus now. Jayce did a quick once over of the equation, making sure he’d have something of substance to say in response. “Uh, yeah it–it looks fine.” Ah yes, a very substantial addition, Jayce Talis. ‘Idiot.’

Viktor quirked a brow. “Just…fine?”

“Yeah I mean it’s…” Jayce cleared his throat, looking over it once again and finally taking in what Viktor was actually doing. “I don’t see anything wrong with it. And once we get it fitted into our earlier calculations, it should be ready to rock-and-roll.” Jayce cringed internally, ‘Oh my god shut up.’

Viktor still looked suspicious, as Jayce rarely seemed caught off guard like that. He turned back to the blackboard, “Well I think it could still use some touch-ups. You should come and help me, my brain is frying from staring at it for too long.”

Jayce swallowed. Dammit. He’d been perfectly content to watch from behind, it was easier to hide his self-made fluster at that angle. But…right fucking next to him? Where it’d be even easier to reach out, pinch a bottom rib, make Viktor squirm and laugh and—

“Jayce. Any day now would be preferable,” Viktor deadpanned, not even sparing a glance as he continued to look at his equation. 

“Right, right,” Jayce hopped to Viktor’s side, really trying not to be any sort of distraction in his state. Now next to Viktor, watching through his peripheral, he saw Viktor once again reach up and make a few scribbles with chalk. Above his head. Exposed.

Jayce bit the inside of his cheek, snatching a piece of chalk himself just to have something to hold onto. Why was this hitting him so hard right now? Usually, moods like this were so much easier to suppress, easier to forget about when he finally got himself lost in their work. But right now, their work was more mundane, small touch-ups on calculations they’d been meaning to get to for ages. It had been a very dull day in terms of their work, but inside Jayce’s head, a boring work day meant more time to think about Viktor. 

Whether Viktor was…sensitive. Ticklish. What kind of laugh he’d have. Would he giggle? Voice light and breathy, gently squirming and batting at Jayce’s hands while his face flushed at the feeling. Or would he cackle? His body shaking through the force of his laughter, having to clutch onto his own stomach like his reactions were being ripped from him. Maybe he’d beg Jayce to stop, maybe he’d be laughing so hard he’d be unable to even form words around his giggling, maybe he’d wail—

“Jayce, are you quite alright?” Viktor asked, his brow pinched in suspicion as he gave Jayce the one-over. “You’ve been…very distracted today. Not that I don’t appreciate the reprieve from your usual yapping, but your behavior does seem a bit unusual this evening.”

Viktor had taken to leaning against the board instead now, which was a lot easier on Jayce’s overwhelmed mind to take in. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess,” Jayce gave his nothing-answer and turned back to the board to make a few marks, hoping Viktor would brush it off like he normally does. Or at least, like he used to do. 

He’d been more inquisitive of Jayce lately, actually asking personal questions and even answering some of Jayce’s own. They’d gotten to know each other a lot better because of it, which was great, but it was also coming to bite Jayce in the ass right now since Viktor was able to notice that something was so off with him.

Viktor turned toward the lab’s window, his gaze on the moon shining bright through the glass. There was no telling when it had gotten dark outside, they both tended to very purposefully not look at the clock when they were at work. 

Jayce heard him sigh. “It’s late,” Viktor droned, rubbing a tired hand down his face. “I wouldn’t mind taking a break if you’re also interested?”

Jayce’s brows raised in surprise, a little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re asking me if we can take a break? Where’s my partner and what have you done with him?”

Viktor gave a small blink-and-you-miss-it grin, “He’s off drowning himself in a river. His brain turned to mush after staring at one equation for nearly 3 hours.” He grabbed his cane that had been leaning against the board, before pointing a finger at himself, “New Viktor, however, just remembered the alcohol he stored in the kitchen months ago for dull days like this. And he’s inviting you to share a drink.” Viktor poked Jayce in the chest, before turning toward the kitchen.

Jayce smiled brightly. “New Viktor’s got some good ideas.”

—

They ended up drinking just a bit more than either had expected to. They weren’t drunk, per se, but their combined buzz had them talking a lot more open than usual. Their conversations felt so easy tonight, and Jayce was starting to wonder why they didn’t drink together more often.

“And the next thing I knew, I had a kitten stuffed down my shirt and a crazy lady passed out on the floor behind me,” Viktor chuckled around the rim of his glass, taking a small sip before continuing, “Little moments like that make me glad I got out of the Undercity when I did.”

Jayce snickered openly, clutching at his glass through the laughter. “I don’t know Vik, that sounds like a great time to me.”

“That’s just because you're a Piltie with minimal Undercity experience. Trust me, a kitten down my shirt was the least of my worries.”

Jayce’s laughter simmered, but his grin never left. He gestured with his glass, “So, what’d you do with it? The kitten.”

Viktor shrugged. “I carried it in my shirt all the way home. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it with that woman, even at my young age,” He said, before giving a little chuckle at the new memory. “Actually, it was hell getting it back home. I didn’t take it out of the shirt because, before she collapsed, she said she had guys that’d be after me for it. I was naive to believe anyone would recognize the kitten on my walk, but I was young so I’ll give myself that grace.”

Viktor shook his head through a smile, taking another small sip. “But my god, if that thing didn’t tickle me the entire walk home. I must’ve looked insane. Some–hehe–some crippled kid with a lump in his chest, giggling to himself, ” Viktor couldn’t hold back his own snickers at the thought, but of course still scolded Jayce nonetheless. “Stop laughing, this was serious to me at the time.”

When that word, that one word he’d been thinking of all day, rolled out of Viktors mouth, Jayce felt his heart leap. His skin nearly prickled. And now he’s tipsy, and there was no way he could hold back on making sure they stayed on that topic for as long as he could hold it. “So what I’m hearing is, Boy Genius is too ticklish to handle a little kitten in his shirt.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “I was a child. And I doubt you’d fare any better in that circumstance, even at your grown age.”

Jayce held his hands in surrender. “I never said I’d do any better. But it sounds like you think you aren’t ticklish anymore, which I think is total bullshit.” Jayce couldn’t hold back his smirk if he tried. “Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve just given me a way to get whatever I want in the lab. Maybe I should thank you?”

Viktor pointed at Jayce with the hand he held his glass, a small bit spilling onto the couch between them. “If you dare try something like that, I’ll go back and convince the counselors to have you arrested again.”

Jayce laughed, “Arrested for what? Tickling you?”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched upward, “For a hate crime. You can’t just take advantage of a cripple like that and get away with it.” Viktor claimed teasingly, before growing suspicious of Jayce’s wandering glare. He was staring hard at the glass Viktor held between them, a little smirk on his face. “What? What are you looking at?”

Jayce clicked his tongue, “Hold on, can I just—” He interrupted himself reaching his hand towards the glass, and Viktor was so caught off guard by the action (and a little slower to thinking now, thanks to their couple of drinks) that he let Jayce take the glass from him without any protest.

Jayce took one long swig of the drink, sighing hard as he set it down on the table next to them. 

Viktor’s brow furrowed hard. “What the hell was that?!”

“That was me getting your glass out of the way,” Jayce’s smile was wide and his eyes alight with mischief, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So I could test out a little theory.”

Viktor’s mind was working slow, but not that slow.

“Oh nonono , Jayce—Jayce, whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it.”

“Why?” Jayce wiggled his fingers as he scooted closer to Viktor, who cornered himself against the arm of the couch. “Nervous you’ll get caught lying?”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor said, “But I cannot promise you won’t get hit.”

“Ohoh that is a price I am more than willing to pay,” Jayce chuckled, before darting a hand out to sneak a quick pinch to Viktor’s side. The reaction was immediate. His partner choked on a sound in the back of his throat as he arched away from the fingers.

“Jayce I swear on everything—”

“C’mon, I never get to see you laugh. If it hurts, I’ll stop?” Jayce offered, and Viktor would appreciate the kind thoughtfulness of that statement had he not been too busy trying to push Jayce’s hands away from his torso. Unfortunately, the nervous smile on Viktor’s face during the entire tussle really took away any bite he tried to muster in his words.

“If it hurts, I’ll k-kill you,” Viktor’s voice wavered on the word as Jayce pushed a hand through and pinched his rib, latching on tight but not yet actually tickling. He just…held it there.

Viktor gripped onto the wrist at his ribs, pushing and pulling and trying everything to avoid his own humiliating downfall. He was already struggling to keep anticipatory giggles at bay, and Jayce was beaming at the reaction.

“You ready?”

“No, nonono, Jayce—”

“Three.”

“I’ll throw all your patents into the river!”

“Twoooooo.”

“Consider all your hard work a gross, soggy mush!”

“One!”

“Jayce, no-! aUgchk—n-nohohoho!”

Jayce finally put his fingers to work, gently pinching at that bottom rib incessantly. Viktor did exactly what Jayce thought he would. He giggled hard, arching in a way that curled his body around Jayce’s hand, and slapped at his wrist like it’d do anything to push him off.

“Y-You—You idiohohot-!” Viktor’s words faded seamlessly into another bout of laughter as Jayce brought his other hand around to squeeze nicely at Viktor’s side. Viktor squirmed in his hold, and Jayce thought he was going to melt.

Viktor looked so cute like this. Flushed from alcohol and laughter, smiling wide and desperate, squirming in Jayce’s hold like his every touch was causing a new reaction. Just cute cute cute.

“Nohot cute you freheak!” Viktor said around his giggles, making Jayce flush himself. Did I say that out loud? 

Well. Might as well double down, right? “Only thing to make this any cuter would be a kitten popping outta your shirt, huh?”

Viktor visibly blushed a tinge darker, “Okahay okahay! Stohop! I cahaha-ahahah!” He couldn’t even finish his sentences. Jayce was hooked.

But he was also merciful. At his command, Jayce declawed from Viktor’s ribcage and hovered above as he watched Viktor pant and come down from his giggle fit. When Viktor caught his eye (and that doting look he got when Viktor did just about anything these days), he shoved Jayce’s face away playfully with an all too smiley groan. “I hope you got what you needed from that study, because you are never gonna try that again.”

Jayce snickered, leaning back to his spot on the couch. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says the guy who’ll stick a cane up your ass if you try it,” Viktor leaned against his own respective arm of the couch. 

Jayce grinned back. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

—

Hooked couldn’t begin to describe the feeling. Jayce was enthralled. Enamoured. He couldn’t stop thinking about that night, brief as it may have been. He didn’t want to go overboard with Viktor, of course, the man was weird about touch as it is. Jayce was lucky he’d been able to get his hands on him at all. But that hardly mattered. Because Jayce got to hear what Viktor sounded like when he felt ticklish, and now that he knows that sound, it might as well be on a record scratch repeat in his brain at all times.

Jayce’s leg shook anxiously under the desk. He wasn’t nervous, more just…unfocused, at the moment. Yes, partly from all of that, but mainly from the chaos of notes and blueprints and paperwork littered in front of him. That boring night must’ve just been the calm before the storm, because once they were able to get all those equations pieced together, the workload became fucking endless.

And of course Jayce loves their work, all the passion and hours they both devote to creating what is essentially their whole future. It’s a beautiful thing what happens in their lab. Astonishing. Awe-inspiring.

…and also ridiculously stressful. 

Jayce must’ve been working for nearly 24 hours at this point. His legs felt like lead, and his shoulders ached from the past few hours of leaning over this desk and working working working. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’s had to stretch his hand out from all the notes he’s written. 

He’s fucking exhausted.

And what’s worse? Jayce knows that Viktor’s somehow been awake for even longer than him.

Jayce cleared his throat. “So uh…it’s gettin’ late, Vik. Wanna call it a night?”

Viktor was hunched over his own desk, goggles on as he meticulously worked over their project. Jayce knew if those goggles were off, he’d be able to see Viktor’s eyes trying their damndest not to slip shut from exhaustion. “Not now. This needs a few touch-ups.”

“And it can’t wait til tomorrow because…?”

“Because if I break my concentration, I may forget where I was in my progress by tomorrow,” Viktor said, before waving Jayce off. “Go, get some rest. You deserve it.”

“And you don’t?” Jayce could hear his voice get defensive, on Viktor’s behalf no less. The guy never gave himself a break, it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d been the one to suggest their break just two weeks ago. Jayce sighed, “I miss ‘New Viktor.’”

At that, Viktor paused. Lifting his goggles to his forehead and throwing Jayce an incredulous look. “Seriously, Jayce?”

Jayce pouted with a shrug, leaning against the back of his chair. “Yeah. New Viktor would’ve had a drink with me hours ago and then gone to bed at an appropriate time,” Jayce grinned. He gave an exaggerated, almost theatre-like sigh, “I guess this Viktor just isn’t as fun.”

Viktor pursed his lips at Jayce, clearly holding back a little smile at the banter. “I’m plenty of fun. This is fun,” he pointed to the contraption on his desk he’d been fiddling with.

But Jayce stayed with the bit, humming dreamily. “Ohh, New Viktor, how I miss him. He drank with me. We shared funny stories and laughed together,” Jayce smirked, getting a fun little idea. “Yeah, I remember him laughing a lot that night, actually. And it wasn’t just from the jokes he was telling.”

Viktor scoffed a half-laugh, shaking his head. “You sound sleep-deprived.”

“Noooo, my head’s pretty clear right now, actually. I remember it so clearly. Gah, New Viktor was such a riot,” Jayce sat his elbow against the desk and propped his head against his hand, giving Viktor the cheekiest grin. “He even let me tickle him. Can you believe that?”

“I did not let you do anything, don’t go twisting the narrative,” Viktor pointed at Jayce, his face losing the battle against the smile he’s been fighting. “You probably have 100 pounds on me, you practically assaulted a disabled man against his will.”

Jayce ignored him. “If I remember correctly–”

“You don’t remember a thing.”

“-he was very ticklish, even though he tried denying it at first. How silly is that? If you deny it, you know someone’s just gonna try it out and prove you wrong anyway,” Jayce said, before humming in fake contemplation, squinting and tilting his head. “Huh. Are you ticklish, Viktor?”

Viktor tapped his finger against the desk in a steady rhythm, now avoiding eye contact with Jayce. “You are ridiculous. We are grown, and I need to work.”

“Actually, you need to stop working and go to bed,” Jayce stood from his seat and walked to Viktor’s desk (who still refused to meet his gaze), leaning an arm against the top and towering over Viktor. From the new angle, he could see a little blush over Viktor’s face and ears, how he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling anymore. Cute. “You gonna do that, or am I gonna have to answer my own question since you avoided it.”

Viktor glanced at Jayce with a side-eye. “You know the answer. And you’re being childish. If I wish to work, you cannot force me to stop.”

“Actually,” Jayce grinned, before hooking his fingers under Viktor’s arms (which were so conveniently sat atop the desk, leaving his underarms open and exposed) and digging in, getting an immediate reaction from Viktor who flung his back against the chair and choked down a laugh with the funniest sound. “I think I totally can.”

Viktor squirmed, his good leg digging its heel into the ground as his arms shook against their spot glued tight to his sides. His head was ducked down to hide his face, but he kept making these choked off little sounds like he was trying his hardest not to laugh (even though they both knew how ticklish he was, it was such a useless battle that Jayce’s heart burned in adoration).

“Viktorrrrr,” Jayce sung, his fingertips travelling just a tinge lower to Viktor’s upper ribs, and that’s what did the scientist in. Viktor let out a laugh that sounded like it surprised even himself, before tittering helplessly and falling into a giggle fit he couldn’t fight if he tried. 

“Nohoho! Not again, Jahahayce–!” Viktor shook his head against his laughter, slapping at Jayce’s arm as deeper belly laughs started escaping him. Jayce could almost hear in Viktor’s laughter how he started to feel the helplessness take over, how he couldn’t get out of this if he tried. “Why?!”

“Because I care about you. You need sleep even more than I do, Vik, and you aren’t gonna do it unless I make you,” Jayce said, like he wasn’t tearing Viktor apart beneath him, like Viktor wasn’t coming undone under his fingers and squirming like a worm on a hook. 

Viktor laughed harder at his words, “Cruel!”

Jayce couldn’t help but snicker himself. “Cruel? I’m helping you here. Just tell me you’re gonna go to bed and this is all over!” 

Viktor shook his head, “Let me work! Evil fucking–ggahahaha shihit!” He lost his words as Jayce found his lower ribs right above his sides, Viktor’s hands grasping onto Jayce’s wrists like a lifeline. 

“You are so stubborn,” Jayce chuckled. “I can go all night, y’know. You aren’t winning this.”

“Jdi do píči!” Viktor cursed in his native tongue around his giggles, and Jayce felt himself blush at the sound. Oh, Viktor’s gonna be the death of him.

“Gonna assume none of those words were ‘Yes, Jayce! Of course I’ll go get some well-deserved rest, thank you for helping me!’ Would I be right?”

Viktor didn’t respond, only laughing harder as Jayce slipped his fingers back up into his armpits. His head was thrown back now, and Jayce could see his Adam's apple bobbing through this laughter. His cheeks were flushed, eyes shut tight from the smile searing his face, and god the crinkles his eyes were making just made Jayce’s brain glitch. “C’mon, Vik. I know this is tiring you out.”

“You don’t know shit!” Viktor cackled, clearly confident he could withstand this. Well, at least before Jayce slipped one hand out and started tickling the side of Viktor’s neck and ear. Viktor seemed to stumble over his own laughter, his brain fuzzing around the new sensation as he slipped in and out of belly-laughter and high-pitched giggling. The side of his head slammed against his shoulder to block the sensation, but Jayce’s fingers were already at work, scribbling and scraping against those horribly sensitive spots that Viktor clearly couldn’t stand, if his incessant cursing in another language wasn’t enough to prove it.

“Oh? This a good spot?” Jayce teased, now bringing his other hand into the mix on Viktor’s other side. Viktor’s shoulders completely hunched up, his body so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do with himself. He doubled over, clutching one arm over his aching belly while the other continued its useless slapping at Jayce’s arm. Jayce chuckled, “What? Does this tickle or something?”

“F-Fucker!” Viktor’s voice wavered, high-pitched and bubbly, before he finally resigned to his fate. “Okay! Okahahay! Bed–! I'll sleheheep!”

“Okaaay, I’ll trust you this time,” Jayce grinned. He stopped the wiggling of his fingers, but poised the tips of his indexes right at the curve of Viktor’s ear. It was a threat, and one that made Viktor titter and squirm and pull at Jayce’s wrists uselessly. “But next time I catch you without sleep for nearly two days like this, I’m not going easy on you.”

Finally, Jayce pulled his hands away, and Viktor slumped against the back of the chair with an exhausted sigh. “Have I ever told you how much I don’t like you.”

Jayce snickered, “Yeah. And I didn’t believe you then either.”

Viktor grinned, wiping a hand down his face. “I knew you’d do that eventually. I couldn’t expect you to find out something like that and not use it against me at some point,” He stood up on wobbly knees, and Jayce quickly handed him the cane that had fallen on the ground during Viktor’s squirming. “Just didn’t expect you to be so cruel about it.”

“Hey I wasn’t cruel–”

“Oh? You weren’t? Torturing a disabled man when he’s running off no sleep for over 48 hours isn’t what you’d call cruel?” Viktor teased, gathering things off his desk to bring home in his bag. 

“Torture?” Jayce’s voice tilted up his grin. “You never even told me to stop.”

Viktor’s hands fumbled and he dropped a few pens. Jayce laughed as he bent down to retrieve them, their hands brushing as he gave them back. Viktor looked like a pouty cat, lips thin in a tight line with squinted eyes. Best of all, his ears were burning.

“It's a little hard to speak when you’re being forced to laugh.”

“But not hard enough you can’t slip in a few curses, right?”

Viktor had no rebuttal to that, merely scoffing like he had no clue what Jayce was talking about as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Jayce.”

Jayce watched as Viktor walked toward the door, completely satisfied with himself. He did it. And…it didn’t seem like Viktor even minded that much. In fact…hm. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. There’s no way Viktor liked it as much as Jayce. That’d be crazy.

“And um…” Viktor had the lab door pushed halfway open, stopping himself with his back turned to Jayce as he spoke. “Thank you.”

Jayce just could not help himself. “For tickling you?”

Viktor laughed at Jayce’s gall, “For making me get rest, you bastard,” He glanced over his shoulder to Jayce, who looked over the moon at Viktor’s honesty. “I know I need this, despite how I fight against it. So…though your methods are horrible, and undignified, and childish and stupid, and really show how odd your personality is—”

“Let’s get to thanks, yeah?”

Viktor smiled as he turned back around from Jayce. “...Thank you for looking out for me. I do appreciate the care.”

Jayce wanted to hug Viktor so tight their bodies melded together. Instead, he said, “Anytime. You know that.”

—

Viktor fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jayce was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d lied when he said it was only two days without sleep. It was probably closer to four. Jayce just didn’t know that because the last time Viktor went home, he’d taken some of their projects and papers with him to work on in his own personal study.

So yes. His rest was needed, or whatever. And he did sleep really, really good. Almost 14 hours completely uninterrupted as he snoozed warm and cozy under the covers.

Only problem was…his mind ran a little rampant in his sleep that night. The events of the night before, with Jayce, and Jayce’s hands, and Jayce’s fingers, and Jayce teasing him so close to his ear he could feel his skin prickle with Jayce’s breath on his neck. All those thoughts that made his belly warm and fluttery were what he fell asleep to that night.

Which led to some…interesting dreams to think about when he woke up that morning.

“Does it tickle worse here? Orrrr here?” 

“Jahahayce! No plehehease!”

“Answer the question, Vik. Your thighs or your hips?”

Jayce’s fingers were pressed deep into both spots, one hand tickling deep into his thigh first, before pausing so his other hand could wreak a similar havoc against Viktor’s hip. The feeling was overwhelming, and Viktor squirmed hard against the weight of Jayce pressed on top of him on the lab couch. Viktor was fully pinned under Jayce, unable to move and only allowed to squirm because Jayce thought it looked pretty when he did it.

“Hihips! Jayce, hips, plehehease!” Viktor wailed, and when Jayce paused, Viktor inhaled like he hadn’t had a good breath in years. His breath was labored, shaky, laced with leftover giggling from Jayce’s attack. 

And Jayce just looked down at him like Viktor hung the moon that lit their lab through the window.

“I love your laugh.”

Viktor squirmed at the praise, shoving Jayce’s face. “Stop.”

“That’s the first time you told me to stop. What, am I embarrassing you?”

“Stop!” Viktor whined, shoving both hands over Jayce’s eyes so he couldn’t look at him in this flustered state. 

But Jayce only chuckled, grabbing Viktor’s wrists and hoisting them up over his head to pin them against the arm of the couch.

“But you like it, don’t you?”

Viktor woke up with a jolt, his eyes wide and breath uneven. 

Shit. Was he actually into this? What the fuck did Jayce do to him.

...

hope u enjoyed! pls consider reblogging if you did <3

[hana-no-seiiki]

More dommy mommy reader!

this time, using some lines from makima’s jp cv’s asmr and devil wears prada scenes. pretty sure i wrote this scenario before but like a long time ago, and just in headcannons so.

YANDERE! BATFAM x DOMMY! MOMMY! READER

You do not think Bruce Wayne was completely aware of the logistics when it came to Galas. If he did he wouldn’t be holding so many of those damn things all the time.

“I’m so sorry, Miss [Y/N]! I really did confirm last night.”

“Tales of your incompetence do not interest me.”

But maybe you shouldn’t be blaming him, but the lack of tact, wit, or remarkable capability the entire staff had. Then again, it’s because you’re always around the Batfamily that your standards for competency were so high.

“Miss [Y/N]!” You heard someone call out to you.

The assistant behind you visibly tensed. Anyone with a brain on them knew not to bother you during work. Hell, any thing that could breathe knew not to approach you when you were swamped with work (which was usually all the time)

“Drake, let me go.”

“Damian. Stay.” Damian doesn’t even notice the condescending way his father reprimanded him, jealousy consumed him entirely. He only saw red.

“How can you be so calm about this? They’re practically smothering her!”

“There’s a reason why Miss [Y/N] was picked to be Alfred’s successor y’know. Beyond just family ties.” Dick caressed Damian’s hair. “She values professionalism above all. She’ll reject them right about now…”

“You . . . love me?” You parroted back. Your features do not budge an inch.

“Y-yes. I’ve been —“

You interrupt, frankly too busy to listen to their rambling, “Then pray.”

“Huh?”

“You love me right? Then pray that I love you. Beg if you have to.”

Despite their flustered almost angered reaction to your command, your admirer felt their knees turn into a soggy noodle like substance. Their heart practically leapt at the opportunity to obey you.

“Only God will make me consider.”

Not even a moment passed before you were back to your duties, the confession long gone from your thoughts, “Tell Timothy for the 48th time, no. I do not want those devices of him in my room, and if I find another one I’m promptly sending in my resignation. Has Bruce confirmed?”

“Uh- oh!” The intern snapped out of their daze, scribbling furiously on their notepad.

You finally stopped where the guys were at, a bit befuddled by the way they were staring holes at you. Damian practically had a mix of panic, relief and anger painted all over him. “Yes, how may I be of assistance to you, young master?”

“I- I’m fine.”

“Richard, make sure to confirm your attendance.” You glared at the eldest brother.

He saluted in response, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Busy day?” Jason inquired, an attempt at small talk if you will.

“Busy day.” You swiftly cut off his olive branch. After making sure none of the men needed your presence with a quick once over, you make a bow and left. Your voice, though soft could still be heard, “Do I smell freesias? If, I see, freesias anywhere I will be verrryyy disappointed —“