#sliding back under my desk and continuing to be sick

[howtofightwrite]

Do you have any advice for writing an intense, overwhelming chase scene?

So, this is a little unusual, in that it's something I haven't really thought a lot about.

For a real world situation, the process is to identify or create an opening, and escape. Usually this advice is more focused for situations for situations where someone's cornered you.

Also, the real world advice is to avoid a chase if at all possible. You don't want to get into a situation where you're directly testing your endurance against your enemy.

As for writing a chase scene. This is one of those times when you want to be efficient with your words, keep things as concise as possible. When you get more verbose it “slows down” the scene because it is literally slowing your reader's progress down.

Chases can be very logistically intensive for you, simply because you need a fairly coherent mental image of how the locations in your story fit together. Maps can be extremely helpful for this, whether you choose to share them or not.

I don't think I've talked about this on the blog, maps can be very helpful for getting a concrete image of how your world is put together, though, they can also, easily, start soaking up more time than the value they offer. That said, even pretty crude maps could be very useful in planning a chase scene. This is one of the times when your world needs to lock together into a unified space, instead of being able to move characters between loosely connected locations.

If you want the reader to have a detailed mental image for the locations, then you should probably have them in those spaces before the chase. Though, this is a situation where some, “stock locations,” could work for you. Liminal spaces can work pretty well for this, because most of your readers are going to have a preexisting basis for understanding what those areas look like. For example: even if their image of an airport causeway is different from yours, you'll both be close enough to the same space that you shouldn't run into many problems where you need to define the entire area.

It's also worth considering that as the chase progresses, it's possible to get gradually more verbose. As mentioned above, this will slow the reader, and as a result the scene, but it can convey the loss of inertia as your character tires or finds themselves having to slow down because they're now in unfamiliar (and possibly unsafe) territory, without being extremely direct about your character's exhaustion. This is an area that can benefit from some pretty careful word selection to hint at fatigue without outright stating it.

I do apologize that this is all pretty high level, concept advice, and a lot of this can be applied in other contexts. And, a lot of the above advice are things to keep in mind for all of your writing, but chases do stress these specific parts of your writing and world building.

Beyond that, it's the normal advice: Remember your world is a living place, so other people would be going about their daily lives while the chase rampages through. Remember persistence consequences, such as prior injuries, or injuries inflicted during the chase. Chases might lead into situations where other kinds of consequences might become unexpectedly relevant, such as your character being forced to run through the territory of a gang they angered earlier in the story. This is an opportunity to bring in unexpected consequences. Even if you don't stick to it, at least have an initial idea for what you want from the chase, then let the sequence play out as you go. (Cleaning this up is what rewrites are for, but it is important to let the chase flow, before you go back and worry about cleaning it up.)

Like I said at the beginning, this is something I don't generally think about, so it's been a bit before I could get back to this question, and I hope this helps.

-Starke

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[mins-fins]

[23:16 pm.]

all he has been doing is pouting.

it's not that he's some sick attention seeker who can't stand when you aren't glancing his way (though that could be a new discovery of his, he misses your eyes on him), it's just that he can't stand watching you sit in the same place unmoving for hours on end without taking a break. yes, studying is important, but not more important than your wellbeing.

"y/n" he drags out the syllables of your name, his call echoing in the expanse of a room. you continue taking down your notes, seemingly ignoring his call of your name.

he trudges over to you, placing his chin onto your head and settling his hands on your shoulders. you seem to finally acknowledge your boyfriends presence, because you glance up, your eyes following your lips as you smile. "yes?" you cease your writing to now focus your full attention onto him.

"you've been at it for hours, when are you gonna be done?"

you offer a snort. "i'm reviewing, can you really not survive without five minutes of my attention?"

"it's been almost three hours".

you blink up at your boyfriend, who stays frowning as he maintains eye contact. "just a few more minutes?"

he doesn't seem to like the sound of that, because his face twists into an unfortunately familiar grimace. he stays silent for a moment, and you're almost afraid you've upset him with how he looks at you.

"i swear i'll sleep soo— AHH!"

before you know it, your abruptly lifted from your seat, his hands hooking themselves under your legs. you yelp as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, still trying to process what's going on. "hey! put me down!" you kick your feet back and forth as your he begins walking away from your desk and towards your room.

"i'm serious! i still have to study!"

"can't you just study tomorrow? it's already late" and there he is again with the pouting. your hands on his shoulders slide over towards his neck, a razor-sharp glare in your eyes as you try not to crack under his pretty irises staring into yours. "pleaseeeee?"

now he's begging, amazing. if you weren't in his arms, you'd kick him where it hurts. your nose scrunches, but you roll your eyes. "fine, but then your helping me review tomorrow".

"no problem, baby".

you're unsuccessful at trying to contain your smile.

[yoonmetogether]

Hook, Line & Stinker

A Min Yoongi one-shot pairing: workaholic!dom!yoongi x needy!brat!fem reader feat. hoseok genre: est. relationship, pwp rating: M for mature and explicit content. No one under 18 should interact summary: you love your boyfriend, but it really sucks when he holes himself up in his studio for days at a time, leaving you at home alone. when you visit him to make sure he's still alive and well, you have no intention of dragging him away from his work. but is there anything wrong with a little distraction in the form of lingerie? warnings: jealousy, angst, (blonde snapback) yoongi is moody, reader feels neglected and pushes his buttons, arguments, there's no infidelity but reader pretends she takes an offer on a date w/ hobi and yoongi worries bc of insecurities and then brings up his ex, under the desk bj, exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (if he doesn't wrap it, don't let him tap it!), rough make-up sex, oral (m. and f. receiving), spanking, spitting, light choking, multiple orgasms, i think this is pretty filthy, reader gets upset but yoongi takes care of her, they kiss & make-up & talk about boundaries, they love each other, fluff ending, this is my first time posting something like this so please let me know if i missed any tags!!! wc: 10.8k 🤪 also shoutout to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo who gave me feedback in bullet-points for this, honestly the best!!!

You punch in the code to Yoongi’s studio (which just so happens to be your birthday), slightly irked that you have to come all this way because your boyfriend wants to continue to be a workaholic after you’ve lectured him countless times about the importance of taking a break. So you arrive with food and a cute lil outfit you think will help distract him.

Upon entering, you see he is deeply entranced by his screen and you can hear the echoes of music blasting through his headphones. You quietly maneuver inside and set the bag of takeout on the coffee table before tiptoeing up behind his chair and slowly reaching up to his shoulders. You roughly grab them and laugh at the way he jumps and tears off his headphones.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims as he turns to see who just scared the shit out of him. 

“Deng! Guess again,” you say with a grin, leaning down to kiss him on the head. When you go to poke his nose, he bats your hand away and mumbles.

“You could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“Well, that’s one way to get you out of the studio. Give you a ride home in an ambulance. I never thought of that,” you sneer playfully, giggling when he glares at you. You slide back to the food on the table. 

“Come eat, Min PD.” 

“I’m almost done,” he grumbles and turns to face his desk. You roll your eyes. 

“No, sir. You need to eat or you’re gonna make yourself sick, and guess who has to take care of you,” you scold as you tug on the back of his chair to twist him around and he looks up at you with a whine. You would never want him to get sick, but if he does, you'd love to baby him, and not just because you'd find it amusing how he'd act like he didn't like it as he has many times before. You've learned over the course of your relationship that he can take care of himself when he's sick, but now that you live together, he's been known to ham up his symptoms so you'll dote on him hand and foot. And he does just the same for you, even goes out of his way sometimes. One time he called off work for an entire week when you got the flu and wouldn't hear any of your arguments that you were fine alone.

“I will! I just need a couple minutes.” 

You click your tongue. “A couple minutes to you is like eight hours. I swear, you go through a time warp every time you come in here. You know it's been three days since I last saw you? Let’s go.”

You grab onto his arm and tug him, but he goes slack in his chair and makes protesting noises as you drag him towards the coffee table, laughing when he stretches his other arm at his desk like he’s being pulled away from a long-lost friend. 

“You are such a drama queen,” you sigh as you let go of his arm.

“I was almost done,” he pouts, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes as you take out the food you brought.

“Sure, sure. Just eat real quick and you can finish in 'a couple minutes,’” you say sarcastically with air quotes, and he scowls, nonetheless leans forward to reluctantly grab the box of food you hand him. 

You walk around the edge of the table and stop in front of him. You smile as he begins to eat his noodles, so you grab his chin.

“Good boy,” you quip, and lean down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, catching him off guard. 

He coughs a bit as he processes what you said and watches you with wide eyes as you sit down in his lap. You laugh at his expression as you open your container of food and grab a pair of chopsticks. You both sit in silence and eat, glancing at him every now and as he chews with his head down, a line drawn between his brows that looks like he’s trying to figure out something. 

“How’s your food?” you ask before taking a sip from your bottle of water.

“Good,” he grumbles without looking at you. “Thanks.” 

You shift to get more comfortable in his lap and he starts to chew faster.

After he nudges you off his lap and helps you clean up, he turns around to scoot his chair back to his desk.

“Thanks for coming by and all, but I think you should leave."

You scoff, mildly hurt. “Why?”

“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”

You realize what he means and the brat in you makes an appearance, so you throw your hair haughtily over your shoulder and slyly walk up to his chair, sliding a hand down his arm.

“And what is that exactly?”

“You’re trying to distract me, but it’s not working,” he says through curled lips, staring at his screen.

“No?” you smirk. You squat and fold your elbows on the arms of his chair, propping your chin up on your wrist. “How am I being distracting? All I did was bring you food.” 

He turns his head to glare at you, but his Adam's apple bobs when he looks down at your position, how your legs are spread to reveal the meat of your thighs, then at how you smile at him in a pseudo-innocent way. 

“Exhibit A, B and C,” he says, gesturing to your legs, tits, and face.

You grin. “What? I’m just looking at you.” Your voice however drips in seduction. 

He shakes his head and looks back at his screen, trying to stay strong. 

“Precisely.”

Your tongue pokes into your cheek in amusement and a devilish lightbulb flashes in your mind. 

“How is me looking at you so distracting?” you ask, settling on your knees before gliding a hand over his leg. “Wouldn’t it be something more like this?” 

His mouth pulls into a thin line as he struggles to keep his eyes focused up. You slowly push at his leg to move him towards you so you can rise in between his knees, smiling at the way he refuses to look at you. You begin to slide your hands up his thigh, licking your lips as you head for his crotch, but he catches your wrist.

“Don’t,” he commands, now looking down at you with a serious expression.

Undeterred, you push your bottom lip out in the brattiest pout, and the severe clench in his jaw shows how hard he's fighting to keep his guard up. 

“You’re just so stressed, and I want to help you… relax.” 

He closes his eyes and swallows, and you just know he's trying to keep his imagination away from thoughts not suited for work.

“I appreciate that, baby, but I’m almost done here and when I am, I’m all yours, okay?” He lets go of your wrist to smooth out your pout with his thumb. 

You believe him, but still, you want to bother him after he hasn't paid attention to you in a few days.

“Fine,” you sigh and start to stand up. “Well, I guess I can’t ask you for your advice on what I bought. If I want to return it, today is my last day, so it’s now or never.” 

You only take one step away when his hand grabs your wrist. You smile. Hook, line, and stinker. 

You look back in faux confusion. He licks his lips and swallows, hesitant yet desperate to find out what you’re talking about.

“What do you need my advice on?”

Without hesitation, your hands fly to the hem of your shirt. “Oh, just this.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath as you tear off your shirt to reveal a lavender corset bra. The lace is embroidered with delicate floral designs to reveal the lower half of your breast, just barely covering your nipples, and parts of your ribcage below. His throat goes dry. 

“It has a matching thong too. Wanna see?” Your question is rhetorical because you give him no time to breathe as you unbutton your shorts. You bend over to shimmy them down your legs, making a show of wiggling so your breasts move side to side. 

You kick your shorts to the side and stand straight, carding your hair out of your face before placing your hands on your hips and standing confidently in front of him. 

“So, what do you think?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as his wide eyes go up and down your form. 

“It’s pretty,” he swallows, biting his lip to ignore the twitch in his boxers. 

“Oh, see how it looks from behind.” You twirl around and adjust the clips of the corset then the hem of your thong, sticking your ass out in the process. “Isn’t it cute?” Yoongi is screwed. 

You look at him from over your shoulder. “Do you like it?” 

He nods, barely hearing you as his eyes train on the way the string of the thong disappears between your cheeks. You smirk when his tongue pokes out just over his teeth.

“The lace is really soft too. Here, feel,” you say, spinning back around and walking up to him, rubbing your fingers over the lace below your breast. 

He swallows, wanting so bad to reach out and touch, but knowing if he does, it’s over for him, he’ll lose. But shit, you look good as fuck, and he can’t help but give in. 

You grin as he reaches his hand out to feel the lace and he hums in approval.

“It’s nice,” he says, voice deep and starting to give away his desire.

“It’s even better here,” you say, gripping his wrist to plant his hand on your breast and he purrs as he lets his fingers squeeze your flesh. 

You let him massage for a second or two and judging by his face he looks closer to giving into your distraction, but you'll wait.

“Okay, since you like it, I won’t return it,” you say, dropping his hand and turning to grab your shorts off the ground. “Thanks! I’ll let you get back to work.” 

You bend over again to pick up your shirt, your ass right in his line of sight and he can’t deny the rock-hard bulge in his jeans. 

“I’ll see you when you get home,” you say as you walk over to the table but his low voice rumbles through the sound-proof studio.

“Get your ass back here,” his words shoot straight to your core, the string of your thong growing wet. 

“I thought you said you have to work,” you say innocently. 

“Right now,” he growls, and you move towards him like a magnet. 

Once again next to his chair, he slides his fingers underneath the lavender straps stretching over your hips to cup your exposed ass. Your skin flares hot when he squeezes.

“I don’t want to distract you.”

His dark eyes filled with lust shoot up to you and flicker with anger.

“It’s a little fuckin’ late for that, doll,” he grits. “You made a problem and now you’re going to fix it.” He moves his other hand to palm his bulge. Your eyes widen at the motion, and you cross your legs because, shit, you want to sit on that so bad.

“And then you’re going to leave and let me finish what you interrupted and wait for me to come home.” 

“Yeah? Then what?”

His lips curl in what could be a growl, and he smacks your ass, pushing you to stand between his legs. 

“Then I’m going to punish you for getting me hard at work.”

You moan as his hand moves to your front and feels over the lace material that covers your pussy. You shudder when his fingers slip between your thighs, battling with the string of your thong to rake over your clit and slit, groaning at how wet you already are. 

“Fuck, you really get this turned on just from teasing me?”

You whimper in response as he drags his finger over your bud before removing his hand. 

“We need to do something about that,” he says, sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck your arousal from them. Your legs shake involuntarily. “You can’t keep pissing me off so you can get your way.”

You breathe out a moan as he pops his wet fingers into view and licks over them slowly with his tongue flicking in the v-shape while looking right at you before dropping them to his lap. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you imagine him doing that right on your clit.

“I keep saying, you make it too easy.” 

He bares his teeth before gripping your sides and pulling you down to his lap, pushing your hips to roll on his groin.

“Or maybe you just need to have the brat fucked out of you,” he growls into your ear before biting the skin below it. Before you can do anything, he pushes at your waist and tells you to get on your knees on the ground, raking his hair back in frustration. 

You hesitate as you stare at his crotch, wanting to reach for it but remembering all the times he's tied you up for touching him without permission.

“Get to work,” he says, letting his wrists dangle casually from the arms of the chair, bracelets clacking.

You greedily sit up on your knees as your fingers dig around under his sweater for his belt. You quiver at the sound of his buckle coming loose and bite your lip when you see the bulge straining in his underwear after you undo his jeans. Just as you begin to reach into his boxers, someone knocks at his door.

You both react in panic.

“Hyung, can I come in? I need to show you something,” the sound of Hoseok’s voice echoes from the other side of the door.

“Shit!” he breathes, pushing your hands away from his belt and rolling in his chair over to where you left your clothes on the floor. However, you have no intention of moving.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He asks exasperatedly in a hushed tone when he finds you sliding back under his desk on your hands and knees.

“Yah, Yoongi hyung!”

Yoongi’s head whips between you and the door, blood pressure spiking. You put your hand out for the clothes he’s holding.

“It’s too late, I’ll just hide under here. He won’t see me.”

Yoongi’s jaw moves in annoyance, but he has no time to argue with you. So, he scoots his chair all the way under his desk to shield you with his widespread legs, throwing your clothes in your face. It works because you can barely see out beyond his lap, thanks to his wide and thick thighs, but this is no good news for Yoongi because another evil and salacious idea forms in your mind.

“It’s unlocked!” Yoongi calls and braces himself, praying that Hoseok cannot see under his desk.

As the door opens, Yoongi quickly busies himself at his computer, pretending that he doesn’t have his half-naked girlfriend underneath his desk and face level with his crotch. 

“Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask your advice on something.”

Yoongi’s brow ticks. Why is everyone asking for his advice today? 

“It’s fine, Hob-a, what’s up?” He asks, trying to play it cool. 

But as Hoseok stands next to him at his desk, he feels hands slide onto his lap and he grips the edge of the table, hoping that you're only just teasing him. But that hope doesn’t last very long.

Hoseok wants to know what he thinks about one of his tracks, that there’s something off about it but he can’t figure out what. Hoseok hands Yoongi his flash drive and he plugs it into his PC, and as he clicks around for the file your fingers inch towards his unopened jeans.

As Hoseok points at the screen about different parts of the track he’s concerned about, Yoongi grinds his teeth, urging himself to stay focused even when you begin to palm at his clothed dick. He thinks about kicking you, but all thoughts get cut off when you reach in through the hole in his boxers and pull his cock out. Fuck, he's needy for you, even in the most unorthodox way. He jerks when your hand wraps around his length, the other diving back in to squeeze his balls but he plays it off like he’s adjusting in his seat, masking his moan with a cough. He slides forward in the chair so you can have easier access.

Shit. How can something so wrong feel so motherfucking good?

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, giving him a wary side glance as Yoongi clicks around the screen.

The older, sweating man nods stiffly and clears his throat. 

“Yeah. It’s just been a long day. Do you wanna run it through?”

Hoseok leans over for the mouse and Yoongi takes the chance to let his expression crack while you run your tongue up the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick, hand circling around his base.

Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch in fierce concentration on Hoseok’s track once he hits play but all of a sudden, your lips wrap around his tip, and you suck him into hollowed cheeks, devastatingly slow so as to not make noise even though the music would surely cover it. Stifling a groan, he straightens his back and presses his ribcage against his desk when you swirl your tongue around him. He’s going to fucking get you later. 

Hoseok hits the spacebar and pauses the music. As it stops, you halt your movements. “See, there. Something doesn’t sound right.” 

Yoongi’s brows furrow as he tries to center his attention even though your hand is massaging his balls.

“I think I missed it, sorry.” 

Hoseok sighs but moves the mouse to rewind back a few beats. He points at the tracker on the screen to tell Yoongi which part to pay most attention to and he nods.

As the music resumes your mouth returns to his length, and you slowly move down until his tip hits the back of your throat and he holds his breath at the pleasure, moan catching in his chest. He's so goddamn pissed that you’re doing this to him, but it feels so good at the same time. He tries his best to resist the urge to let the pleasure consume him, so he knocks off his snapback to pull his fingers through his hair and begs his brain to focus on the music. 

“Right here, hyung,” Hoseok murmurs next to him and Yoongi nods, listening closely even though your hot tongue licks from his base to the tip. 

Then he hears it, some strange offbeat in the background and he taps the spacebar, sighing through his nose when the silence makes you retreat.

They go over it for a while until Yoongi finally figures out what’s going on since the blood returns to his brain once you stopped touching him (although that doesn’t mean he isn’t still hard, and his dick isn’t twitching in your face and making you salivate and want to touch yourself). 

“Ah, okay, I see what you mean,” Hoseok says when Yoongi explains that there’s an extra beat embedded that’s easy to miss. “Thanks.” He claps him on the shoulder.

“Is that all you need?” Yoongi asks just to be polite but prays Hobi makes a quick exit. 

He nods as he saves the file before ejecting it and Yoongi pulls out the flash drive and hands it to him. 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Uh, a while, but I’m almost done.” Yoongi hopes Hoseok doesn’t see the way his eyes squeeze shut when you begin to move your thumb over his leaking tip.

“Good. You deserve a break! You’ve been working so hard.”

“Thanks, Hob-a. You too.” 

“How’s your girlfriend?”

Yoongi internally groans, now of all times Hoseok wants to make small talk. 

“She’s fine,” he says in a tight voice, only because you have lightly dragged your fingers up his length.

“Uh-oh. Troubles in paradise?” 

Yoongi’s eyes widen in confusion and your hand stills. “No? What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just saying, because usually when anyone asks you about her, you gush for like twenty minutes.”

Yoongi’s face and neck flushes a dark red and you have to press a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Do not,” he grumbles, although in denial. 

Hoseok snorts. “Fat lie, hyung. You always jump at the chance to talk about her, you don’t realize that? It’s cute! Well, in a sickening kind of way, but still.” 

Yoongi glares at him as he feels your head fall onto his knee, trying to keep yourself from laughing.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” Hoseok teases in a baby voice, bending down to pinch at Yoongi’s cheeks. “Cute Yoonie loves his girlfriend so much that he wants to talk about her all the time.”

“Fuck off, Hoseok,” Yoongi mumbles, swatting at Hoseok’s fingers and pushing him away as he turns back to his computer, and thankfully you’ve cut him a fucking break under his desk.

Hoseok snickers and grabs his laptop. “You better go home and see her, go on a date. But if you’re too busy, I’d be more than happy to take her out for you!”

“Yah, Jung Hoseok!” Yoongi bubbles with fury and Hoseok just cackles and scurries to the exit. 

“Bye!” Hoseok grins mischievously, wiggling his fingers in the air before closing the door behind him. 

A few seconds after the lock clicks shut, you burst out into laughter, and Yoongi flushes a hot, steaming red all the way up to his ears. 

Yoongi pushes away from the desk and ducks his head down to look at you as you begin to crawl out on all fours. He scowls when you giggle once you make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what’s funny. You’re in big trouble, you know,” he says, stuffing himself back in his underwear.

You stifle a laugh as you stand up. “You mad?”

“Clearly!”

You cock your eyebrow when he darts a hand out in frustration. “At what, the fact that I sucked your dick under your desk or that I found out how much you love to talk about me?”

Yoongi narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Both.” 

You smirk. “Aww, come on, Yoonie~” you tease, mimicking Hoseok as you go to sit on your boyfriend’s lap. 

“Go away,” He tries to fight you off but you trap him by grinding down on his hips and shoving your tits in his face. 

You hum as you press an open-mouth kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You sure?” 

Your hand slides down to his clothed dick, still solid under your palm. “Don't you want me to take care of your ‘problem’?” 

He swallows moan as you grope him. But he feels embarrassed and upset that you went down on him when Hoseok was there. Deep down he thinks it was hot, but he knows Hoseok has always had a crush on you and he doesn’t like the idea of him seeing you like that, especially with the kinds of comments he sometimes makes implying that he can treat you better.

“Yeah, when I get home,” he sighs and you deflate. “I’m almost done.”

“Seriously, are you mad?” 

“No, babe. I just want to finish up now so that I can be done for the weekend. That’s what you want, right?”

You grimace, wondering what he means by that. “Fine,” you acquiesce, hopping off of his lap so he can roll back up to his desk. 

You slide on your clothes and gather your things, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything smart, but you can’t help feeling that his words don't sit right in your chest. As you walk to the door and slip on your shoes, you glance over to see him hunched over his desk, not even bothering to look back as you leave.

“You know, maybe I’ll go find Hoseok and take him up on his offer. Since it seems he has the time for me,” you sneer after you open the door, stepping out and slamming it shut behind you. 

Yoongi jerks his head and swivels around but you've already disappeared. Oooh, that pisses him off. He knows you only said it to do just that but that sits right along his insecurities and he wants to lose it. But he really is almost done with work so if he hunkers down now, he can finish and go home and tell you off.

90 minutes later he receives a notification, a text from you with an attached image. You’re lying in bed on your stomach in your corset bra, holding up your head as you pout into the camera with your cleavage on full display. 

my brat: Hoseok was busy :/

Yoongi drops his phone on the table, and it clatters, free hands rubbing frustration down his face. He knows what you’re doing, and he should have the willpower to ignore it but- FUCK are you good at getting what you want. You like pissing him off so that he'll be rough with you. And although he enjoys the dynamic, finds it fun, this is just one of those times that he really doesn’t like how you piss him off. He hates the idea of you alluding to the fact that you asked another man to fuck you. He knows you indeed haven’t, that you’re just messing with him, but he’s getting in his head with his self-doubt. He angrily decides that the track is good enough for now, that he can meet with Namjoon tomorrow or something to tweak it. He has to get home to make sure no one else has touched you but him.

You are in Big. Fucking. Trouble.

When Yoongi walks through the door, you’re in the kitchen getting something to drink, wearing one of his flannel shirts over your lingerie. When he appears you smile and greet him, but falter when he ignores you and quickly shuffles by to the bedroom. You watch him pass you and your smile slips at the stone look on his face. You know you pissed him off but did you make him upset? You never want to hurt his feelings, you just want to get his attention. You set your drink on the counter and pad after him. 

When you walk into the room and lean against the door frame, his back is to you as he strips off his sweater to reveal his dark gray t-shirt and silver chain.

“Did you finish?” you ask, twiddling your fingers over one of the buttons of his flannel. 

“No,” he says, keeping his back to you. You frown.

“Oh. How come?” 

“Because my bratty girlfriend can’t be fucking patient," he grits, swiping off his snapback.

You cross your arms, not appreciating his tone. “I left, didn't I?”

His shoulders shake in a sardonic laugh, fingers combing through his hat-hair. “Yeah, only after telling me you were going to look for Hoseok.”

“Yeah well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t feel the need to do that,” you sneer before pushing off of the door frame to speed-walk into the living room. 

You only make it halfway down the hall before a hand grabs your wrist. You’re met with Yoongi’s looming figure exuding anger as he glares down at you and you match his energy immediately.

“And you think the way to get my attention is by making me jealous?”

“Well, it seems to be the only thing that’s working! Isn’t that why you came home before you got done with work? Because you think I asked Hoseok to fuck me? Not because you-“ 

“Did you?” he interrupts and your jaw moves in irritation.

“What do you think?” you bark. He blinks down at the floor. There it is again- that insecurity. He backs you into the wall as he tries to control his anxiety.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly and that pisses you off. He really thinks you would stoop that low?

“Really? What, you think I wanted to suck you off while he was there hoping he’d catch us? Ask to join? Have me suck his dick too?” 

Rage floods through him at the thought and his hold around your wrist tightens. 

“Would you?” 

Your mouth drops open. “Wow. Screw you." You pry his hand off and angrily walk back into the bedroom, wanting to put on more clothes now that you’re upset. As he follows, you make a petty point by taking off his flannel and exchanging it for your own clothes, pulling on your own t-shirt and sweats. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says when he stands in the doorway.

"No? You don’t think that I’d jump at the chance to suck another man’s dick if the opportunity presented itself?” 

“No, of course not,” he shakes his head, feeling guilty when you say nothing else so he continues, wanting you to understand where he's coming from.

“I just… You know he likes you.” 

You spin around, flabbergasted. “Fucking so?”

He closes his eyes, feeling embarrassed that he’s about to bring this up. He has no reason to be worried that you like Hoseok but… he still struggles deep down that he doesn’t deserve you and that you’d be better off with someone else. Maybe someone like Hoseok. 

“Why don’t you go ask him whether or not I took him up on his offer?” you snap. Then you stride across the floor and stand toe to toe with him. 

“Or how bout you find out for yourself,” you provoke. 

He looks down at you with your chin tilted up at his and a heartbeat passes before his hands fly to your face and he presses his lips to yours. You respond immediately by scraping your fingers over his ribs, hooking over his spine as he licks into your mouth, teeth clashing together desperately. 

He begins to walk you backward towards the bed and when you hit the edge of the mattress, he tears your shirt off and lifts you by the waist to settle you down and kiss you hungrily as he climbs on top of you, chain laying on your throat. His hands move down to your sweats and he stands straight to rip them down your legs and onto the floor, looking down at your body decorated with pretty lingerie and he intrusively thinks about Hoseok seeing you like this and jealousy fires through him again. 

He falls to his knees and loops his fingers under the straps of your thong to roughly pull them off, licking his lips at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with the return of your arousal. He adds to it with his spit and promptly attaches his lips to your clit, growling when you cry out and arch your back in response. He wraps his arms underneath your thighs to hold you in place as he slathers your pussy with his spit and teeth and tongue. 

His eyes close as you let out whimpers and whines of his name while your hands grip his hair, every sound making his dick twitch in his jeans. He sucks and slurps all over your cunt, making it messy between your thighs and on his chin, anything to make you keep wailing his name. He flicks his tongue over your clit and between your folds just like he demonstrated on his fingers back in the studio, and he has to flex his biceps around your thighs when you thrash. He can tell you’re close by the way your legs quiver beside his head and he slides your clit between his teeth before pressing his lips around it and sucking in a fast, relentless rhythm. 

“Yoongi, gonna come!” you cry and a dark chuckle rumbles through his chest at the thought that no one else can get you to your peak as quickly as he can. He mercilessly continues sucking your clit until your legs violently shake and press against his head and you come with shrieks of his name. His tongue dives to your hole as it pulses and he licks your essence into his mouth and groans while he swallows, grinning victoriously as you continue to shake through throes of pleasure. 

He slows his movements as you spiral down, loving the way you twitch at every touch of his mouth. He presses a final kiss to your clit before he moves his arms from under your thighs so he can hover over you while you catch your breath. He places his knee between your legs and leans down to kiss you so you can taste yourself, chain swinging over your heaving breasts. You moan as you dart your tongue against his and loop your arms around his neck to pull him down. Then he slides his lips down your jaw into the crook of your shoulder and speaks gruffly into your ear.

“You think he could make you come like that?”

You immediately shake your head, heat filling your gut at his dark tone. He bites your neck then rolls his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting. 

“You need to say that out loud.”

You draw in a sharp breath. “No! No he couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?” he snaps.

“He couldn’t make me come. Not like you do.” 

Pride shoots down his spine and he sits up to straddle your hips, turning you over onto your stomach so he can grab handfuls of your ass. 

“You think he could fuck you like I do? Huh?” he experimentally rolls his clothed bulge over the swell of your ass.

“No,” you whimper with a desperate shake of your head.

“No?” he challenges. “You don’t think so?” He drags his hips against you slowly, hissing at the friction. 

You continue to agree and he hums, still taking his time to drag this out. He just wants to hear it as much as possible but your smart mouth fucks you over.

“If you’re not convinced then we can go find out,” you say, voice muffled by the sheets but he hears you and snarls. 

He leans down to grip a handful of your hair to turn your ear to his mouth.

“Why don’t you do that and I’ll go re-acquaint myself with Mina.”

A vicious green monster tears through your chest and you turn over to face him as your head fills with intrusive thoughts of the hands and body of his ex you once envied all over him while he enjoys it. 

He chuckles mockingly at your expression. “Don’t like that, huh?” 

You say nothing but look at him angrily as you picture him with her, hating it with a passion. 

“Do you, baby?” he coos sarcastically, trailing the backs of his fingers down your cheek. “Don’t like the idea of my hands and my mouth being on someone else?” 

He leans down to emphasize his point by kneading and kissing at your skin that he can reach and your chest heaves in response. 

He rolls his hips. “Or my dick fucking someone else’s pussy?”

You see red and your hands fly up to grab his chain and tug his face parallel with yours so he grunts, a dark grin spreading on his face. 

“No, I don’t fucking like it,” you seethe.

“Now you know how I feel,” he says mockingly. You scowl, fucking annoyed, and let go of his jewelry.

“You brought this on yourself. I never talked to Hoseok. He was the one who said he would take me out if you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have heard that if you hadn't been hiding under my desk sucking me off.” 

“Oh, right and you were trying real hard to get me to stop,” you snap, pushing at his chest.

His jaw ticks, realizing you have a point. He leans up and sits back on his heels.

“Or just admit that you didn’t want me to,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. His eyes flicker to you darkly.

“That you liked it,” you taunt, moving to sit up on your knees so that you're level with him.

“That maybe if he did catch us he’d be jealous of your long, fat dick.” He shivers as your words send shocks to his core and his ego.

“And how good my throat is for fucking.” 

His gulps at the imagery as your fingers trace under his shirt.

“And how he’d never get to find out for himself,” you say earnestly, looking directly into his eyes. 

Then your hand slowly travels down to his groin.

“But if you want to go find Mina and see if she makes you feel as good as I do,” you mock as you grab his bulge and squeeze under his balls, making him hiss and involuntarily buck against you.

“Then be my fucking guest.” Your teeth grind as you let go of him to move off of the bed but you’re quickly stopped with a hand squeezing your elbow.

“Lay down,” he demands, warm breath fanning over your cheek. 

“Make me." He huffs before moving his hand to your throat and pressing lightly on either side, making your resolve slip. 

“Keep it up, brat.” The very brat in you comes back for an encore as you grab his wrist. 

“Or what? Gonna go call up Mina? You think she’d even want you anymore?” 

His eyes flash menacingly at the venom in your voice and you squeak when he bends down to pick you up, arms supporting your back and under your ass to carry you over to your shared desk.

“It doesn’t matter whether she would or not. Because I don’t want her,” he says simply as he sets you down, knocking the notebooks and tchotchkes out of the way, paying no mind as they clatter onto the floor.

“No? Then who do you want?” You know it’s a stupid question but you’re fucking triggered and you want to hear him say it. He tilts his head as he undoes the buckle on his belt.

“I’m looking right at her, sweetheart.” You falter, but you’re not about to let up that easy.

"Just - Fuck you for bringing her up." Gently pushing your legs apart, he gives you a remorseful smile.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to get back at you but I took it too far.”

“Get back at me for what?” you ask, glossing over his apology and you’re almost able to ignore his fingers massaging the inside of your thighs. 

He cocks his brow. “For that selfie you sent and your text implying that you asked Hoseok to fuck you but he was too busy?” 

“You started it,” you scoff and cross your arms, chest heaving as his hands move slowly to the part of you that’s aching for him.

“Did I? You were the one who came into my studio and shoved your tits and ass in my face wearing this pretty lingerie all because I haven’t been paying you enough attention.” 

“Try ‘any’ attention.” He hums and looks down to watch his thumb brush over your clit, smirking when you gasp and grab his forearm.

“Baby, it’s only been a few days. Are you that needy for me?” 

You huff but don't try to deny it, eyes rolling to the ceiling when he slides two fingers between your wet folds, lifting up your knee to hold it on his hips so he has a better view and access.

“Thought so.” You shut your eyes so his smug face won’t piss you off.

“Well, remember I tried to leave but you told me to ‘get my ass back here right now,’” you recount, leaning back with a hand on the desk.

You bite your tongue when his fingers sink inside to slowly work you open.

“Yeah, well you’re sexy as hell in this lingerie and I’m a weak bastard for you, so sue me,” he grumbles, staring at your pussy as his hand picks up the pace.

“I’m only sexy in lingerie?” 

He sighs. “Sweetheart, did you miss the part where I said I’m a weak fucking man for you?”

You hum nonchalantly, his words filling your heart up with butterflies but the brat in you is refusing to leave the stage so you ignore him.

He shakes his head and grips your thigh to get you to look at him, making sure you’re paying attention.

“Just shut that smart mouth of yours, baby girl. And let me show you I mean what I say.” 

He lifts one of your arms to hook around his shoulder and you reluctantly acquiesce, letting him situate you in a way that’s comfortable before he pushes down his jeans to free his dick from its confines. Jerking his shaft, he tilts down in concentration to inspect your puffy cunt.

When he thinks it could use more lube, he holds his hand next to your mouth. 

“Spit.” Letting go of your stubbornness, you obey, only because you enjoy the way he doesn’t mind your saliva dropping in his palm.

“Good girl,” he mumbles. You watch impatiently as he tilts his head back while spreading your spit over his tip, making you clench around nothing when his knuckles brush your folds. You whine his name again when you feel his head rub up and down your wet slit before he taps it a few times.

“Beg.”

Your hand slaps his back, matching your huff in frustration and his lip curls. 

“Minus the fucking attitude.”

“It’s been three days.”

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your head with a glare. “I said it’s been three fucking days, why should I beg?” 

He slides his hard, lubed up length in between your folds to show you what you’re stalling. 

“Shouldn’t that be all the more reason to?” he growls as he smacks the side of your ass. 

“I'm not the one who didn't come home. So shouldn’t it be you doing the begging?” 

He stills.

“Maybe,” he says softly, massaging your skin that he knows is stinging from his hand. Your chest squeezes at the sad tone in his voice even though you’re pissed off.

“But you remember what I said about punishing you for getting me hard at work?” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, lips pursing as you nod.

“This is part of it. You’d better fucking beg.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, digging his fingers into your waist when you take a second too long to respond.

“I’m not going to tell you again.” He steps back, threatening to walk away. In a panic, you hook your heels behind him to keep him from going any further.

“Fuck, fine! Yoongi, please. Please fuck me!”

With a dark chuckle, he closes the distance between you again, arm circling around your waist, licking and marking under your jaw. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he holds up your thigh, you moan when he teases your entrance with his throbbing tip.

“I’ll always give you what you want when you’re a good girl for me.”

And just like that, the brat in you is gone. At least for now. He groans when you kiss him with ferocity and allows you to take the reins a bit. You moan and fist his hair in both hands, whining when his hand trails to your core to make sure you’re still ready, and he’s confirmed when he easily slips in three of his fingers, making you gasp into his mouth.

“You want it?” he growls against your swollen lips as he removes his hand covered with your essence to use it as lube on his dick. You nod frantically. 

“Words.”

“Yes!” you wheeze.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?”

“Yes!” You exclaim louder.

“Then turn around.”

He helps you settle on your feet and twirls you around with both hands on your hips, biting behind your ear while he lines himself up behind you.

“You know I love you, right?” You nod, leaning into his teeth and wiggling your hips to entice him but his firm hand on your ass keeps you in place. “But right now I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

A spark floods through you at the way he curls a hand around your throat and simultaneously rubs his head up to your aching clit. You’re screwed, but you are so, so ready. 

“Please!”

Without giving you a second to breathe, he spears into you, forcing you forward with your hands flattened on the desk. You yelp out when he begins ramming into you at an angle so deep your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He slaps your ass, harshly enough to sting, and grunts when you clench around him, continuing to make the room swell with lewd sounds of your wet pussy squelching with every smack of his hips. It feels feral, the force of his thrusts causing the desk to thump against the wall, but the rhythmic sound is drowned out by your mindless moans.

He fucks you like he hates you, like he doesn’t care how the wooden edge is digging into your waist, or the way he’s slapping your ass until your skin is raw, slamming his hips against yours so it’s certain you’re going to have trouble walking. If you didn’t like it so much, you’d be telling yourself not to piss him off ever again.

A hand on your spine pushes you down onto the desk, breasts and face squishing on the lacquered wood, and you moan when he pulls your cheeks a part and you can just picture the way he’s watching himself pound you, tongue poked out in fascination, head moving from side to side to see all the different angles.

“Nah.” He mutters to himself and you glance over your shoulder to see him shaking his head as your body moves up and down. “No one else can fuck you like this. Right?” He grits, fingers digging into your ass as he takes a long stroke of emphasis.

“Mhmm!”

He hums to himself in satisfaction, letting out an amused chuckle before he starts fucking you so hard and so fast and so goddamn good that you don’t realize you’re coming until it hits you, and your finger nails dig into the desk for dear life, leaving scratch marks. As you clench around him he lets out a string of curses that would make even a sailor blush, rubbing his hands up and down your back, fingertips kneading your ass as you shake and come apart.

You’re still trembling when he finally slows his thrusts to a moderate pace and his hands on your skin are moving more gently now that you’re coming down.

“Baby, talk to me. You good?” It takes you a second to register that he’s been talking to you for a few seconds. He just fucked you into euphoria, you’re drooling on the desk because of it, so you need a goddamn minute.

You whine in dissatisfaction when he pulls out of you, only for him to reach over to brush sweaty hair out of your face, and you blink open tear-filled eyes to him peering down at you with concern knitted into his brows.

“You good?” he repeats, continuing to brush your hair back and smoothe his hand down your spine.

You nod. “Mhmm. ‘M a good girl.” His eyebrows lift in relief when you say something that’s somewhat coherent.

“That you are.” You swoon. That’s all you ever want to hear him say, even though more often than not your behavior speaks otherwise. At least he’s shown you that he loves to deal with it.

“I’m gonna bring you over to the bed. Can you make it?” Pushing your hands against the desk, you try to put some weight on your feet and know without even trying that you won’t. It feels like he was on the brink of splitting you in half.

“Only if you carry me.” You can feel his smile on the side of your face as he rubs your shoulders before gently pulling back on them, holding you against his chest once you straighten. He presses light but necessary kisses to your neck and cheek before turning you to the side so he can swoop you up in his arms like you’re his bride. You hope one day you will be.

You could almost cry at the tender way he puts you down on the mattress, his face dewy and red from exertion, and adjusts the pillows beneath you, fluffing them how you like it. How he can so easily slip from being your insane freak in the sheets who hates you to your sweet, doting boyfriend is beyond you but it’s one of the many things you love so much about him. “Too much?” Your heart swells again at his loving tone as he coasts his hand down your torso, inspecting the indentations left on your waist from the desk to make sure they’re ones that won’t bruise.

You shake your head. “I can still remember my own name.”

“Dang, so I could do better,” he smirks.

Blowing a raspberry, you playfully smack the side of his head and he only chuckles and leans down to kiss you. Just as he brushes your lips, you push at his clothed shoulder, suddenly very much bothered by the fact that he is not completely naked yet.

“Shirt,” you mumble, tugging at his collar. “What about it?” “Off.”

He cocks a brow, mouth pulling up into a smirk. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yes. Problem?”

He hisses an amused sound, sits up on his knees and blinks down at you, lightly batting your hands away when you reach for the hem of his now unapproved fabric.

“We just went through all that, but you still want to have a fucking attitude?”

You withdraw your hands, rest them on your tummy as you look up at him sheepishly. He looks at you patiently, waiting for a response, but you don’t have one, so you instead raise your hands to the side in a shrug because what can you say? The smirk on his face grows until it turns into a laugh, and he kicks his head back. Fuck, you love his laugh. His shoulders start to shake, gummy grin on full display as he looks down at you through his stringy bangs, and you fall just that much more in love.

“It’s like that, huh?” He muses, coasting his hands up and down your thighs.

“It’s fun to piss you off,” you justify, holding your arms up in invitation and he pauses for a split second before lowering into your embrace.

“Yeah, and I know you have a blast doing it, much to my expense,” he mutters, letting you pepper his jaw with kisses. You giggle as you get over to his mouth and he opens up to swallow down your sounds.

As you makeout, his hips start to rock over yours under the covers, heavy cock desperate to fill you again so you trail your hands down to his ass, digging your go ahead into his skin. Keeping a hand next to your head and his tongue over yours, he reaches down to guide himself back in, humming when you moan in satisfaction. He lifts his head with a curse when you suck him in with ease, baring your neck to him that he nips before straightening his arm to plank above you. He stares down at you with lust-blown eyes as he takes your leg from under the sheets to rest on his shoulder. You bite your lip and grapple for his neck as he fucks into you slowly, hips rolling with deft, meaningful strokes. For a few moments he fucks you like that, reveling in your moans and whimpers, especially when he ducks his head to suck your tits into his mouth.

“Missed you, Yoon,” you whisper suddenly, blissed out and slack-jawed. He pauses his thrusts to put your leg back in place before dropping down to grab your hands and curl them under his, tongue licking roughly over the top of your mouth. Your chest heaves, breathing him in while he sucks on your lips and tongue. 

“Missed you too, doll." His hips resume to a slow rhythm, and you let out a soft cry at the sensation of him filling you up to the brim despite never leaving.

You struggle to kiss him back as you get lost in the clouds again now that he’s rocking into you at a slower pace, pressing deeply into you so you can feel every inch of each other with every stroke.

“So fucking good for me,” he grumbles into your mouth, building rhythm as he brings himself to peak.

“Wanna be,” you slur. 

“Hm?” His tongue pokes out as he focuses on rolling his hips against a tight, cushioned spot that kisses his tip and draws his orgasm closer.

“Wanna be so good for you. Always.” He grins, pride swelling his chest at your promise.

“Not for Hoseok?” Because he has to make sure.

“No,” you whimper, yanking at his chain to bring him down in a messy kiss. “Just you.”

He kisses you with a relieved smile, bites at your neck a few times, and slaps your hip.

“Then get up and ride me. I shouldn’t be doing all this fucking work,” he commands and slips out before pulling you up by the elbows. He crawls around you to sit against the headboard while you turn to face him and prop yourself up on shaking knees.

Noticing this, he pauses and holds you still. “Can you?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, confirming it with a sloppy kiss.

Grinning, he pulls you forward until you hover over his lap and fists his dick to hold himself in place while his other hand pushes you down by your hip. You grip his shoulders and whine as you sink onto him, waiting until you’re fully breached to start circling your hips. As you lean in to lick between his teeth, you rake your fingers down his chest, lightly scratching over his nipples and smiling when he moans. 

“Shit,” he curses against you as you press your thumbs against his buds and he gets you back by attacking your neck with bites and bruises that you’ll have for days. You begin rolling in his lap and hold onto his shoulders for leverage, gasping when he wraps his arm across your waist to pull you closer so your breasts are right in his face and he attaches his mouth to one, leaning back on his hand to hold himself up.

He releases your tit with a pop and tilts his head to watch in content as your knees move to prop yourself up so you can bounce on his dick, appreciating his hand on your ass supporting and guiding you.

“Fuck, doll. Yeah, just like that,” He moans and breaks from your lips to throw his head back as his balls tighten, and you take your turn to make marks on his neck.

“Nngh, gonna come,” he groans deep in his gut, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes squeezing shut as you continue to rock against him and it throws him over the edge. He pushes at your hips to force you off of him until you fall back once more on the mattress as he pulls out with a gasp. He growls and grunts as thick ropes of hot cum shoot out over your stomach and tits and you moan at the feeling and the sounds he makes. 

“Goddamn,” he wheezes, jerking his dick through the final pulses of his orgasm and he grips your thigh to keep himself grounded. When his dick stops twitching, he falls back over to kiss you roughly.

“Close,” you tell him against his lips and he curses.

“Fuck, okay.” Anticipating being overstimulated but wanting nothing more than to satisfy you, he sits on his heels, pulls your hips onto his thighs and waits for your nod for him to plunge back in.

He wastes no time rutting into the very spot that he knows will guarantee you to come fast and hard. He has to bite his bottom lip to keep from whining at the overstimulation. But it proves fruitless when you pulse your orgasm around his dick, squeezing him so tight, that he starts to come again, encouraged by your endless moans of his name. He manages to keep his release at bay until he feels your wave wash back and yanks himself out at the last second so that he doesn’t give into temptation and come inside you. That level is on the horizon, but neither of you are quite ready for that. He knows just how addictive that will be and it’s too much of a risk.

So he opts to come on your stomach and chest for a second time, not bothering to jerk himself through it and just lets his cock bob on your center as he returns to his place above you. You open your mouth to welcome him before he even lands his fists beside your head.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes over you, ducking his head into your neck so he can hear you whisper the same.

Dick softening on your lower stomach, he kisses you until his biceps strain under his weight.

“You feeling okay?” He asks, sitting back on his heels and smiling warmly (proudly) at your fucked out expression.

He presses his hands on your hips, heart racing when you won’t stop staring at him and he has to look away to prevent a rise in blood pressure, instead staring at all of his cum spread over you.

He looks back up when he catches your hand reaching for him and he grabs it, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm, eyes never leaving yours.

“What?” He asks as you pout. He kisses the inside of your wrist and you sigh, let his lips linger there and your heart stops for a moment at his tenderness.

With a smile and one more kiss on the back of your hand, he gets up and grabs a pair of sweatpants on the way to the bathroom, running a washcloth under warm water and wringing it out lightly before bringing it back to you to clean up his mess.

A moment later, he watches you with wide eyes as you slide out of bed and head to the bathroom without a word, albeit with a noticeable wobble. He sighs when the door shuts, getting the feeling that fucking the shit out of each other just now did nothing to solve your problems. While he waits for you to come back out, he strips the bed of soiled sheets to take out to the washer in the hallway closet. Just as he starts the cycle, you emerge from the bathroom, arms crossed over your breasts as you scurry into the bedroom to dress into his hoodie and a pair of his hoochie daddy shorts. You keep your head down while you walk past him for the kitchen, but he catches you with an arm pressed into your abdomen.

“Hey,” he murmurs above your head. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can tell me.”

You nod against his bicep, slipping your hand down to his fingers and tangling them together to lead him into the kitchen. He doesn’t take his hands off of you while you maneuver around to retrieve glasses of water for you both, but you end up just sharing yours. Neither of you say anything for a moment after you refresh yourselves. Then, his knuckles under your chin bring your face level with his, away from staring into the void behind his shoulder.

“The sex was good in there, but it didn’t resolve anything,” he reminds you softly. “We should talk it out before you get too far into your head.”

Fuck. He knows you so well. With a sigh and a blurry waterline, you lean against him, head resting on his shoulder so he doesn’t see.

“I just really missed you,” you start in a small voice. On your temple, he frowns. “And I know it’s kind of pathetic because we live together and you were only gone for three days but I just wish you would make up your mind about coming home or not. It’s just frustrating when you say you’ll be done in a couple hours but it turns out to be five. Or I wait up for you just for you to tell me you’re staying overnight. I know how important your work is, especially when you have a deadline, and I never want to take you away from it, but sometimes it feels like when I tell you to take a break, you act as if I’m asking you to stop altogether. I’m just trying to make sure you eat and rest properly so you don’t burn yourself out and get sick.” Your voice chokes the more you admit, and he lets your words hang in the air before rubbing his hand across the back of your shoulders. Resting his head on yours, he takes a deep breath.

“I love how supportive you are of my job and how much you worry about me, but I’m sorry I make you feel neglected. That’s never my intention.” You hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes the back of your neck.

“I mean, I’m not trying to dig myself out of the hole here, but a lot of the time when I come to a dead end with a project and feel like giving up, I think about you and how the faster I get done, the faster I can come home and devote all of my time to you.” You can’t hold back a sniffle. He frowns and gently pulls you by your shoulder and waist to press your fronts together. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, along with your tears.

“I’m so sorry I made you upset, baby,” he whispers, his own voice choked up. “I just get stuck sometimes and it’s hard for me to give it a rest. Thank you for loving me so well that you knew when I needed you to come drag me out. And three days is way too long to not he home. I’m sorry I made you feel like it wasn’t.” You swallow a sob and hold him tighter.

“Well, I’m sorry I made you think I wanted Hoseok to fuck me.”

His nostrils flare with a small laugh. “I know you were just trying to piss me off. But I don’t know if I want us to make each other jealous by doing that anymore, y’know?”

You nod in quick understanding and he purrs gratefully, lifts a hand to gently tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Because I guess sometimes I just worry that you could do better.”

Your limbs freeze as his words sink in and spreads your blood thin. Placing your hands on his hips, you lean away to look right at him, eyebrows furrowing at his pained smile.

“That has to be the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.” Chewing the inside of his cheek, he suppresses a laugh.

“I’m serious.” You reach up to cup his jaw. “Don’t tell yourself that. I love you. You’re it for me, Yoongi.”

Starlight fills his eyes as he gazes down into your soul. He hugs you tightly, and whispers those same three words back, all of the weight he’s ever carried lifting off of his shoulders now that you’ve solidified that you’re his forever.

“I’m gonna do better to not spend so much time at the studio,” he promises, fingertips massaging the back of your head.

“Maybe just limit your overnighters to once a week.” He smiles, leans in to kiss you, hearts feeling warm and full. “I can work with that. And next time you want to blow me at work, try not to do it when one of my colleagues is in there.”

“Fine,” you sigh in exaggeration. “But at least admit that you liked it.”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Why not?” you challenge playfully. “It was a one time thing, so the least you can do is-” He cuts you off with a kiss that wipes your brain clear of any thoughts.

��You were saying?” he mumbles against your lips with a knowing smirk.

“Fuck if I know,” you breathe and he chuckles.

Leaning back in, he kisses you slowly, thoughtfully for a few moments, then breaks away with eyes hazed with love and boops your nose.

“Why don’t we go shower and get dressed so I can take you out on a date, hm? We’ll go wherever you’d like.”

A bright and wide smile on your face, you tangle both of your hands together and lean up to kiss him. He melts into you and your heart glows as radiant as the rising sun. You break, and your cheeks burn when you notice how his have turned a noticeable shade of pink.

“Let’s both decide on a place. But maybe tomorrow or the day after when I can walk a little better.” He grins and kisses your forehead, softly pats your ass.

“Sounds good to me.”

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! i've had this sitting in my drafts for a while and finally got the courage to post it so I hope you enjoyed! lmk what you think if you want! Also im the queen of run-on sentences so i apologize for that! And some of it might seem kind of rushed, but i was really trying to keep it under 10k.

xxx - claret

p.s. check out my yoongi mafia series not in the cards if you haven't already! thanks again!!

[fruitcoops]

In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

[softspace-fics]

Homework

Masterlist - all my work!

A/N - Hi everyone! First off I'm sorry for not posting for a few days, I haven't been feeling well and schools been alot especially now that I have a job. I also want to say thank you so much for the reblogs and follows recently, I couldn't be more greatful that you guys are enjoying my fics! Please enjoy this next one as well.

Warnings ⚠️: invoulintarily regression, reader has anxiety/panic attack, Stucky helps reader to get through the attack.

Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x GN!little reader

_______________

You slam your pencil onto the desk before throwing your head back in frustration as the homework sits there heavy on your desk. You'd been staring at it for hours and every time you attempted to do it, everything would just blur and your regression would began to spiral further and further.

It had been a extremely long day with starting a new job, and college exams coming up soon, which means you were stressed beyond belief and nothing was helping. You had music going through your headphones, it only did so much to help you focus. 

Your caregivers weren't here as they were on a mission for the last month and youve been completely isolated due to college and your job and everything else inbetween.

You shakily pick up your pencil again as silent tears fall from your eyes and you feel sick trying to get these stupid notes done. You get through a few sentences before you feel the pencil taken from you and your headphones carefully taken off of your ears and your chair spun around.

You freak and almost smack whoever is touching you until you see Bucks face and every emotion you've kept inside breaks and you fall into his arms balling.

Bucky carefully but quickly picks you up, shushing you and repeatedly reminding you, your safe and loved. Gentle kisses were placed all over your head and your tears were wiped as you continued to sob into him.

Steve is next to you guys, rubbing your back, trying not to cry himself. Bucky and him came into the apartment and with your headphones being on, they could hear your tiny sniffles the moment the door was open. They immediately took off their shoes and put their bags down, before practically running down the hallway to find you.

When they saw the homework scattered all around the desk and your sitting form almost crumpled in, they knew you weren't doing okay, and swooped in to help.

They walked around with you crying for about a hour, ranting about everything, the exhaustion of how you feel starting to feel lighter after having the two people that mean the most to you back with you. 

Steve and bucky help get you into more comfortable clothes, sliding a pacifier into your lips as your tears die down and you begin to completely regress invoulintarily. You mumble around your pacifier about the homework, and bucky just gently shushes you and tells you they’ll help you do it tomorrow. 

Homework was the worst and there was times where everything feels like it's crushing around you but at least you had your caregivers to help crack down the walls you make and to help you out into the open. 

Steve takes you out to the living room while bucky gets some food made for you three, and holds you close as your tucked safely under his chin, watching cartoons. 

After the duo made sure you were fed well and had your bottle, you all eventually fell asleep on the couch, your favorite movie on and in the safedy of the two people who knew you best and loved you even more.

[cookie-crumblr]

F!Reader x Therapist Yan OC Sheila~

Tigers in the Garden🐅✨

Her Info: 📋❤️‍🔥

Was a Drabble i swear… Part 1~

Next Part—>

!MINORS DNI!

CW: F!Reader, Reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, use of strap on reader, fxf, strap in readers v, reader SH(Before it starts, not described, just mentioned and implied in convo), sub and slightly bratty reader, reader is a stoner, reader wears makeup, imbalanced power, DUB-CON(coercion and blackmail), reader has hair(not described), nipple play(a little), choking, not proofread, rough sex, rough with reader in general, spanking, lemme no if i missed any! :3 names for reader(brat, slut, whore),smut with barely any plot in this part, power imbalance

“Okay,” You shrug. “Whatever, i guess” The ‘good’ people in white coats guide you down a sea-green, sterile-smelling corridor.

Youre finally being let out of your mandatory three day stay at a mental health facility(more like prison). They’re letting you out on the condition you see the therapist they’ve set you up with.

Sheila Reichsgraf.

You’ve got nothing but the clothes you came in with in a plastic baggie with your phone, wallet, and keys. They gave you clothes that don’t quite fit or look good on you, and a piece of paper saying where you are to go tomorrow. For tonight? some well earned weed and munchies to go with. Maybe some masturbating too, you’ll see where the night takes you.

Now sitting in front of this woman(more like tigress), you slouch down into your seat. Her gaze is unreadable but scrutinizing.

“I’ve, of course, been informed of your admittance to Fir’s Rest. Would you like to talk about it?” She asks, while typing on her computer.

“Nope.” You sag further into the black velvet chaise lounge.

“I’d like you to talk about it.” She slides her keyboard out of her way, and folds her hands in front of herself.

“I’d like you to kindly shut it about that actually.” You snap.

“Take off your clothes.” Her voice is stern, but no louder than before.

“Ex-fucking-Scuse you!?” you exclaim, what the fuck is she on!? like sure you think she’s way too hot for this plane of existence but like ???

“Take off your clothes.” she interrupts your thoughts, repeating the same thing over again in the same tone. “Unless…” She continues before you can pipe back, “You’d rather go back to the facility.” she takes something out of a black leather padfolio before closing it, and sighing heavily.

You roll your eyes. “What, so you’re like, coercing me now? what’s next ?? threaten to tell my mother?” that would be terrible cause after all you’ve been through for that woman you at the very least want your share of the inheritance.

“Exactly that, darling~” As she walks toward you, you watch her in shock, or disbelief. She extends perfectly manicured, dark skin hands toward you, with a fan of polaroid photos of you in a mental hospital, butt hanging out of your polka dot gown, grippy socks and a trailing IV and all.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re sick! You’re a lunatic! If you even think that i’ll—” your voice is completely halted when she roughly grabs you by the cheeks and squeezes your lips into a fish mouth. You scowl up at her deeply. You think about spitting on her, but think better of it. thankfully.

“Listen to you, a brat like you needs to be put in her place.” A smile spreads across her cheeks, dimples pop out near the angled tips of it going into her cheeks.

She really is hot.

You swallow.

She roughly lets go of your face as you pull away. your hair muses and gets in your eyes but you don’t blink and lose eye contact for a second.

Sheila grips your arms to pull you up out of your chair, and throws you hands first into her desk.

Stunned by how fast this all happened, you remain there long enough for her to wrap herself around you.

You let out a cute little whimper as she pinches your nipple through the fabric. You weren’t expecting it, and the shock that got sent directly to your clit.

“Such a good whore under there, already whimpering for me~?” You hear the smile in her voice, as her head buries into the crook of your neck. It tickles and you jump, your ass slamming back into her body. she clings onto you tighter, to hold you still. Somehow you feel like she completely envelops you.

Your core is already hot as she quickly and roughly removes your clothes, feeling up your skin and grabbing everywhere she can as soon as it’s bare. From your hips, to your belly, down and even back up to your ribs, down your arms. Everywhere on you that enters the light, she roams. Her mouth isn’t far behind, kissing and biting you, devouring you fully.

Sheila spreads your legs, one at a time, and puts your hands back on her desk so that your leaning forward. You’re too out of breath and dumb right now to even think of moving. Your back is arched and your ass wiggles slightly on its own, beckoning her and her throbbing clit. She’s equally out of breath, dripping just like you are, her heels click on the wood as she removes her clothes, staring at your swaying backside all the while.

“You’re going to take all of this, aren’t you slut?” Her big beautiful strap on flings out to attention. Your head falls to one shoulder so that you can glimpse it… You swallow harder than before, your brows peaking as you start to imagine the stretch around that thing. You nod.

You don’t have to imagine for long before she’s grabbing your neck to pull your body up against hers. Hard nipples poke your back and you shiver. Delicious, you want those in your mouth, don’t you? “I won’t go easy.” She coos menacingly, and squeezes your throat gently until you see stars.

She rubs her cock against your entrance, prodding, and poking, slowly diving into your needy, wet hole. You’re already stretching around just her head and feeling so good at the same time, whining and whimpering until, she plunges it inside you. All at once and you bite your lip, unable to breathe anymore.

“FUCK!” You puff out the last of your air with one word.

“Soon you’ll be screaming Doctor…” She whispers into your ear before pulling away as far back as her arm will allow, so that she has a better vantage point. Watching your ass as she pulls her strap out, that looks like it’s as far in as your tail bone or further, her clit sends ripples of pleasure throughout her body.

She licks her lips and slams into you this time. She’ll have to savor watching it slowly get swallowed up by your tight pussy later. This time she pulls out faster and pushes back in just as fast. She sets a pace that’s both brutal and blissful to you, as the pain lessens the pleasure grows, and it grows exponentially.

Her nails dig into your throat and her other comes around to tweak your clit, it makes you start to shake and twitch, your arms wobble trying to keep you upright.. Her own orgasm building as the strap rubs her back with every thrust, she moans behind you, you tighten around her, and open yourself up more to take her better.

“D-Doctor!” You practically beg, not knowing what for; more, less, faster, slower! But she was right, and you yell, “Doctor!!” again. She gets faster and faster, your butt is hot from the force of her slamming into you. the slapping of skin against wet skin, combined with stuffed groans and more hoarse “Doctor”’s fill the office.

Blackened tears streak down your face as you cum around her cock you shake and convulse barley able to hold yourself up against the low desk, even with the help of her hand still wrapped around your throat. She keeps pounding you. Ruthlessly. Through your orgasm and straight into your crashing next two. “Who would have thought you’d be such a good girl under that attitude.”

Suddenly she pushes in deeper than ever before, stealing even more air from the depths of your soul. You swear you can feel her hitting there too. “Take all of me,” her hand runs down your hair and back. Then she slowly pulls out, letting you really feel the thick vein that twists around her length. You shudder around her, and whimpers keep falling freely from your open, puffy lips, you’re spent.

She plays with your hair gently, before spanking your already warm ass. You jump, “Wha-!” Your too dumb to even form one little word. Her hand rounds where she just slapped and you think she’ll slap you in the same spot when she pulls away, you brace for impact. You yelp! when she slaps your raw pussy instead.

The phone rings…

You don’t see her look at the caller ID, but you hear her sigh.

“This session is over. Come back next week.” She completely pulls away leaving you cold on the outside but still burning for her on the inside.

“What about—?” You start, before she interrupts.

“Session’s over.” she says while buttoning her shirt, then pats down her skirt, before turning back to you, and winks, “Like I said, come back next week” Your heart pounds. Can you even wait a week?

What are you even thinking right now!?

…

You glance back at her. She licks her lips.

She’s on the edge of her desk and watching you get dressed, you walk out the door with a slight limp and her eyes, practically ticklish on your back.

You have to catch your breath outside the thick wood doors.

Sheila groans before picking up the receiver.

“Hello, mommy dearest…” She makes her voice higher pitched and ready to please.

[siremasterlawrence]

Spider-Man swung in to Metropolis by way of his web landing on top of The Daily Planet Building in excitement, he throws himself ok to the aid backflipping on to the edge of the gigantic building and sleuths every one in the area. He spots his man as he races to undress in to his street clothes as they all float in to the air, he uses his hands to form signature sign shooting webs in to the air sticking them to the top of the building along with his pack back. He backflips on to the edges of the building climbing down the glass walls miles upon a level of miles he goes down unaware of what awaits him this day and as he hits the the grounds and he jumps off the building doing a superhero landing. He quickly sneaks around the corner to go walking in to the building with pep in his step as he races over to tap Clark Kent on huge ass muscular shoulder and they shake hands vigorously taking stock of their prep for the interview.The man who they are interviewing tonight is a hot ticket at the moment standing up so boldly with this toxic type of smile as he is radiating and he offers a hand for them to shake and invites them to join them on to the elevator.The doors for the elevator closing the glass door as it beginning to speed upward to the main office as the elevator shaft start to be able to blink like strobe lights and as they are blinded by it consuming them in the room.The man is not bothered clearly laying his back on the glass wall as they are blindedby the light flashing in his face as they are slowly starting to force him to freeze and the young man feels absolutely in control as he begins to ponder.He obviously knows that this man Clark Kent is no mere guy who happens to be a award winning reporter but actually he is the great Superman and Peter Parker is the perfectly phenomenal Spider-man not a mere student at all.The man laughs as the two freeze leaving plenty of room for them man to enjoy all of his current situation, his hands now lay on him as he starts to spread his hands all over him and grope him extremely tightly as they do not move.The door stops at the floor swinging open with a loud swooshing sound as he walks off of the shaft on to the main floor, pointing to the seats as they mindlessly taking both of the seats available behind the desk as they smirk in excitement of it all.

“Mr Kent and Mr. Parker” the man says to them and snaps his fingers.

“Oh Mr. Lawrence! May I set up please?” Clark asked unaware.

“Where should I set up?” Parker adds.

“In the middle of the room”

“Center of the circus”

“Yes Sir”

“Yes Perfect”

“Shall we commence?”

“Please do! Where do we start?”

“I have an idea! I am in charge”

“Now wait a minute! We agreed to…”

“Shut the fuck up! Zip it”

“I know both of your identities”

“No! I am Clark Kent”

“You are confused”

“I am very clear and open minded “

“What do you want with us?”

“Oh sweet! I love the smell of fear, confusion and resistance.”

“You sick bastard “

“Twisted motherfucker”

“Focus…now…tsk tsk”

“You love me”

“Keep denying it”

“I can see it in your eyes “

The two stood astound by the nerve on this man who continues or ramble on stomping his feet at with effect as a giant tumble rod form under the ground capturing Super-man shoot upward and covers him from head to toe as the floor splits in to a circular form and it drops in. Peter is left in a gripping sense of fear as he holds his heart tightly holding him down as he trips falling backwards on to the wall as he slides downward to the ground rolling to the side of the room and I watch the full on throttle of wondrous leveling of submissionbecause he will learn soon. The man walks up to him kneeling down to one knee gripping his collar as he lifts him up to full height, he is a short stomp at this point compared to the other Peters he had collected off time and I shove his face to see my finger pointing towardthe glass container holding three other Peters in suits.Below the building free falling to the bottom of the build he hit the basement shattering the entire glass case as the pieces shooting everywhere on to the floor, Superman’s body is thrown in to the air tumbling to the ground his back hits the wall, hit smashes on the floor as he is knocked unconscious at my will. The walls behind him slide open to the either sides of the room as a robot walks forward on to the floor grabbing him by ways of his under arm pits lifting him up on to the side of his shoulders and carries him inside of the hidden room as the door drops on to the grounds the light fades and Clark is no more. Superman’s body is dragging across the grounds being shoved in to a metal device locking him in place as Clark comes of in a panic he is in fear for his life but all would end soon Clark s blown away when a pair o goggles descend down facing Clark as it blares in tohis eyes deeply blasting the light into both eyes scanning him then erasing his memory as it goes on and soon Clark’s mind bares no memory he stand dumb, brainless and full of shit literally as he burps, farts and idiotic bro smile covering his face.A large boom sound comes through hitting Clark hard as his reality fades all the way in to the background he watches the front side door slip up to reveal a beautiful blow glow to the light. The reality of his situation as the man steps in to the light the same one who they came to investigate cups his chin very tightly with smirk and a strange grip no other human could ever. “Clark Kent AKASuperman you are now my personal toy, a favorite I will play with for all eternity and you will never regret it.” The man cups his chin pushing him in to a kiss instantly his mouth fills up with kryptonite gas filling up his throat and through his body as he has no choice but to succumb.

“Yes Master! I adhere to you! What do I do with that Parker loser?” He ask annoyed at the world.

“Bring him to his knees all three of them”

“Three? Hmmm Fun”

Clark ascends to the roof top to watch all three Peter’s trapped in their own spider webs, Clark carrying his Master Lawrence places him down and breaks through the glass leaving it in pieces, and ripping all of the webs done as it all shreds to pieces and the three legends appear at the side.

“Master Lawrence is commanding you! He awaits.”

“Yes Superman! We will follow him if you lead to serve Lawrence.”

The end

[rin-vana]

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈─── ♡ 𝇄 𝇃 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ┋ 𝐅𝐓. 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐇𝐔

⎯⎯ ( 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ) : Baizhu x Reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 ) : Baizhu insists on working before giving his wife what she want, so instead of putting up a fight, she motivates him in her own way.

⎯⎯ ( 𝘾.𝙒. ) : Established relationship, oral (male receiving), cum swapping, Baizhu is a little stubborn, reader is pushy but in a loving way, messy blowjob, humilitation on Baizhu's end, subby Baizhu elements, use of nicknames: love, darling, my everything, as always black reader, a drabble

⎯⎯ ( 𝙒.𝘾. ) : 1,764

⎯⎯ ( 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 ) : I fr drop fics n disappear. Lol this was supposed to be posted when his banner came out but I didn't really sit down n write it but here yall go

”Just a moment my love, almost done with this remedy. Then you'll have my attention, I promise.”

You've heard that multiple times by now. Repeating over and over from Baizhu's mouth who tirelessly continues to work at his desk, writing off whatever it was on multiple scrolls and papers. It concerned you none, in fact you could care less about its importance. Baizhu had a habit of pushing himself beyond his limits, even though his illness was so evident after doing so. You pained for him.

”Hon, you've been sitting here all day. Get up, give yourself a breather.”

Your tone had been assertive, standing right beside his chair with a hand placed on your hip. And yet he didn't budge at all, hardly sparing you a glance as his eyes frantically shifted, following his hands that never stopped writing. ”Please, love. I'll finish this last paper.”

Baizhu himself sounded more agitated with your pleading of getting him to stop, but no matter how annoyed your husband got, you knew what was better for him and his sickness, and that was taking a much needed break. Hell, even the sun has departed from its responsibilities of keeping Teyvat lit for the day.

All you could do was scoff at him. Truly you loved how devoted he was to his craft, and helping Liyue in any way he can, but it was irritating how you hardly spoke to your own lover. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you try to soothe the tension building up in his muscles from sitting up-right, and to further convince him in your own way.

”Baizhu, darling, get up and come to bed with me.”

The sage haired male felt compelled to sigh, finally placing the pen down onto the wooden surface. Your satisfaction began to grow when he finally turned to you, albeit still sitting, and wrapped an arm around your waist. His other hand trailed to the one placed onto his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before he brought your hand to his lips. He placed the most delicate of kisses upon your soft skin, yet his eyes looked ever so regretful.

”I'm sorry, my love.. but allow me to finish this last prescription, please?”

A long winded sigh was drawn from your lips, not knowing just how stubborn your lover could be up until now. All you did was mutter out a small "fine," detaching yourself from his arms and walking away from where he sat. Baizhu may have looked regretful, but he still had responsibilities to complete, and then he'd give you all the time in the world afterwards.

But you, you had another idea in mind. A much more convincing way to pull him out of his work trance. Wordlessly you got on your knees, pushing past Baizhu's right leg to successfully get yourself under his desk. This certainly did grab his attention, for he pushed back from the wooden surface to get a better look at you, eyebrow raised and all. ”My love, what.. are you doing?”

”Just go back to working.”

Still confused, he followed your order and scooted himself closer to his desk yet again, his legs being directly in front of you. You began sliding your hands up his legs until you reached his knees, pushing them apart. It elicited quite the surprised yelp from your lover.

” [ Name ]—!” He dropped his pen as he called out your name, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at you, but you still refused to reply to him. All you did was grant him a single glance through your lashes, your hands rising higher until you reached the hem of his pants. It was there that Baizhu grabbed your wrist in an attempt to stop you, lips fumbling to get any sort of words out.

”My love, m–my everything, I told you I'd—”

”No no, you need to finish your work. I get it. So, let me motivate you a little, 'kay?”

It took him a few seconds until he nodded, giving into whatever you had in store for him. It wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary for you to act like this when it came to him and his work, but you were demanding in a way that had him feel a throb in between his legs.

You continued with your endeavors seeing him, hesitantly, continue writing. Tugging down the fabric you see a small tent beginning to form in your lover's briefs. Of course you pulled that away as well, the two articles of clothing bunched and pooling at his ankles. Baizhu hissed at his cock hitting the chilled air, setting down his pen with one hand whilst the other covered his mouth.

You raised your brow hearing the scratching of pen against paper stop, looking at him once more. ”Darling, keep working.”

”I can't exactly… do that. Not when you're like this.”

Keeping your eyes locked, you gently took hold of his pretty dick, watching it twitch in your hand. Your body pressed closer into the space between his legs, tilting your head to the side in a form of mockery almost. ”Don't you need to keep working Baizhu?”

You and your games. He couldn't deny what you said, because he's proclaimed the notion over and over again that he just had to finish this prescription. In a way this is his fault, getting you worked up so much that you felt the need to torture him. But at the same time, he is so grateful he did. He couldn't even give you a proper answer, ripping his gaze from yours in a mix of realization and partial humiliation.

Without letting another second pass by, you kiss the tip of his blushed head, lazily stroking the base before taking a few inches in your mouth. Baizhu muffled his sounds with the hand still covering his mouth, trying to finish writing the last few sentences of the night. But your mouth felt so warm and inviting, it made his head all foggy.

It isn't long before you start bobbing your head, feeling his cock poke at your cheek each time with the way you angled yourself. It was Baizhu's favorite way of watching you fuck your own throat, so the fact that he had to choose between writing some meaningless transcripts or using your throat drove him insane. It was evident you didn't care though, a second hand of yours coming to stroke the remaining inches of him you couldn't take in your mouth. It sent your lover over the edge as he tilted his head backwards, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose as his noises picked up.

He sounded so desperate, damn near whiny. He moved his hand away from his face to find purchase by grabbing the edge of his desk, drool slipping from his lips as he tried so poorly to hold himself back, to not give in and prove your point. But fuck were you good at making him crumble. Your spit coated his cock and created a disgusting slobbering sound that only made Baizhu's thighs shake around your head. ”My love.. slow– slow down..”

He couldn't take it, not with how your pace made heat build up in his lower abdomen. Not with how messy you were being. All Baizhu could do was allow his sighs and pleas echo off the walls, moaning pathetically about archons knows what. Looking up to the view of your husband, you find his hazy eyed stare at the ceiling so cute. It was easy to make Baizhu come undone with your mouth alone, especially since he was so in love with you.

Involuntarily his hips jerked forward, his dick hitting the back of your throat with ease thanks to its impressive length. By then he took his glasses off completely, prescription long forgotten as his hands now held the sides of your head, thumbs caressing your hollowed cheeks.

”I hope you'll allow me-” he started, sounding ever so breathless. ”-To use your throat.”

As much as objecting and torturing him further sounded so pleasing, his dazed expression and deprived sounding voice made you give in. You couldn't let your husband suffer for too long, after all he was working tirelessly to aid Liyue without expecting much in return. So you hummed around him in response, feeling his legs shudder around you yet again as the vibrations nearly made his eyes roll back.

It's sudden when your nose meets the skin of his pelvis, your throat clenching around Baizhu who ended up halfway down the cavern. He lets out a deliciously euphoric moan, lips parting while his eyes become much more lidded at the feeling alone. ”Your throat.. always so warm, so good,” he mumbles under his breath, amber eyes staring into your teary ones as he begins to retract his hips and snap them forward.

As much as he wanted to be gentle with you, you had ways of making him act otherwise. His hips met your face in a brutal way, the head of his cock forcefully making its way down your throat with ease each time he brought himself forward. His moans continued to rise in volume, shades of pink dusting across his face due to his high creeping up on him. Your hands squeezed his bare thighs and it's all it took for him to paint your mouth white, hurriedly pulling his dick out your mouth inch by inch so every part of it was coated in him.

You opened your mouth while looking at him, your mouth and lips having the salty liquid stick to it, and the sight had Baizhu never wanting to look away. With his hands on your face he pulled you upwards, meeting you halfway in the sloppiness kiss you've ever shared, your arms frantically wrapping around his neck. Your fingers reached his hair, and his pressed against the back of your head to seemingly push you further in the vehement kiss. Your tongues tangled and danced, sharing his essence until you pulled away for air.

You and Baizhu looked at each other, breathless and so full of pure need. The sage haired male can't help but to let out a chuckle, slender hands making their way to your waist to have you sit on his lap. It was evident that finishing work can be tomorrow's duty because having you in his arms and your mouth serving him was more fulfilling.

”Let's.. finish this in our bedroom, my love.”

[age-of-play-i-say]

Puppy Fever, pt. 1

I just have a cold, but I woke up aching and foggy, barely able to manage texting Daddy for help. Daddy appeared quickly, with a warm milk drink for me to wake up with. He coos as I take my medicine, and cannot stand my eyes watering as he breaks the news that he has to return to work while I languish in bed. He’d prefer I stay comfortable in my cozy bed, but I can’t bear to have him out of my sight when I’m like this.

He holds a finger up in the doorway and says “Give me 5 minutes, little one, and then Dada won’t leave your sight again” and I can hear him in every room, shuffling around with purpose. I doze unhappily, drinking my sippy cup and hugging my teddy bear stuffie.

Daddy reappears in the doorway and strides for my bed, sliding his arms underneath my body before bracing himself to scoop me up, blankets and all.

I moan, sore and miserable, and snuffle into Daddy's neck.

He does his best not to jostle me, walking slowly. As he does he whispers "I was saving this for your birthday, but today seems like the right time for a treat."

We round the corner to his office and I peer around his neck to see something new - a large plush doggie bed designed to fit under his desk, with grooves for his legs and feet to fit too. I cling to him and kick my feet happily before groaning from the exertion.

He bounces me lovingly before setting me down to explore my new spot. He adjusts my blanket to wrap around my shoulders and gives my bare bottom a pat. 

"Go on, sweetie, there are other goodies in your little baby corner. I'll be right here the whole time, and this way you don't have to go anywhere for my Zoom meeting later on."

I drop to my knees and crawl in. Out of sight, there's a small space heater, a DVD player with my comfort movies queued, starting with Lilo and Stitch. My favorite stuffies are all in attendance.

He also set up a small breakfast tray of different drinkies, snacks, and cold meds. As a final touch, the cold meds have a sticky note slapped on top that says 'grown ups only, Daddy will take care of it'

I coo happily, feeling warm all over for the first time since this cold hit me hard. I peek my face out and mean to thank Daddy, but no words come out. Instead my eyes get watery and I fling myself forward, hugging one of his legs.

He relaxes and settles into his chair, petting my upper back and hair before murmuring, "Sick as a dog, so I figured you might want to be my puppy for today." I whimper and hug his leg tighter, my bare bottom pressing on his socked foot. I'm turning pinker than my fever flush, not sure why I'm so blushy.

I look up at Daddy curiously. 

"Puppy?" I ask. He nods.

"Puppies don't have to speak, they get pets, tummy rubs, snacks." I nod, laying my head back on his knee before he says, "and any accidents or humpies without permission aren't naughty when you're a puppy." My head swivels to meet his gaze.

He was waiting for me. He leans down and pats the bottom of my puppy pen. It crinkles. He grins and leans back up.

"Lined with puppy pads and the base cushion is washable, so my sweet pup doesn't have to think about anything at all if they don't want to."

My lil winkie pulses against his leg without any movement from me, giving away my thoughts. He chuckles before continuing,

"You can also make humpies if you're up to it, or you can ask Daddy for help. No limits on anything that makes my baby feel good today, okay?" 

I nod, still fever-flushed but so aroused by his love and care. I don't look up at him and instead start rolling my hips against his leg.

He chuffs happily and focuses back in on his laptop, ignoring his puppy-baby churning their growing winkie on his bare ankle.

I squeal a few seconds later when my orgasm hits unexpectedly, leaving me gasping and shaking. I've been feeling so awful that getting off felt like a chore, and now Daddy has put me deep in headspace, caring for me more deeply than I've ever known.

No wonder I'm sensitive.

I sigh contentedly and give my sore hips one final waggle before lifting off, grabbing a drinkie from the tray and two stuffies and settling back between Daddy's legs, safe and sound.

[meraki24601]

Not Sick: Part 3

Whumptober day 4! I chose the quote again: "You in there?"

Part 1, Part 2

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

“Whumpee! Kitten, are you in there? Are you home, Whumpee?” The cheerful voice echoes through the window, filling the room. Deep cold grips Whumpee’s heart at the sound. All strength disappeared from their body, and their reaching arm fell to the bed next to them. They could never forget that voice. Never forget the pain it brought. 

Whumper had found them.

“Kitten! Come out and play!” The voice was closer now. Fighting was out of the question. Whumpee couldn’t even sit up. When they found them, there would be nothing to stop Whumper from doing anything they wanted. Not even Caretaker could hold them back. 

Oh, Caretaker. What’s to stop Whumper from hurting Caretaker?

Caretaker’s only hope was if Whumper didn’t find them. The window was open, and it was too late to close it. Whumper would notice. The lights were off in the room in favor of the natural light, so if Whumpee could hide, maybe Whumper would think the apartment was empty. Based on the way they kept calling for them, it seemed Whumper didn’t know which apartment they were in. 

It was their best bet. Whumpee had to act as they heard the bottom ladder for the fire escape slide into place. Whumper whistled a cheerful tune as Whumpee bit their hand to stifle a moan as they threw their body halfway off the bed. They couldn’t stand or make too much noise. Whumpee’s arms shook as they lowered themselves the rest of the way to the floor. They could barely breathe, but they were out of sight for the moment.

Under the bed, there was a little space just large enough for Whumpee to fit. Despite having not eaten for probably days, Whumpee’s stomach churned, threatening punishment for moving so much. They ignored it, dragging their body backward into the dark hiding spot. 

“Whumpee?” Whumper called. “Are you home?” 

They were close. So close. Whumpee pulled their sweaty shirt over their mouth to quiet the noise of their labored breathing. Their lungs rattled and threatened to cough. 

All breathing stopped when they heard the bed groan under a new weight. “Kitten, are you there? Don’t hide from me, I miss you!” Whumper’s feet appear over the edge of the bed. They continue humming, waiting. “I’ve missed you so much, Kitten. You shouldn’t have run away from me. I’ve been so lonely. So bored.”

Whumper bounced off the bed. They didn’t seem to be looking for Whumpee, just taking in the room. For a moment, they paused in front of Whumpee’s desk. “Oh, my poor Kitten. Are you sick?” Their footsteps grew closer, and a small notepad dipped down into Whumpee’s view. It was the notepad Caretaker had been using to note their fever. “Someone has been taking care of you. Is that who I hear out there?”

“Leave them alone!” Whumpee’s voice rips from their chest. It burns their dry throat, making their eyes water with tears threatening to fall.

Strong hands grab Whumpee and rip them from their hiding spot. It was over now. Maybe if they didn’t fight them, they would take Whumpee and leave. They could disappear, and Caretaker would never know how close they were to death. Whumpee groaned as Whumper slammed their chest into the floor, “I won’t fight. Leave them, and I’ll go with you.”

“Kitten, you don’t have a choice.” Whumper giggled. They looked up as frantic footsteps drew closer. They’d made too much noise. Caretaker was coming.

Part 4

[ofstoriesandstardust]

for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish (b.r.b.)

a/n: eh what the hell, i’m indulging myself. kylie has to get her wisdom teeth out and she doesn’t wanna! this is small but self indulgent 

summary: Bradley goes with Sunshine to the dentist.

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | flight risk masterlist | flight risk timeline

warnings: dentists, wisdom tooth infections, antibiotics, swearing, food mentions, brief mention of insecurities and doubt of self-worth at the end

"You’re going.”

You huff, looking up at the brunette who towers over you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “I don’t wanna.” The words come out in a more of a whine than you originally mean them to and you cringe. 

“Are you 3?” He asks, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I don’t know you to be a petulant child Sunshine.” He pauses, frowning as you continue to stare back at him. “C’mon, the only thing not going will do for you is make your pain worse.”

You sigh, sliding further into the couch. “Yeah, I know, but-” You cut yourself off, feeling suddenly really silly. 

“But-?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow. 

“But like- what if I have to get emergency wisdom tooth removal? I talked to my Dad, they’ll probably have to put me under and that’s literally terrifying-” 

“Sunshine.” He says, firmly, cutting you off. “Then we’ll figure it out, okay?” 

“I can’t afford emergency wisdom tooth surgery.” You mutter.

He sighs. “As of Friday, that won’t matter okay? And we will figure it out. I promise. In sickness and in health, right?”

Part of you wants argue that he’s too nice to you, another part wanting to argue that the two of you really shouldn’t be getting married on Friday.

The overwhelming part that wins is the part that doesn’t want to be in pain anymore. 

You sigh, pushing yourself up from the couch. “Fine. Fine.” 

Bradley flashes you a bright smile, pulling your front door open. “After you m’lady.” 

-

The door jingles above you as you open the door to the office. The lady sitting at the front desk offers you a smile. “Hi, how may I help you?” 

You take a deep breath as Bradley follows you into the office. “Hi, I’m here for an appointment?” 

The lady asks for your name as you see Bradley moves towards the fish tank in your peripheral. “Sunshine look, it’s Nemo.” He says, bending down to look into the tank. 

The lady laughs softly as she hands you your paperwork. “If you want to just have a seat, someone will be out to take you back in a little.” 

“Thank you.” You say, moving to sit down on the bench. Bradley follows your lead and squishes himself in between the two of you. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

“We’re sitting together.” He says simply. 

“We don’t both fit.” 

He shrugs at your words, tapping the clipboard. “Fill out your paperwork.” 

You shake your head, bringing your gaze down to the pages in front of you. 

As you fill out your insurance information, you feel your legs become uncrossed, your foot falling to bounce on the floor. It’s almost unconscious as you chew on your lip, filling out the paperwork in front of you. 

Suddenly, Bradley’s hand comes out to your knee, holding it still. “You’re gonna be fine Sunshine.” His eyes don’t move from the fish tank. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’re holding, nodding as tears prick your eyes. 

The two of you sit there for a little while longer before one of the dental assistants comes out, calling you by name. You take a deep breath as you stand up, the woman taking your paperwork from you. 

“Good luck Sunshine.” Bradley says, giving you a goofy grin and two thumbs up. “I’ll watch your purse.” 

You let out a little laugh, shaking your head, as you follow the woman further into the office. 

“You and your boyfriend are very cute.” She says, offering you a smile. 

“Oh, we’re not-” You pause, swallowing. 

If you were getting married, you couldn’t really keep denying that, could you?

You nod. “Yeah, he’s wonderful.” 

-

“So?” He asks raising an eyebrow as you emerge from the back, holding two pieces of paper in your hand. 

“Antibiotics for a week and super ibuprofen for the pain.” 

He stands up from the bench as you say goodbye to the woman at the front desk. Moving to the door of the office, the bell jingles again as the two of you leave. 

“Don’t forget you need to eat yogurt or something with your antibiotics.” 

“I fucking hate yogurt. I don’t even have yogurt.” 

He chuckles, following on to the steps of the building. “Sounds like we’ll be making a trip to the grocery store and the pharmacy then.” 

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling bad and self-conscious at all the kind things he’s done for you even just over the span of the last week since the party. 

You turn as he pulls his keys out, the Bronco clicking unlocked. “You don’t have to. I mean you drove me to my appointment-” 

He shakes his head, pulling the front door open. “In sickness and in health Sunshine!” 

-

You stand at the pharmacy counter, waiting for them to fill your prescription when a sharp pain erupts in your side. You turn, realizing Bradley has nudged you with the cart, giving you a guilty smile. “Ow.”

“Sorry Sunshine.” 

“You are literally a pain in my ass.” 

He shrugs. “Maybe, but you can’t hate me because I’m buying you cake. And it’s even your favorite flavor!” 

You sigh. “Bradshaw, I’m perfectly capable of buying my own groceries. And affording them.” 

He sighs, leaning up against the cart. “For richer, for poor, remember?” 

“We aren’t even married yet.” 

“Details. How much longer?” He says through a feigned yawn, waving a hand in the air.  

You squint at him, moving closer to him as your voice drop downs to a whisper. “I didn’t realize doing this for the benefits meant buying all my groceries. I can pay my own bills.” 

“Sunshine, do you ever let anybody do anything nice for you?” 

“I-” 

“Sunshine, you’re in pain. You have a wisdom tooth infection. I know you haven’t been eating and I know surgery isn’t going to be cheap. Let me buy you fucking yogurt and dino nuggies.”

You frown, eyeing him. Before you can say anything though, the pharmacist comes back to the counter with your prescription in hand. 

-

“Rawr.” 

You look up, seeing Bradley setting on of his t-rexs on your plate. “What are you doing?” 

He gives you a nervous smile. “My dinosaur is saying hi.” 

Your hand reaches up to rub your temple. “Why are you playing with your food? Are you a toddler or a grown-ass adult? Because I’m not sure.” 

He shrugs, taking the piece of meat back. “I just wanted to make you smile. Now, eat your food. You can’t take super ibuprofen on an empty stomach.” 

You sigh. “But my tooth hurts.” 

He chuckles, dipping the dinosaur in ketchup. “Sunshine, it’s not gonna stop hurting until you take super ibuprofen and you have to eat to do that.” 

You groan, sliding down in your chair. “Bradley, we gotta talk about this.” 

His gaze flickers up to you as he chomps down on a pterodactyl, biting it’s head off. “Talk ‘bout what?” 

“Getting married?” You say, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Like it hasn’t been haunting you since you and Bradley had set down in a diner near campus and agreed to actually do the damn thing. 

“I thought we already talked about it.” 

“When are we telling our friends?” 

He shrugs. “Whenever you give me the go-ahead Sunshine. You might want to tell Bailey before we tell Eli though, because her head’s gonna explode.” 

You shrug, reaching out to move one of the dino nuggets around the plate. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna tell her.” 

He pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What? Why?” 

“I just don’t... I just don’t think she’ll care all that much.” 

He snorts. “She’ll care, trust me. Stop playing with your food.” 

You swallow, sitting up in your chair as your hand slide under your legs to keep from peeling at the skin around your nails. You want to tell him that you don’t think they want to hear from you, that they were really only your friends because they felt bad for you, but another part of is terrified that he might agree. 

“You’re a good person, you know that right, Bradley?” 

Your voice is quiet, the only sound in the room becoming the TV of the two of you left on for background noise. He hums, tilting his head. “Okay, what’s up Sunshine?” He holds up a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “And don’t fucking bullshit me, Sunshine. You’ve been acting strange for a while now.” 

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You mumble. “I haven’t felt like myself in months. I’m graduating in a few months, I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, I’ve got so much shit to do between now and May, I spend all my energy playing mediator between my parents- I’m just- I’m just-” 

You force yourself to stop, taking a shuddering breath as hot tears prick your eyes. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him again. 

“You’re tired?” 

“Exhausted.” You mutter, looking down to your plate as the first tear rolls down your cheek, hot against your skin. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

He sighs, the sound of his chair moving echoing through the living room as he moves to sit down next to you. He pulls you into his chest and against your better judgment, you wrap your arms around him, returning his hug. He rubs your shoulder sympathetically, making the tears fall harder. “It’s gonna be okay, Sunshine. We’ll figure it out together, I promise. You’re not in this on your own.” 

As your tears bubble over, creating a wet patch on Bradley’s shirt, you can’t help but think about how you wound up with someone as incredible as him in it. 

He’s so kind.

And you don’t deserve it.

[nyx-greenwood99]

Fear of pains

Severus and myself discussing pregnancy. This is my take on how I feel it would go down. Forgive me, it's been a long time since I've written, I hope you like it.

Forewarning: arguing and angst

I awoke that morning feeling off, my private quarters dimly lit by the rising sun. I groan and rush to the bathroom, throwing up, my throat burning and my mind reeling.

What could I have eaten to make myself so sick?

I sigh, showering and dressing, knowing I can find some nausea potion in Severus supply.

I wander down to the dungeons, wondering if my secret lover was awake yet. We'd been courting for almost two years, McGonagall and a few close friends being the only ones aware of us together. Teaching defense had been a wonderful career choice but I'd had no idea that the job would come with a stoic man who ended up becoming something so much more.

I quietly enter his office, looking about the organized room recognizing the soft glow of candlelight coming from under the door to his room. I make my way over but the door opens before I reach it, Severus standing calmly albeit a bit sleepy in his crisp white button up and slacks, his hair tousled from sleep and a shadow upon his cheek, him not having yet shaved.

"did I wake you?" I murmur softly as I step closer to him

"Hardly, I was dressing" he lowly rasps, his voice sleepy.

He takes my hand, pulling me into his room. I follow and he takes me into his adjoining restroom, gently hoisting me onto the counter, giving me a tender glance before he turns on the sink. I quietly watch as he preps his skin, brushing on shaving cream and running the blade over his five o'clock shadow.

I'd always enjoyed the precision he did everything with, his hands dexterous and I blatantly stare, admiring his sharp features and piercing eyes. I'd always mentioned how cute he looked with his hair tied back yet he refused to ever wear it that way unless he was brewing or shaving.

"What brings you so early this morning?" He rumbles stirring me out of my reverie.

"I was hoping you'd have nausea cure" I murmur

He shoots me a curious and mildly concerned look, setting his razor down and wiping his face clean with a towel. He turns and rummages in his cabinet, plucking the vial out and reading the label before turning to face me.

"this only works if you are ill, do you have any inkling why you're sick?" He asks with a furrowed brow.

"I'm not sure, I woke up feeling nauseated and threw up shortly after...I still feel nauseous but it's lesser" I reply

His face pales as he looks me over, quickly turning and grabbing a different vial

"drink" he roughly demands, his face furrowed and dark with concern.

I comply, trusting him yet also confused why. I immediately feel ill, sliding off the counter and doubling over the toilet as I expel the contents of my stomach. He immediately sinks down behind me, gathering my hair back and sliding his knuckles soothingly over the back of my neck.

He waits patiently, quietly waiting for me to finish.

I sit back, him snagging a towel, handing it to me so I can clean my lips. I stand and rinse my mouth in the sink, feeling a bit better but embarrassed.

"you're.....pregnant" he breathes, his face pale and his eyes devoid of emotion.

"there's no way, we've played it safe, I don't...there's no..." I stammer, my stomach sinking as it hits me.

He walks out of the bathroom, walking to his desk and sinking into his chair, his head in his hands.

"Severus?" I ask quietly, my voice shaking

"out, I need to think" he bites out, making me wince and step back in hurt and shock.

"servers, we should tal-"

"Out Green, get out" he snarls, still hiding his face

My shoulders tense, my eyes filling with tears as I turn to leave, knowing he's in no state to talk, continuing will result in argument.

I nod, leaving his room, slamming the door behind me in my confusion and anger.

(part 2????)

[denjirv]

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

Synopsis: Yoshida uses his devil ability to have some fun with you during the test Genere: Smut Contains: Tentacles, public sex, Dom!Yoshida, Sub!Reader, Edging

A/N: I need to make my own banner for these fics good lord-  Yoshida was a tease, so much so it became a part of your relationship. But you didn't think he’d actually do it though. He always messed with you about touching you during class and while he did it, it wasn't what you expected it to be. As everyone put their things away to start the test you sat beside Yoshida from the far back, it was near the window and no one really paid attention to that corner. It was so quiet, so boring but as soon as the teacher said “start-” the sound of pencils writing down filled the room. You had to be focused, this was worth your grade and who cares if your boyfriend was just looking at you with that smile he always has. You didn’t know why but you felt a sense of dread feeling his eyes on you. You didn’t realize it but you felt something warm and wet on your thigh, you looked down only to cover your mouth seeing the tentacle that was laying on your thigh. You can feel how wet your thigh was and how it kept brushing up against your pussy. Yoshida smiled more hearing the subtle whimper coming from you as he stared down at his test, writing away as if he wasn’t assaulting you with his devil abilities An inappropriate use for a devil, granted Yoshida was never one to take things so seriously. He  enjoyed seeing you squirm in your seat while you grip onto your pencil, he wanted to see more though. He leans into you as he whispers. “Don’t make too much noise now, or else we’ll get caught~” His voice was always so soothing to hear, he had a bit of a deep pitch to it that all the girls at the school loved hearing. And here you are with your boyfriend touching you indirectly during a test in a quiet room. You barely finished the front side of the paper as you tried speeding through it, you were getting frustrated. Sexually or in general? Who knows but then Yoshida eyes down your legs getting touched by the tentacle as he came up with a sick idea Suddenly a pair of tentacles wrap your legs before making them spread just enough for the third one to tease your clit. You gasp quietly before closing your eyes shut, you try closing your legs but the grip from the devil was strong. It was getting hard for you to even write as you dropped your pencil that rolled from the table and landed on the floor. Yoshida leans down before giving it to you with an innocent look on his face. “You dropped this” He mutters but seeing how your face got red and how much you trying not to let a single noise escape excited him. The way you kept squirming in your seat as moans threaten to leave your clips he looks down at his paper before continuing to write, already flipping it to the other side you needed to finish before the bell rings.

And so with your shaky hands you grab the pencil and continue working. He could just watch you all day seeing you in such a desperate state, he especially loved seeing the horror in your eyes when the tentacles moved your panties to the side as it teases your wet entrance. You look over at him with pleading eyes that silently begged for him to not let him use it.  He lets out a confused hums before he would slide in the tentacle that stretched your pussy out. You hit your leg against the desk almost from how good it felt, if you could cry from the pleasure you would have as it thrust in and out of you so painfully slowly but yet it felt so good. Touching you in places where fingers couldn't reach You felt yourself going insane from how good it was getting as you panted under your breath. Yoshida was already popping a boner in class hearing the quiet squelching noises coming from your pussy getting fucked during class you barely had enough energy to read the questions. But like the tease he was he makes them go faster inside you, praying to god no one was looking around most of them were distracted by their work as you felt your legs shake with that familiar knotting feeling in your stomach grow. You couldn’t focus any longer, barely writing anything on the backside you quietly begged for him to let you cum. It was getting intense and you were close to cumming in class because of him, but as soon as you felt your pussy tighten around it the bell rang as the teacher told everyone to turn in their work and to enjoy their weekend, you felt the tentacle pull out before disappearing. Yoshida looked at you dripping pussy and shaky thighs with a small chuckle. “Don’t looks so good, is everything alright?” He asked curiously, you just roll your eyes before adjusting your panties as you try to quickly clean up the mess. You were seriously gonna get back at him one day for causing you this much trouble 

[ihatebnha]

bakugo + asking for a baby

I’ve always had this weird image in my head of asking sugar daddy bakugo for a baby… so this is that but the sugar daddy part is like……………… implied. Idk. I’m sick of working on it. I’m also sick of having my free time usurped.

(warning: sfw + gender is never mentioned I THINK but talk about having babies…??? One use of daddy but mostly nonsexually… ooc)

-

There is silence in the room when you enter.

Not silence.

There is the sound of a clock when you enter, the buzz of lights that are embedded in the cream painted walls. There is a low, static shuffle of soft ground, and the creak of even and steady breath.

There are bookshelves lining the wall, of dark oak and picture frames, trophies made from gleaming gold that sit upon the shelves, and merchandise, stacked up like children’s toys, surrounding you in equally sugar-coated bliss and familiarity.

The carpet is soft under your feet, soft as the door glides over curled silk and wool, and soft as you peek into the study. It’s easy, like things were when you were a kid and the places you were sneaking were places you wouldn’t be caught.

Here… not so much, despite how you still find in it the comfort and richness of home.

Of Katsuki.

He sits at his desk, imposing as usual despite his relaxed posture and the pen that he twirls between his fingers.

He is everything he should be, all scars and sinew and safety, yet, there is a gentleness to him that grows the closer you creep forward, or rather, when he notices your movement and turns to you; instantly.

Slumped shoulders, his face is stern under his glasses, his body obviously tired and worn. Still, he still accepts you into his lap with open arms and a breathless, “hello,” as you mold yourself into him as though you are one.

You pluck your lips to his, the movement feather light and gentle.

“I’ve been thinking…” you rub a thumb under one of his eyes, the crinkled skin soft with end-of-day exhaustion.

He hums, hands moving to your waist. “‘Bout what?”

“Something I want.”

He stares at you, the silence building and then collapsing.

“First, you wanted a car,” he says, “and what did I get you?’

You trace your fingers over his lips, ignoring the spark of intrigue and knowing in the garnet of his eyes. Your hand moves down his from chin to his neck in quick and gentle slide, and then from his neck to it his shoulder in an even swifter tickle. The gust of his breath on your mouth is warm, the heat in his voice unusually soft.

“A car,” you reply. “The BMW.”

He nods.

“And then you wanted a pet,” he continues, ignoring the soothing motion of your fingers rubbing back and forth on his shoulder. “So what did I give you?

You smile, the image of brown and white furs coming to mind, the little water bowl you picked out, the blue collar.

“A pet.”

“That’s right,” he nods, his expression stern. “And now you want more?”

It’s so easy to nod without hesitance, to sink into the warmth that is Bakugo’s lap, your hands on his chest, his hands just barely skimming over the curve of your back, a delicate dance meant just for the both of you.

You imagine a castle, though you practically already live in one, with the comfortable high ceilings and sleek, wooden floorings. Still, you imagine the long halls you would have, the sweeping dresses in perfect colors… and you imagine a wedding, and a crown.

“Tell me,” he says, the pause in between pregnant. “What do you want?”

The words don’t rip you from your daydream, and you bite your lip.

“A baby,” you say. “A girl.”

His eyebrows go up.

“A baby,” he repeats, pulling his lip upward humorously in confirmation. Tipping your head back, steadied by your grip around his neck, you nod despite the extreme taut of his lip. Anyone who saw him would think he was mocking you with the way he pushes his glasses up to his head, but you know better. You know him better. “Who’s she look like?”

You go back to grinning as you think about it.

“Me. With your hair. Little blonde curls,” you say, dragging a hand up to gently thread your hand through the hair on the back of his neck. There is no hesitance to the words, and his chest rumbles in slight laughter.

“Like a cherub, then?”

You nod, curling around him. “An angel.”

Bakugo doesn’t move except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. He continues to stare, fingers slowly creeping from your back to just barely cup your ass. He leans forward.

“If I give you this,” his voice is deep and low, “will you stop asking me for every fuckin’ thing?

You laugh, quietly, tugging on his hair ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, while your eyebrows raise.

“I’m not sure. What if baby needs a new pair of shoes?”

He lifts you up, then, suddenly; thighs steady despite the plush flooring of which he stands on, grip secure regardless of how he uses one hand to rip off his glasses. Over his shoulder, with his lips moving to press to your ear in a slight kiss, you once again admire his books, his trophies, and his merchandise.

It’s home.

“Then baby,” he replies, hefting you up to make sure your legs are properly secure around him, your arms looped around his back, “can ask daddy her damn self.”

[sadboyeddie]

Can I request something smutty please??? Dealers choice ;) xx

YES!! — okay admittedly this got a little out of control and realllllly dirty.

Summary: You lend Eddie a pencil and he gives it back ;)

Warnings: (Minors DNI 18+ Only) smut, exhibition, voyeurism, mentions of free use, allusions to potentially hooking up with Chrissy

2.4k

Masterlist

-x-

Class had officially started ten minutes ago and like always Eddie was late.

He promised he’d buckle down this year so he could graduate with you but so far you’re not noticing much of a change in the man.

You let out a quiet sigh of disappointment just seconds before the door swings open and loudly crashes against the wall and all eyes snap to the front.

“Mr Munson, it’s one thing that you’re late but to be so disruptive is another thing entirely,” your Math teacher scolds your boyfriend, “see me after school at the end of the day.”

Eddie does a theatric bow before happily making his way over to the empty seat besides you in the back corner of the room.

He sits down with a huff before leaning over and giving you a loud wet kiss to your cheek, you slide down in your chair in embarrassment as kids glare or snicker in your directions.

“What’d I miss?” Eddie asks as he pulls out his notebook, at least he’s prepared, “you have a pencil I can borrow, babe?”

Maybe not.

You silently open up your pencil case to retrieve your last spare pencil and hold it out to him but before he grabs it you pull it away.

“I need this one back, Eddie,” your voice is firm and he rolls his eyes playfully, “I mean it, I don’t know how you continue to lose my pencils but I’m sick of it.”

You hold the pencil out to him again which he gladly snatches from your grip before scribbling some notes down off the board.

The class goes relatively fast after Eddie arrives and your previous annoyance at the metalhead quickly dissipates when he gives you a warm smile and places his hand casually on your thigh.

Unfortunately you didn’t see Eddie much throughout the day, you only have two classes with each other today and you had other engagements that you couldn’t get out of to see him at lunch.

Finally when the final period arrives you eagerly make it to the classroom and bite back a look of surprise when you see your boyfriend already waiting for you in your usual spot at the back of the class.

He gives you a shit eating grin as you make your way over to him and he dramatically gestures a hand to his cheek.

You lean in with a giggle and press a soft kiss to face before leaning in to give him another but the man has other plans as he quickly turns his face and his lips collide with yours.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Missed you too,” you smile against his.

When the class starts you’re shocked to find that Eddie still has your pencil, you assumed he would’ve left it in the drama room or on the table in the woods like he usually does.

The class starts to drag and Eddie’s ADHD starts to act up as he gets distracted drawing pictures in the back of his notebook, not that you can blame him half the kids are either in deep conversation with each other or dead asleep on their desks, meanwhile the teacher hasn’t even noticed as he drones on about something and writes on the board.

Eddie leans over and whispers into your ear, “class is almost over, do you want your pencil back now?”

You ignore his smirk and look at the clock, “we still have ten minutes, Eddie.”

“So?” He shrugs, “what have you written down in the last half hour?” He gestures to your book.

He’s got you there, this class was usually a blow off anyway, luckily the subject was fairly easy that you didn’t need to rely on the teacher.

“Okay, fine,” you move to grab your pencil case out of your bag but Eddie places his hand on your forearm to stop you.

You tilt your head in confusion but he just smirks while quickly glancing around the room. He moves his seat closer to yours before trailing his hand under the table and onto your thigh, you suck in a breath as his fingers move closer to your heat.

“Shh, baby,” he chides, “as much as there’s a small part of me that wants to fuck you in front of a crowd, I don’t think school is the place for it,” he chuckles and you gasp at his admission as arousal floods your panties.

With his left hand he moves the fabric of your underwear to the side and slides his hand against your folds, a slight hum leaving his chest at the slickness of your pussy. He immediately spreads your lower lips and runs his middle finger along your opening, spreading your wetness around before massaging some into your neglected clit.

Your hands remain on the desk, one tightly gripping your pencil so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped and the other holding on to the edge of the table for dear life.

You bite your lip and breathe in harshly through your nose hoping that works to stop your whimpers from slipping out but as Eddie dips the tips of his fingers teasingly in your hole you let out a louder whine which you quickly cover with a cough.

Eddie’s eyes shoot around the room as do yours to see if you’ve been caught but your classmates all seem wrapped up in their own affairs thankfully.

“Be careful, princess,” Eddie playfully scolds, “you’re already dating the freak, do you want to be known as his little slut too?”

“Yes,” you breathlessly answer without missing a beat and Eddie can’t help but lean in and give you a quick kiss at your reply.

Sometimes with his insecurities it’s easy to overlook how much you actually love him. Even  when he has his fingers in your panties.

“Take them off,” he nods to your lap and you look at him with wide eyes, “do it or I will.”

A fresh wave of wetness drips down your thighs and is caught in the fabric, but without that barrier you’re going to make a mess on the seat.

You look around the room before shoving the fabric down your legs and quickly reach down to grab them, before you can pocket the material Eddie snatches them from your hands and stuffs them in his pocket.

He places his left hand back on your thigh and uses it to spread your legs a little wider and if anyone in the row in front dropped something and leant down to pick it up they’d get a wide view of your dripping pussy.

Eddie massages the flesh of your thigh and you place your hand on top of his and try to move it back to where you need it most but the stubborn man grips your thigh in a painful hold which causes you to whimper and let go.

“Good girl,” he whispers fully in control of this situation.

He removes his hand from you all together and for a split second you believe you’ve fucked up and he’s gonna punish you but he snatches the pencil from the desk and places his hand in it’s precious position between your legs.

He runs the end of the pencil, eraser and all, through your folds and you let out a quiet mewl at the cold stiff feeling.

He ignores your clit completely as he continues to wet the wood, keeping his movements slow and steady. You start to slowly gyrate your hips forward and Eddie leans in and rests his elbow from his other hand on the desk and puts his chin in his palm, to cover his grin.

He turns his head down slightly so he has a view of his actions but to the outside view it looks like his reading from his notebook.

He suddenly flips the wood over and grazes the sharp tip of the pencil over your neglected and sensitive nub. Your hips move forward on reflex and it lightly drags the chair across the linoleum floor causing a slight squeak.

No one seems to have even looked up at the noise.

Eddie holds the pencil vertically on the chair, the eraser part on the seat as he slides the shaft between your folds like he’s done with his cock — and several other inanimate objects — before and he encourages you to grind against the thin piece of wood.

You gladly begin to grind your pussy forward as you seek out your climax. Juices have started to drip down your thighs and puddle on the seat causing you to stick uncomfortably to the plastic but everytime your clit rubs against the stiff wood you find yourself moving faster.

Eddie repositions the pencil so it now points directly to your opening, as you grind forward the wooden shaft penetrates your hole and your movements stutter at the strange feeling.

The weird ridges of the pencil feel good against your sensitive walls and the harsh rubber stings as it beats against your insides but the pain brings with it pleasure.

Your coherent thoughts have long since gone and now all you can manage to think about is cumming.

The strong urge to cum replaces all rational parts of your brain and you throw caution to the wind and reach down with your left hand and start rubbing your throbbing nub.

“Good, baby,” Eddie praises, “you’ll let just about anything in this filthy pussy won’t you?”

“Ye-es,” you pant and pinch your clit.

“You’d let anyone fuck you if I asked, huh?” His voice has a playful edge that usually leads to him saying some questionably dirty and dark things but that’s one of the things you love about him.

“Yes, Eddie,” you nod.

“What about Chrissy?” At the mention of her name your eyes snap over to her figure, she’s deep in conversation with her shitass boyfriend, “would you let Chrissy fuck your pink little pussy?”

You nod your head eagerly without answering, admittedly this isn’t the first time she’s come up when you’ve been teasing each other.

“Love to watch her suck my cum from your pussy,” his face is much closer to yours and your eyes snap to him on instinct, “No, watch her, baby,” Eddie demands, “watch her while I fuck you.”

Your gaze returns to the preppy cheerleader, her smile wide as she laughs at something one of her friends said.

“Maybe I’ll get one of those double ended dildos so you can fuck each other,” you let out a small whimper, needing to cum badly but knowing if Eddie doesn’t give you permission he won’t let you cum for a few days as punishment.

Eddie pushes the pencil further inside your pussy and you let out a grunt at it nudges thatspot inside you and he quickens the pace.

“Maybe I’ll just make her sit and watch as I fuck your ass,” you bite your lip and snap your eyes shut as he continues, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you in front of people, sometimes I think of taking you to a club in the city and slipping my cock into in the middle of the dance floor as everyone moves around us oblivious.”

His admissions have you forcing back your orgasm as his words torture you.

“But I’ve always wanted to take you to a small bar, out of the way — a dingy shithole filled with creeps and bikers — and fuck you over a bar stool or on the pool table as they watch and leer at you.”

“Eddie,” your breathing comes out harder at his words but he ignores your desperation.

“Maybe I’d let them take turns?” His question is rhetorical but you nod with an almost silent ‘yes’, “Maybe I’d let them fuck you with beer bottles or pool cues, would you like that, princess? Being a dirty cock sleeve for disgusting drunks?”

“Yes,” you quietly whine, “yes Eddie, please.”

“What do you need, princess?” His voice is soft and you know he’s only giving in because the bell is about to signal.

“Need t’cum,” you gasp as your pussy practically sucks the pencil back in with each thrust.

“So cum,” Eddie says simply but picks up in both speed and harshness as he begins to fuck the pencil so hard into your pussy you’re worried it will snap.

You’re eyes have remained closed since Eddie started talking about Chrissy but if they were opened you would have noticed the aforementioned cheerleader watching as your face contorts in pleasure as your chest heaves hard against your shirt she’s worried the buttons will fly off.

She watches as you cover your mouth to silence your moans as your boyfriend makes you cum, amazed that no one has noticed. She squeezes her thighs together and continues to stare as Eddie pulls the pencil from under the desk, the shaft wet and glistening under the fluorescent lights and her eyes bulge open in shock.

Jason grabs her attention telling her the bell has rung and everyone is already leaving the room.

You and Eddie leave before she has a chance to fully pack away her things, your face is red as you lean your weight into your boyfriend and she finds her self longing for that, for you both.

As she places her notebook in her book bag she misses as Eddie places something on her table but when she see the wet pencil on her desk her cheeks grow warm as she snatches it up and shoves it in her bag.

-x-

“C’mon, stop complaining!” Eddie laughs as you place your books into your locker, “it’s funny!”

“The seat had a noticeable puddle, Eddie!” You whine, “he’s gonna know we were doing stuff.”

“Maybe he’ll think you just pissed yourself,” he cackles as you slap his chest, you wanted to use your panties to clean the seat so the teacher wouldn’t catch on but Eddie wouldn’t relinquish his trophy.

You roll your eyes and lace your fingers with his as you exit the school, Eddie pulling you a little faster as he catches the silhouette of the math teacher from this morning.

“Where’s my pencil?” Your cheeks heat up as you ask him.

“What pencil?” He feigns ignorance.

“Eddie!” You playfully scold, “don’t tell me you left it on the table?”

“Don’t worry!” He smiles mysteriously, “it’s in good hands.”

-x-

Later that night Chrissy throws her head back as her moans echo around her room, your pencil reaching deep inside her tight hole as she fucks herself, pussy tingling with the knowledge that your slick is dried against the shaft, mixing with hers.

[aidemint]

Sunday Nights Are For Dreamers | Viktor

word count: 4.7k+

pairing: Viktor/Reader, Viktor x Reader

warnings: sick Viktor :(

notes: arcane has me in a chokehold rn also!!! sorry for not posing in so long ToT hope you enjoy though :) this is also cross-posted on AO3!

for my friend @crsjunkyard​ ! welcome to tumblr :)

It’s still dark outside when you wake up.

A midnight background drapes across the sky of Piltover, thick, ceaseless shadows consuming the atmosphere and suffocating the breeze—a still, unfamiliar evening.

Stars outside shine through half-open curtains, silvery light spilling through the divide and onto the floor, pooling in blurred patterns on the carpet. Mercury, you think, or perhaps a more conventional sterling silver. An acknowledging hum comes from your throat, breaking in the middle, early morning spells draining life from the velvety tone.

Minutes pass, the scene holding nothing but lackluster existence, until you deem the time fit enough to try to rise. As far as you're concerned, it should be an easy process.

But when you blink away the bleariness in your eyes and awaken enough to form coherent thoughts, you realize that the conditions you went to sleep under unfortunately serve as the setting you wake up in. You’re alone, cold, body only half-covered by the wool blanket you’d bought for nights like these (a night in which, perhaps, it would be best to share with a loved one).

Disappointment is quick to replace ample content.

He’s still alone, working, wearing himself down.

The absence of Viktor leaves your mind wandering and your heart longing—a certain sense of grief that overtakes your senses as you drift away to think of him.

It’s torture to picture him still sat at his desk in the laboratory, pulling plugs and examining fissures, focused on the one thing that’s kept him captivated for so long. You didn’t blame him. The look of it was a piece of work in itself—deep purple with a seemingly infinite combination of ancient ruins, strong light in the center illuminating the ornate patterns with a kind of majesty unfound in both Piltover and Zaun—forget what purpose it served.

But he’s killing himself.

You bite your tongue at the thought, wincing yet still acknowledging the truth within the statement. He is, with every day that passes, every test gone wrong, every loss and unbearable suffering.

Well, then again, you doubt that metal is so easily destroyable with the passage of time (or, at the very least, you hope—what would you do without it).

Faith keeps the thought at bay for a little while, softened silk waves running across a plane of darkness, bending every hardened corner of shadow into familiar comfort. But after a while, when your subconscious abandons its dormant state, you begin to see it in the motions of the night.

A crimson handkerchief, toppled chair spilling fibrous cotton onto the floor, research papers a blur, chaotically scattered and drifting across the ground with every radioactive pulse of the lavender Hexcore. Electrifyingly, your view pans to grey fingers, cold and unmoving, bloodied with cracked fingernails and freckles on the backs of the digits.

Your vision slides up, up, up, up, up to a shoulder—slim, rounded, familiar—to a neck—thin and shriveled and red —then to—

You smash a hand against your forehead, cutting the reel short through brute force and you groan. Continuously, you knock tightened fists against your skull in desperation, fear, every emotion that spurs your blindness you hit yourself with. Despite the pounding ache building in your head, you remain, praying that this nightmare might stay away, pass, leave and grant you mercy for this one night.

It reduces your serene state to a blankness, almost emptiness as you simply stare at the wall with no direction to go, effort directed towards suppressing the fear creeping up your throat.

A creak suddenly hauls you, blinking rapidly, into the present. It's the bedroom door swinging wide for uneven steps; it quietly sheds its solitude as it approaches and fills into the reedy, gentle silhouette you know and love.

Hope. There it is again.

It blooms in your heart and you untense at the warmth, finding that the shadows no longer seem haunting—just peace and quiet in darkness.

You find the strength to stop your struggling and pretend to be asleep when he quietly slips underneath the sheets with you, careful not to disrupt your falsified bliss. A smile curls the edges of your lips upon witnessing his delicacy.

You’re used to the feel of his legs tangled with yours, the gentleness of one arm or two splayed across your body when the two of you sleep together, but there are always moments when he gets close—near enough to feel your heartbeat against his own—and you feel like falling for him all over again.

His lips brush across your cheekbone, and that’s enough to make you gasp (how long have you two been together, yet you still act like a child who’s met love for the first time). He draws back upon hearing the breath, cautiously peering at you for signs of conscious life. You stir, to his slight discontentment, but he sets his hands on your waist to welcome you into reality, his mouth pressed on the tip of your shoulder.

“Виктор?” you call, the echo of your voice muted by the walls of your bedroom, “Are you alright?” He responds with a “mhm” before proceeding.

“I’m fine, my love,” he says slowly, chest rumbling as he speaks against your skin, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I was already awake.”

“Waiting for me?” Guilt is woven in thick threads through his voice, to which you sigh. “I hope you weren’t staying up too late.”

“I think I should be the one concerned for you,” you whisper, finding his hand underneath the blanket and giving it a squeeze, “At the rate you’re working you’ll—”

Your chiding splinters off into jagged fragments of concern wearing away at the air when Viktor starts to convulse, coughs, expressions too big for his body, wracking his frame, fate’s cruel hand violently shearing away the inside of his lungs. The stilted half-gasping, half-choked wheezing that pushes its way into your ears doesn’t listen to Viktor’s strangled plea for it to remain a crimson secret spat into the last-minute, soiled tissue he has by his side.

You close your eyes, heart twisting with each retch that you know wrings his body bone-dry. His frame shudders behind you—fully, completely—and you can do nothing but witness the scene unveil with bated breath.

Wincing as he pushes off of you to curl into a fetal position, meek, afraid, you wait, reassuring yourself that the nightmare would be over soon. Saliva pools in your mouth when he gags, biting back a strangled cough—you feel weak, but swallow the rising bile in your throat.

Whenever his jaw unhinges it sounds like death.

It’s different from the calls of crows near your childhood home, the wailing of victims in the mean streets of the undercity, the screams of the unfortunate (but wasn’t that just everyone in the underworld).

The sound that comes from Viktor is whole, unbroken, unrelenting—the noise of Piltover, but reminiscent of Zaun. He produces shallow coughs, mostly, but the moment he breathes deeply and lets go, you feel like you’ve been run over by a freight train.

It reverberates in your chest, rings in your ears, shouts at you from all directions—even some you didn’t know were present.

It’s supposed to be muddled, it’s supposed to sound weak, wet, pathetic, like a puddle against a boot or some cold shower.

But it doesn’t.

Do you contemplate death, he once asked you, What does it feel like?

And that scares you.

When Viktor finishes, discarding the bloodied napkin with a simple toss to your nightstand, he returns to his place behind you. Melting into him again is surprisingly easier than expected.

Your waist, you think, felt oddly bare without his hands loving it.

“Do you need me to get a towel?” There’s no judgement in your voice—only a slight, concerned lilt when considering the amount of blood laying within the crumpled tissue only a few feet away. You feel him smile against your skin.

“No, but thank you.” A pause filled with uncertainty follows, but you’re quick to catch on, making sure that it doesn’t last for long—too long.

“Okay,” you reply simply, turning over to face him, “Then let’s hope that I don’t taste blood.”

You both could use a distraction right about now.

Viktor’s cheeks flush a light pink when you kiss him, slipping your hand to cup his face, palm resting on his jaw. His cheeks are warm, undeniably rose-colored and perhaps the same hue as the shells of his ears (maybe even darker than that).

A tingle shoots through your core when he presses back, eyes fluttering shut and arm wrapped around your waist, pads of his fingers pushing on the small of your back. Your fingers curl and you begin to grow breathless as he starts to explore, hands slowly traversing the entirety of your torso.

You tug on his hair, tufts of chocolate locks clenched in between greedy fists, and he groans, giving the edges of your lips one last kiss before moving down.

“Viktor—” you whine, guiding his head to the base of your neck, “Vik— Mmnh—” His hands brush the sides of your arms and you feel like you might explode, oh how sensitive you are.

“Do you want to stop, маленький котенок?”

“I don’t but—” You take a sharp breath when a sudden sense of responsibility crashes into you headfirst as he laps at your collarbone. “You have to sleep.”

“I can’t, not now, солнышко,” he murmurs.

“Why?” The question comes out as a gasp as Viktor snakes a slender hand down your side, cold fingers dancing along the warmth of your bodice. “Viktor, you have to— sleep—!”

He doesn’t give a response, only sucking harder on your skin, busying himself with something as an excuse to ignore your question. You’re quick to fade back into bliss again, clasping a hand over your mouth to stifle a sudden gasp when he tightly grips your hip.

“Блядь!” He finishes when you cry out, strings of saliva connecting the bruise on your collarbone to his thin lips. Staring vacantly at the mark for a second, he bites the inside of his cheek then buries his face in the crook of your neck, seemingly seeking comfort. You promptly cradle his head, patting his back as you calm down from your high.

“Is something bothering you, Vik?” you ask after minutes pass. It’s a stupid question, but you know that he won’t admit the issue unless asked. He keeps silent regardless, and you sigh.

You want to examine more, peer into that bright mind of his and fish out the turmoil that plagues its waters. It’s a bitingly cold sensation, the realization—perhaps he thought that he should have to endure it alone—that sends chills down your spine, goosebumps rising from the neck down.

However, you give him time to admit his own truth, and he eventually comes around.

“I'm afraid so,” is what he says with hesitancy in his voice, timid and unletting, “But I’ve just been thinking, that is all. Thinking a lot about many things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s a gentle prod, nothing too forceful, lest you wish to scare him away.

“I… don’t,” he confesses, “But I think that if I let problems fester, they’ll become something even worse.”

“We’ll take it slow,” you say, rubbing your hand against his forearm, “Sit up and do it face-to-face. Turn on the light so we can see each other. How ‘bout it?” You feel him nod and you help yourself up before assisting him, only needing a soft tug to lift half of him up.

He starts to cough the moment he’s upright, hacking blood into his elbow as you hold him steady, trying to remain calm when he doubles over with both arms seemingly bound to his chest. His shoulders come up and his spine curves into a wishbone, torso crumpled in on itself as if to break himself in (the larger piece connected to the split he would take, then somehow things would be alright again). He fumbles for his tissue, choking into the red-stained white.

Viktor speaks in haggard gasps, drunken wheezes, and torment—he says don’t worry, everything will be fine, have faith.

By God, by anyone that’s out there, do you have faith.

“I’ll turn the light on.” It’s all you say—it’s all you can say.

You just wonder if it’s ever enough.

Viktor stops convulsing a few minutes later and you pat his back, relieved. You don’t speak until he wipes his fingers and mouth clean with a fresh tissue.

“If you need to cough on the bed, it’s ok. I can clean the blanket in the morning.” He hums in gratitude, spitting the last of the blood into the napkin with a grimace.

“Thank you, солнышко.” You smile and kiss his cheek before leaning over him to turn on the light.

With a flick of the wrist and a downwards pull, a soft, yellow-orange hue floods the room, a stark contrast to the blackness you’ve been living in for the past few hours. It takes a few blinks to get adjusted to the brightness, but you quickly recover, retreating back to your position beside Viktor and turning to get a good look at him.

Butterflies begin to flutter at the bottom of your stomach once you do as you realize that you really don’t see him as often as you should be.

His eyelashes are short, subtle, but defined with the dark coloration of his hair and warm light shining from his left. Your vision runs all over his face—to his defined cheekbones, thick brows, thin lips, slender jaw, and the two beauty marks in his most kissable places.

And those eyes.

God , and those eyes.

Honeyed amber with sharpened edges—a dark, defining brown encasing an inescapable pool of liquid gold. A solar eclipse on a clear night, pupils eclipsing a forever-burning star, rays of Midas peeking out from underneath the humble black dot. His eyes are bright, expressive, everything that you could get lost in and more.

The way he looks at you is enough to take your breath away—so much adoration in the deepest of amber eyes, how they glow in the dim lamplight. Amongst the curiosity, passion, fear, awareness, there lies love.

Hope, even.

“Солнышко? Солнышко, are you alright?”

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your own head and you stare at him with a surprised look about your features. He tilts his head and purses his lips as he picks apart your expression.

“Is something odd?” he asks carefully, raising an eyebrow, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Uh—” You swallow a mouthful of saliva, chuckling nervously at the sudden speed the butterflies in your stomach have taken off at. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He stays still for a moment, looking at you and nothing else. You can take it, staring into his irises and listening to your inner voice scream at you for a variety of Viktor-related reasons. It made you feel like you were still attending the academy, a naive graduate student that never learned the basis of love under the prioritization of science, but you could handle that feeling (for you’ve known it all too well).

But of course, what comes after doesn’t help your poor heart all that much either.

“I always forget how beautiful you are in this light.” You feel a heat creep up your face and you laugh, swatting playfully at his shoulder. He grins, still gazing at the joy in your expression: the crinkle of your undereyes, your wide smile, the way you furrow your brows and squeeze your eyes shut—everything.

In the midst of it all, your ample delight and his usual charm, it didn’t feel like he was stalling. It felt like real love, the moments shared during bleak hours such as these in the middle of some worn night.

But you notice fear flash across his features when you calm down, subtly lingering in the form of a downturned mouth and furrowed brows; you notice the way he darts his eyes away from you and bites back a protest with a clench of his jaw; you notice his index finger rub the top of his thumb nail, flicking the digit like a mousetrap in his lap—a habit of worry.

You never, in the present, question his genuity, but you notice, and slip your hand into his.

“Do you want to tell me what���s been bothering you?”

The question cuts through the air like a knife to hot butter and Viktor flinches, averting his gaze and tensing his shoulders. His palm almost leaves yours, but you just hold him tighter in response.

“You can take your time, mилый. I’m not here to hurt you.” His reply is immediate, distressed, disturbed; he looks at you in a panic.

“That’s not what I’m—” The brunette stifles a cough in the middle of his objection, pushing a closed fist to the front of his mouth and wincing at the dryness in his throat. “I’m worried— about.”

“Then what are you worried about?”  You’re gentle, patient, kind—with relaxed eyes and a hopeful grip around him, willingly curled around his heart, promising to never let go. He likes seeing you like this, with a small smile on your lips and a look of understanding you’ve never failed to give him, but he’s scared.

I’m worried about you, he wants to say, If your light fades when I tell you. Now that I see your face, I’m not sure if I can make the sacrifice.

“My condition is worsening.” Viktor screws his eyes shut, silently cursing at himself when he feels your grip around his hand loosen, but he continues weakly. “The doctor gave me the diagnosis after I collapsed—”

A lump forms in his throat when you fully pull your hand out of his grip.

“Hold on, what?” Disbelief floods your features and you can feel your heartbeat quicken while your limbs freeze up. “Viktor, you collapsed? Wha— J— Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I was worried that—” he starts, finding it hard to string words together underneath the pressure, “That you would worry.”

“But— Oh God— But I would worry regardless, Viktor!” Incredulity bubbles in your core and you’re not sure if you can take much more of the feeling. “You— Oh my God… Why didn’t you tell me earlier? ”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Why? Why did you even have to think? Weighing consequences against each other—this is madness, Viktor, don’t you understand?” The brunette curls his lip in a look of disdain.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I am a scientist, just as you are. How could I not—”

“Because I have a solution,” he snaps, tone unnaturally sharp. You go silent for a moment, puzzled.

“I thought that Hextech wasn’t refined enough to be used to alter mankind,” you say after you’ve thought the possibilities through. "Heimerdinger said it would take—" Viktor grimaces and your shoulders slump at the expression.

“It’s not…” He speaks with hesitancy, a meekness about his stature—reducing the inventor to no more than a little boy in the dim light. “It’s not Hextech.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s foreign.” You frown, exasperated.

“I asked you what it was, not where it was from.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything this time—though his mouth moves, the words are lodged in his throat, scraping the insides of his lumen. You sigh at the sight, a sensation of guilt creeping up your spine. It’s uncomfortable—makes you squeamish—and electrifyingly powerful when paired with the tenderness of your heart.

Softening your gaze and clasping his hand in both of yours, you lower your voice to speak.

“May I see it?” you ask quietly, “Your… unnamed solution.” You manage a chuckle, but Viktor has yet to break out of his stony expression. He takes one look at you, your hands and features, then changes directions, turning his head away to keep you in only the corner of his view.

Despite the unmaintained eye contact, there's something about his irises that scream the question “will you still love me” directly at you.

His midsummer eyes grow more despondent with every passing minute, clementine thread weaving oscillations through the dull roundness, unassisted by the lamplight that sits at his side. You squeeze his hand three times for assurance, then wait with bated breath as he continues to blankly stare at the bedsheets.

After what seems like an eon of silence, Viktor swallows, then opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s called Shimmer.” He reaches for his cane and opens up a secret compartment with the press of a button. From out of the hollowed inside, he takes out a small vial of iridescent, liquid glitter, then returns to his place on the bed.

When he hands you the violet beaker, your brows furrow, eyes transfixed on the way it… shimmers (hence the name, you guess).

Patterns of gentle purple mix in with an almost chaotic darkness, swirling inside the vial. Its aura has something sinister about it, you’re sure—a certain corruption radiating from the potion, only thin glass and a cork keeping it from spilling out and running rampant.

“What does it do?” you mumble, still observing the substance, “Are you supposed to ingest it?”

“It will help.”

You don’t like how certain he sounds. It’s worrying—and scary, so you can only pray that he leaves it at that.

“But—” Your nerves freeze over at the conjunction, a little voice screaming bloody murder at the back of your head. “—it has its dangers.”

What is science without the presence of risk?

“What dangers?” Viktor makes a face, considering his options in what to say.

The preservation of the study itself requires academics to throw many cautions to the wind.

“I don’t know what will become of my humanity if I pursue this path.”

So what yield can a divergence bring?

“Are you sure about this?”

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

“More than I’ve ever been for anything.”

Somehow, you believe him despite it all. His sincerity pushes past the fear, disappointment, misery, even hope at the forefronts of your mind and simply stays—stays and waits for a reaction to drive it away.

“Oh.” You blink away a few blurry spots in your vision. “Alright.”

You feel unlike yourself—uncomfortable and uneasy with the current circumstances laid out in front of you. Perhaps you don't know how to react, or you simply don't want to. Part of you wants to shut it out and hope for the best, part of you wants to take it in and make it better.

It’s only when you look back at your reflection in the vial of Shimmer do you realize that you’ve begun to cry. You try to suppress the feeling that washes over you when you see your stressed features in the murky violet, but it inevitably comes—a strong ocean’s wave sweeping over a polyp of coral. Emotion swells in your chest and you find that the tide gets stronger with every passing minute.

Resist, resist, resist, your soul chants, You should understand. You should understand.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

You can only sit there with your shaking shoulders, trembling limbs, and quivering bottom lip when you finally let go, hot streams of crystal misery rapidly descending the sides of your face and shattering against the bedsheets when they drip down from your chin. Drawing your legs closer to you, you hug them to your chest for some sort of comfort, something to latch onto.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry Viktor but I'm afraid— I’m afraid that—” You bite your lip as tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, falling into your lap. “Maybe one day I'll find you in your lab and— You're just gonna be— You won't be— Again— I— I'm sorry, Vik, I just— Oh God, this is just so much to process.”

“I know.” He says it like it’s something so simple, so easily understood. And perhaps to him, a man who thinks too much, it may as well have been. “I know, солнышко.”

“Viktor, what if it doesn’t work and you die? I don’t know what I’ll do.” You bury your face in your hands and take a deep, shuddering breath. “ Любимый, что с тобой будет? I'm not ready to— to lose you yet, Viktor. It's so selfish of me but please just stay a little longer .”

By now, you’ve begun to spiral.

“Что я буду делать? О боже, что будет? Иногда мне кажется, что я настолько глуп из-за того, что так много волнуюсь… Я просто хочу, чтобы с тобой все было в порядке, Виктор.” Viktor can only watch on as you weep, taking in every expression of desolation with furrowed brows and a conflicted gaze. “Не думаю, что когда-либо любил кого-то так сильно, как люблю тебя. Мне страшно, Виктор.”

You whimper when you feel his arms come around you, engulfing your figure in a tight embrace that you return gratefully.

“I’m sorry, солнышко.” His fingers curl around your shoulder, bringing you closer. “But love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress. I understand if you choose to despise me.” You sniff, wiping away a few stray tears with the back of your hand before replying.

“I don’t despise you, Viktor. Even if I don’t know what the future will hold,” you stress, feeling the tension seep out of him at your words, “I’m just… I’m just worried for you.

“I'm not asking you to stop. I'm not asking you to quit for me because I know how much this means to you. I just want you to be safe. Safe and happy and— And mine. And I know that it’s so selfish of me but I just want you , Viktor.”

“If the experiment goes well, you will still have—”

You can feel his chest shake when he begins to cough seconds after the break in the sentence, limbs trembling and frame quaking underneath the might of his ailment. As he gasps for air in between thunderous hacks, you hold him steady as best as you can, the amount of force pushing against you strangely vigorous for such a frail man.

“Don’t worry about me.” It comes as a whisper once the fit subsides, leaving the sheets behind you bloodied—ruined—and Viktor shivering. “Just focus on the experiment.” He nods, a low, weak hum reverberating through his being.

“You’ll get through this.” Your grip around the inventor tightens, and you find that you’re trying to root yourself somewhere once again. “You will get through this.”

"I will get through this," he recites through a sore throat, screwing his eyes shut, "I will, I will, I will."

A brief silence overtakes the two of you after the reassurance.

"It's getting late," you say after what you feel like is long enough, "We should sleep. 'S going to be a new day tomorrow." You move the blankets and tuck yourself in, Viktor acting in silent agreement, doing the same on the other side, but first clicking off the lamp light. The warmth of the room disappears with the brightness and a sudden chill runs through your body.

"Goodnight, солнышко." Once settled down, you can't bring yourself to smile at the term of endearment, but force out a response in an attempt to at least end the night normally for Viktor.

"Goodnight, моя любовь."

For a while, you can only stare at the ceiling in shallow thought, subconscious painting low tide on the canvas of the world, sending you floating into an endless push and pull of the ocean. It's peaceful, unrelenting, but peaceful nevertheless. You're reminded of your home in Zaun—the good memories.

When you finally succumb to slumber, thickened water seems to wash over your senses, your lungs coming undone into peals of ribbon and twine—strangely serene, but you're breathless all the same.

The shadow of a greyed hand graces your vision before you submit to the tide.

It is a dreamless night.