#that were more important to him with him that day? what were his last moments like? was it silent acceptance or panic did he manage to ditch

[lopsicle]

Arcane season 2 spoilers

/////

I have been thinking A LOT about Jayce and Viktor, mainly the scene where Viktor is reborn out of his pod of Hexcore.

Mainly because it means a lot for Viktor’s character. On a fundamental level, he never seen much worth in himself, but he did see worth in inventions, the things he made, it’s how he could prove himself to the world. This is why he becomes so concerned with his illness and the legacy he’ll leave behind on the world; he needs the Hexcore to work because he doesn’t have anything else.

But now, he is literally fused with his invention, his invention that he has grown to hate because it killed one of the only people who truly saw value in Viktor, and not the things he could, partly due to his own negligence. Viktor put it best, in his pursuit of greatness, he failed to do good.

He doesn’t really know how to process what happened to him at all, he’s a smart man, he can clearly deduce that his body has undergone some cybernetic change, he can probably remember the explosion in the council room, but other then that, he’s just confused, hence why he asks Jayce, “what am I?” Viktor’s body is entirely different and unfamiliar, and taking into context that the Hexcore, his greatest invention which he tied all his worth to, has failed before this, it’s likely Viktor had lost sight of who he was, and his new body only served to further that descent.

Jayce can’t think about any of that though, he’s just happy that his partner is alive and who wouldn’t be, he’d been waiting for days, possibly weeks for him to wake. Viktor’s mortality is one of the things that Jayce has struggled with the most in the series, which is what makes his survivor’s guilt so much more pertinent. A lot of people claim that Jayce grew up rich and coddled, and I think that’s true to an extent, but they forgot his family were workers, tool smiths. Jayce seemed to grow up with the idea that he wasn’t that fortunate, that he was a working, middle class man who was going to change the world, and then he meets Viktor, a “poor cripple from the Undercity,” and then he sees what the Undercity is really like and the conditions people live in. And that’s when Jayce realises; he had it good. I believe this is what encourages part of his admiration of Viktor; he is what Jayce thought he was.

Tangent aside, I feel that their hug is a very, very important moment, mainly because of Viktor’s reaction.

He isn’t relieved or uncomfortable, it’s just…nothing. Given what Viktor says about how he doesn’t feel that it’s cold and just recognises that it is cold, I believe this is the moment where it fully sank in how much his body had changed. He couldn’t feel Jayce.

And like, first off, that is such beautiful symbolism for what he says later about how they’re relationship was only held together by affection. Viktor physically cannot feel said affection anymore and know has no reason to stick by the side of someone whose views have become so contrasted to his. But more emotionally, it’s representative of Viktor’s belief that he is unloveable, his new body is merely proof at that, he can’t touch Jayce, he couldn’t save Sky, he couldn’t make the Hexcore work properly, he couldn’t even get Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. To himself, Viktor is a failure who is unworthy of love.

But, he still huge Jayce back. Despite not being able to feel Jaycee’s warmth anymore, despite it feeling like his whole life has crumbled, Viktor wants to give Jayce one last act of service. Perhaps to prove that he still has use, or maybe this was the moment where he decided he would have to part ways with Jayce, and just wanted Jayce to remember his touch, even if Viktor couldn’t remember his.

Anywho if enough people like this dribble, I may post my take on the rest of this scene because it shattered me

[mywhisperingwords]

a touch that never hurts | fred g. weasley

summary: you seem to have fallen for your best friend, which you could handle if only he didn’t constantly touch you word count: 3.2k masterlist

It was official: you were stupid.

Only a complete idiot would fall for their best mate and here you’ve gone and done it. Because there was no other explanation for this feeling in your stomach as you looked across the Great Hall and watched Fred Weasley tell some stupid joke to his friends and wishing nothing more than to be the one he told the joke to.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here; just earlier today, Snape had given him detention.

While working on the assigned potion, he decided to mix things up to make you laugh after your bad day.

Before class started Snape decided to ruin the day and give everyone’s essays back. You flunked. Hard. After a big explosion and an awful lecture from Snape, any of Fred’s afternoon plans were ruined. For you.

You stood there, frozen in shock, trying to figure out how to go on with your life from here.

But how could you? This realization felt like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—right after becoming friends with Fred Weasley himself.

You must’ve stood frozen in place for too long because he caught your eye and was now waving you over with his typical charming smile while the people around him were continuing their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil inside you. You briefly considered turning around and running away, but you decided against it. That would make this situation even more awkward than it already was.

Taking a deep breath and mustering a wobbly smile, you made your way over to the Gryffindor table. You exchanged greetings with your friends and headed toward a seat, hoping to get as far away from Fred as you could. But, of course, Fred had other plans. With a grin, he shoved Lee aside and proudly declared the seat next to him as free.

Bloody hell, he was making it hard for you. It’s as if he knew and wanted to torture you now that you had finally realized your true feelings. Feelings that didn’t actually exist; denial was your new best friend.

With no other choice, other than making this one hell of an uncomfortable situation for everyone, you reluctantly sat down next to him, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible.

But to no avail. As soon as you sat down Fred swung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Thank Merlin you’re here. Could you be a darling and tell our idiotic friends that Snape does in fact secretly love me and that is the only reason he so often chooses to see me after class?”

‘Darling’ and ‘secretly loves me’, seemed to be the only thing your brain registered, not to mention that arm still wrapped around you. Has he always been this physically affectionate with you? It was hard to remember because Fred was looking at you expectantly as if he were waiting for something and…

Finally, your brain catches up, “Oh, that my dear Fred, is what we call detention. And wouldn't you know it, you're supposed to be there... like right now!" You playfully glanced at your imaginary wristwatch.

You could practically see the second he realized you were right. In a hurry, he jumped up from his seat and snatched the last food from his plate. But there was something important he seemed to have forgotten.

With a grin, you asked him, "Aren't you forgetting something?" Confusion washed over his face as he turned back to the table, searching for what he had missed, not finding anything. After a brief moment, he leaned down and surprised you with a kiss on your cheek. Speechless and mouth agape, you watched as the rest of the table erupted in snickers.

"You git!" you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks burn. "I meant your wand!"

Instead of being flustered like you, Fred found the whole situation hilarious. He joined in laughter with his friends and sent you a playful wink. With a glint in his eye, he swiftly retrieved his wand and innocently exclaimed, "Oops!" before making a speedy exit from the Great Hall.

Still trying to process what just happened, you turned to your friends, hoping they could provide the distraction and peace of mind you desperately needed.

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, George decided to torture you. With a grin, he leaned in and asked if you've figured it out yet. Your whole body tensed up, and you found yourself desperately wishing for an escape.

In your horrified state, you managed to stammer out a weak, "W-What?" The anticipation of his response hung heavy in the air, and you braced yourself for the worst.

George burst into laughter, which echoed through the Great Hall, making everything feel ten times worse. You couldn’t help but feel exposed, as if your deepest secrets were on display for everyone to see.

Through his laughter, George managed to squeeze out, "Bloody hell. Looks like someone forgot the essay for McGonagall that's due tomorrow."

You breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that he had no idea. How could he? You yourself just figured it out. And you’d do anything to keep it that way. You won’t tell a soul about any of it and just pretend that things were normal.

✧

How naive could you be? How in your right mind could you ever think that keeping this from Fred was a possibility?

He knew you better than you knew yourself.

No matter how hard you tried to keep things like always it just wouldn’t go your way. First everything was completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary. You two would banter and share jokes. But as soon as he touched you in any way you panicked and run away from him.

You hadn’t realized how often he reached for you. It apparently had become like second nature for him.

At first you noticed the small touches, like accidentally bumping shoulders while walking together or him gently tapping your arm to get your attention.

But it was the larger gestures that pushed you to your breaking point, stirring up your traitorous heart even more. Like when he reached out and grabbed your hand in the bustling crowd of students during a visit to Hogsmead.

But the absolute worst was when he would slide in next to you, casually drape his arm around your shoulder and pull you close, all while effortlessly engaging in conversation with someone else. And what made it even more unbearable was that no one seemed to bat an eye. It was as if this physical closeness was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, that no one remembered to inform you about.

But as much as you tried to subtly keep your distance you could tell that Fred knew something was wrong. He saw it in the way you would purposefully choose to sit the furthest away from him even when the seat next to him was unoccupied.

You saw the confusion in his eyes when you started to avoid going to Hogsmead with the excuse of finishing your school work. He knew that this was never something that stopped you from spending time with him or your friends.

Since that first year you met Fred on the train, he’d been a constant presence in your life. You stumbled upon Fred and George pulling a prank on their older brother Percy. Instead of telling on them, you decided to join in on the mischief. As a result, Percy ended up with boils all over his face. From that moment on, you and Fred became inseparable. So, when you suddenly started pulling away without any explanation, it felt like the most awful thing you could do to him.

And you could tell that it was hurting Fred too. He wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve; in fact, quite the opposite. But after all the years you've known him, you were priding yourself on understanding him better than most people in his life. He would never outright admit it, but your actions were causing him pain.

He would extend his hand, reach out, but as soon as he noticed that you turned away from him, he would pull back. In that fleeting moment, you could see the hurt and confusion reflected in his eyes, mirroring the hurt you were experiencing.

He even attempted to talk about it once. Normally, he would rely on laughter to uplift your spirits rather than delve into the realm of emotions. So when he approached you before your class, specifically to ask if you were okay, it created an awkward conversation for the both of you. All you could do was promise him, that if anything was wrong, you’d tell him.

What a lie.

His genuine concern shattered your heart. But it wasn't just him who could sense that something was off. You noticed how your friends would exchange worried glances every time you came up with a new excuse to avoid spending time with Fred.

Being around him became an unbearable risk, fearing that he might somehow discover your true feelings for him. It wasn’t just a simple crush; your feelings ran deeper, more intense.

Every time you witnessed his infectious laughter or his ability to light up the entire room with his jokes, a swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, consuming you from within. The guilt of keeping such a significant secret from him and the rest of your friends gnawed at you. But the thought of confessing your feelings and potentially jeopardizing everything held you back.

It has gotten to the point where you chose to spend your free time in the library. You knew that he would never step foot inside of it. So this place became your sanctuary.

But you should’ve known better. Fred Weasley may not be an overly emotional person but he was stubborn to no end.

One night after dinner, that ended with you leaving the table as soon as possible and an excuse, truthful this time, to do your unfinished homework you returned to the only place that felt safe from Fred.

There were only a few students left in the library. You grabbed your Charms Book and settled into a quiet corner, hoping to review your homework for Professor Flitwick.

But your silence was soon disturbed by the one person you wanted to avoid. Which was not entirely true.

The situation hurt, but you couldn’t help wanting to see him — even if only from afar.

Fred appeared to be searching for you because the moment your eyes met, he marched over to where you were sitting.

"Back to doing homework, huh?" he asked, glancing at your table.

"Actually, yes," you replied honestly.

“Oi, sod off. I know you mostly just sit here doing nothing — Lee saw you, you know?” he said.

“I don’t know what Lee thinks he saw but that’s not the truth. This is a library. I study,” you argued.

“Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I have no idea what I could’ve done. You’ve been blowing me off left and right. You’re being pretty obvious and I think it’s time we had this discussion.”

You stared at him, eyes wide open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you, everything is fine.”

“Come off it! We’ve been friends for years and I know when something’s off. You’ve been avoiding me and you have been for weeks. I’m done pretending like I don’t know that. And things aren’t fine since you won’t tell me what it is. What’s this really about?” his voice was low, but you could feel his anger seeping through.

But you couldn’t tell him; too much was at stake. You’d lose your best friend. Even the thought alone was too much to bear.

“Fred, please. I just… I can’t explain it to you,” you pleaded.

“Why the hell not? I’m your friend!” You appreciated his concern, but his persistence was becoming overwhelming. “If everything truly was fine you wouldn’t be hiding here all the time! What’s going on?” he demanded, clearly just wanting answers, answers you couldn’t give him.

“I really can’t tell you. Please, I’m begging you, let it go.” Keeping this from him was killing you. You felt awful holding this secret from him. Deep inside you entertained the notion that he felt the same, but doubts held you back. It was pain-filled hiding something so important from a person that meant so much to you. You wished that he felt the same way, but fear gripped you tight.

Fred's anger was palpable, evident from the fury etched on his face. Madam Pince was shooting both of you disapproving glances. You secretly hoped that she would kick you out, giving you an excuse to escape this conversation.

“No, I’m not giving up. I deserve answers and I’m not leaving until I get them, understood?” He defiantly took a seat right in front of you.

You remained silent, refusing to speak another word. The more he pushed, the harder it became to keep this from him.

“I’ve got all night. Nowhere else to be,” he stated, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. Still refusing to speak, you turned your attention back to your essay, hoping he would eventually relent.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. His voice now calm and his expression blank. No trace of anger or irritation. It almost seemed like he had come to accept the situation.

“Maybe this is for the best. You clearly don’t want to talk to me, so I’ll guess I won’t bother you anymore,” he said in a monotone voice, before he abruptly stood up and started to walk away, not looking back once.

Hot panic was surging through your veins and in an instant you jumped up, to go after him. Realizing that you were about to lose him either way, you took a chance.

“I like you!” The words echoed through the quiet library, their volume seemingly too loud for the stillness around you. He paused in his tracks, but didn't turn around. Unable to see his reaction, you continued, thinking maybe it was better this way, shielded from the potential disgust his face might reveal.

"I like you, and I'm really sorry, okay? I just need some time to sort things out and get over these feelings. I promise, but right now, I can't be around you. Not right now. That's why I've been avoiding you. Please, please don't hate me," with every word, your desperation spilled out, raw and unfiltered, while your eyes began to burn.

As Fred slowly turned around, his expression was unreadable, and it felt like everything was falling apart. Immediate regret was filling you up. Maybe, if you would’ve stayed silent and kept on ignoring what was going on inside of you, there would have been a chance to mend the friendship later on. But now, it felt like it might be too late.

“You like me?” he asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.

“Please, don’t make me say it again,” you pleaded, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

His expression slowly transformed into a wide smile, "You're not kidding. You actually like me?"

Confused and feeling a sense of panic, you asked, "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

Fred's grin widened, making him look like a complete idiot, "I can't control it. You've just made me the happiest person in the world. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping to hear those words?"

Silence filled the air. Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

“I like you too, I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he confessed with a soft grin, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, that's why you were always touching me?" you asked, trying to make sense of it all.

He let out a loud laugh, quickly quieted by a stern look from Madam Pince. He sent her an apologetic smile before refocusing on you and speaking in a hushed tone.

"And here I thought I was being smooth about it. I've been trying to let you know for a while now, actually."

“Bloody hell. You mean you felt the same all this time? Why on earth didn't you say anything?" You were in disbelief, feeling like you were in a dream. Maybe you had dozed off while reading about The History and Evolution of Enchantments and Charms Throughout the Ages.

"Well, why didn't you?" he asked.

"You've got me there," you said with a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground. After a moment of silence, you glanced up and saw him smiling softly at you.

"So... what's the plan now?" you asked, seeking some clarity.

"You like me, I like you. It's pretty clear, isn't it?" he responded.

You squinted your eyes at him, still not fully convinced.

"Now I can touch you as much as I want, and you can't escape anymore," he said with a mischievous grin, taking a step closer until he stood right in front of you.

"Oh, Merlin. You're a git," you exclaimed, unable to hold back a laugh. "Why on earth do I like you again?"

“Because I’m just that irresistible, obviously,” he laughed, joining in with you.

You placed your hand on his chest and playfully gave him a nudge. But before you could pull away, he surprised you by grabbing your hand. As you looked down at his hand enveloping yours, he posed a question. "So, about you admitting you like me... do you wanna back that up with a kiss?"

"Mhm, I'll have to think about that," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you deserve it, to be honest."

He grinned cheekily and retorted, "Oh, I definitely deserve it. What have I ever done to not deserve it?"

“Let’s try and remember. Just last week you-”

As you were about to list all the things he had done, he surprised you again by silencing your words with a passionate kiss. In that moment, your thoughts faded into insignificance, consumed by the intensity of the kiss. His hand gently caressed your cheek, deepening the connection between you. Your emotions were running wild, and it felt as if your body was ablaze.

After a moment or an hour, he pulled back, and you took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. Opening your eyes, you gazed up at him.

"Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?" he asked, his playful tone laced with a hint of mischief.

“I can’t remember,” you murmured, connecting your lips with his once more.

You’d been wrong all along—falling for your best friend might have been the best idea of all.

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch9 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~7K

❥ Warnings: non-con, handjobs (btwn stsg), deepthroating (btwn stsg), strap-ons/pegging (w/ gojo), gojo being the submissive brat boy we all know he is.

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Stepping into these pampering sessions after another monotonous day has come to be one of your few reprieves in a situation like this. Geto finds any and all ways to try to sway you to his direction, so he dials everything up to 100 during these sessions. This time he’s hired some of his devotees who runs a spa nearby to treat you to some facials, full body shaves or scrubs, or massages. He’s happy and content to be on the sidelines just observing you. It might be over the top, but that’’s something he has in common with Gojo: he’ll do everything and anything to get you to favor him.

And for Geto, it doesn’t stop here.

While the nail techs from the spa work on your manicure—they’re in the middle of buffing your nails after removing your cuticles—you glance up as Geto approaches you. You’re relaxing on a lounge chair, adorned in a fancier silk robe Geto bought you a couple of weeks ago. It’s a deep burgundy with gold lining on the rims of your sleeves. Geto tells you when he gives it to you that you look something more akin to royalty in it. It’s an appropriate compliment to him, all things considered. But you don’t feel like royalty. Not even a tiny, little bit.

“Enjoying yourself?” Geto asks as he brushes his fingers across your forehead with a little smile on his lips. You shut your eyes again, taking a deep breath. It’s a nice break from everything, yes. You know it’s because he’s trying to get something from you. Whatever it is, you don’t really care about at the moment. Now two more nail techs are working on scraping off the callouses off of your feet.

You nod, adjusting yourself a bit in your spot. “Mm-mhm. Thank you, Suguru.”

His smile brightens his entire face. Something you have to admit, you have never seen before. Lately it’s like he’s been carrying some heavy burden on his shoulders that you haven’t pieced together yourself. Satoru’s visits have become next to none lately, and you know it’s because of whatever obligations he has outside of this. Geto has expected it, the longer absences, and that’s precisely why you’re here. At least at the beginning, now it seems like you have taken on a larger role than both of them initially anticipated.

But maybe Gojo’s absence is affecting him more than he lets on. But on the bright side, he hasn’t been initiating anything intimate between you both. He seems more concerned in making sure you really are comfortable here.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

You bite back a knowing sigh. You know the game by now. He does something over the top like this and it means he wants something more from you. You don’t know what that is just yet, but you don’t have to worry or speculate about something you already know is going to happen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

“Relax your hands,” one of the nail techs instructs while patting the hand she’s working on. You try. You can’t really relax in his presence but you sure damn try.

Geto pulls up a chair and settles down next to you. He rests his chin in his hand, smiling at you. You try not to pay attention, focusing on the way the nail techs are so gentle and slow with their treatments. The heels of your feet are probably already much smoother than they were previously—the exercise routines Geto’s forced you on has worn you out in more ways than one and has done a number on your skin health—and you can’t remember the last time you actually took care of your body like this. Not beyond the basic stuff.

Being someone’s pretty pet often left you no time for such things; apparently, you have a more important matter which is making sure your captor is thoroughly satisfied with you.

The pampering does feel so short-lived. After they’re done, your finger and toe nails are painted a nice matte black color, the gel shining brightly every time it reflected some light. They take the time to comb and snip off the breakage from your hair and provide all kinds of intensive hair care treatments, and you have never felt better (you know, all things considered). You wonder why Geto keeps going above and beyond like this. It’s like you said before, it can’t mean anything good for you at all.

After your evening pampering session, Geto escorts you back to the bedroom. He watches as you settle onto the bed, fingers running through your smooth hair after the keratin treatment the spa techs provided for you. Your hair feels great. So bouncy. So shiny. So soft. You’re practically beaming while swinging your legs against the bed and your entire expression brightens. It’s probably the first time in a long time you felt something other than utter dread and boredom.

Suddenly, his voice breaks your silent rejoicing.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers, lowering his head.

You freeze. Suddenly all of that little sliver of joy evaporates into thin air as you glance up at Geto, timid. Frightened. As if this can’t get any worse for you?!

“I… what?” You blink. He’s admitted to you before that he’s gotten some kind of affection for you, yes, but… in love with you? That sounds downright wacky considering his whole spiel.

“I meant to tell you sooner,” he goes on as he moves to disrobe. “But I figure there’s never going to be a good time. I’m in love with you. You’ve…made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I know you probably still aren’t happy here, and I can’t expect that you ever would be. That’s fine with me. You know what your job is here.”

“You want a functional family for the twins,” you tell him, looking away as he settles in bed next to you, his weight dipping the mattress.

He rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging out a sigh.

“Your cooperation is enough,” he insists, kissing your temple. You’re surprised you don’t flinch this time. “But I’d like to make this a real thing. One of these days.”

“What do you mean?” you find yourself asking out loud. You fear what he means. You know exactly what he means, yet you want to hear him say it. He smiles again, but it’s a little more solemn this time. Likely because he’s anticipated an unhappy reaction because of course, what else is he going to expect from you at all?

“Marriage, of course,” he answers with a little purr, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. His hand trails down to your neck, where you still wear that gold chain on your neck like a dog collar. He owns you—entirely and completely, as much as you loathe to admit it. It’s already been a year and a half. Your spirit has begun to wear down. You have come close to accepting your fate. The same monotonous routine. Again and again. Being forced into a role you never wanted to play. Pretending like you actually care about the twins, which, truthfully, there’s a little part of you that does but a part of you resents them. Resents them for bringing this man into your life. Resents them for being the ones to suggest any of this at all.

Yet, a part of you can’t wholly fault them, either. They have been caught up in all of this mess. While they understand the kind of man Geto is…

No.

You have every right to be as resentful toward the girls as you are toward Geto and Gojo.

The tears dropping to your palms catch you by surprise.

And you’re sniffling. Loudly.

“Haven’t you done enough?” you whimper, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t hold back the sheer resentment and hatred. Your body trembles, your vision blurring as more tears stream down your cheeks. So much for acceptance, huh? “Or does finding other ways to make me loathe you more get your dick hard?”

Geto’s eyebrows raise at that, and you’re shocked that it’s not anger you see in his eyes but pain. Exhaustion. “Mamma…”

“Don’t call me that,” you sneer through a sob, shooting him a glare with a fury you have kept buried in you for so long you’re impressed you’re still managing an even tone. “I don’t understand why you don’t just off me like any other non-sorcerer. I’d just be one less monkey for the world, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not true,” he replies, his expression crestfallen. “You’re damn worthy of everything I have to offer you. You know I don’t say things like that freely. You have the girls to thank for that. They helped me see how worthy you are.”

To hell with the girls, you so dearly wish to say but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross with Geto unless you really are asking for something.

“Do what you must to me,” you finally reply, “No matter what you do—punish me, whatever the hell it is you choose to—it won’t change anything. Ever. I loathe you. I loathe you and I loathe Satoru.”

“Mamma,” he murmurs, inching closer to you and resting a hand on the small of your back—but the way he touches you feels less like a warning and more like he’s attempting to console you instead and you can’t decide which is worse in that moment. Like what he does to you, what he has done to you, and what he will continue to do to you means nothing and that all you’re doing is overreacting. He rubs soothing circles into your back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t believe the audacity of this man.

“I won’t punish you,” he starts in an authoritative tone, much like he uses with the twins. “There’s no point to that anymore. Besides, it’s proved ineffective in the past if my goal is to make you feel like you’re part of our family.”

“I will never be a part of the family,” you shout, but the sob that comes out of your mouth makes you feel pathetic. More tears streaming down your face uncontrollably and you’re surprised how much comes out. How long have you been holding it? How has it taken you this long to release it?

Instead of scolding you, or being the condescending prick he usually is, his hands reach up to cup your face, brushing away the tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. He leans in and presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, frowning as he allows you to finally fucking crash out on him like you’ve wanted but you know this is ultimately going to solve nothing. He’s selfish; he won’t set you free. You’re everything he wants (apparently), and the girls adore you. Satoru adores you.

But it feels damning. It feels like a sentence worse than eternity in Hell. Every time you have tried to attempt at hurting yourself, something forbids you. You don’t know what it is, but you know Geto and the girls must have done something. With whatever they’re capable of doing as sorcerers. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t harm yourself. Every time you try you fail and due to forces you can’t see yourself.

“I still don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he whispers to you, and you break down into more sobs. You’re more than afraid of him. You loathe him—doesn’t he fucking see that?

“There’s nothing you can do to change that now,” you reply in a snippy tone. “Like I said, Suguru, do what you must. It won’t change my feelings. Nothing you do ever will. It must suck for you, huh? Living with someone who can’t even stand to look at you let alone breathe the same air as you, and it’s from a part of a subspecies you hate. Must really piss you off.”

“Not quite,” he answers flippantly, his expression hardening. “But I am disappointed. All I want is to be let in your world, Mamma, because I’ve already let you in mine. And there’s no way out for you now. I’m going to help you make the best of it.”

“Burn in Hell,” you quip, scrunching your nose before swatting his hands away from your face. He looks at you with wide eyes before he fully retracts his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m not letting you get off that easily,” he says, “But fine. Get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be all calmed down in the morning and we can have a civil discussion about our future together.”

“But if it eases some of your pain, Satoru doesn’t have to come near you like that anymore,” he decides, hoping that would gauge a more favorable reaction out of you. It does. A little bit. “I know you haven’t been fond of that as of late.”

“Fine,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest with a stubborn little pout for good measure. “Keep your fucking promise about that and then we’ll see.”

Jackpot. Don’t you dare give anything away. Don’t smirk or smile, nothing. That gets you out of something, at the very least. No more punishments. No more Satoru. That just means you have much more wiggle room.

Men really can be easy, can’t they?

Geto treats you to another date at a park. Unaccompanied by the girls this time around (otherwise it won’t be a date, he jokes)—likely in an effort to see how well you’re going to receive spending the rest of your life with him in a nightmare as hellish as this. It doesn’t matter what he does. It doesn’t matter what he changes. You aren’t in love with him. Not even a little bit. Not even a hint of Stockholm Syndrome because that’s just not who the fuck you are. You refuse to allow your resolve to crumble like paper; you’re made of fucking titanium and the fact that you’ve gone on this long without crashing out is a fucking miracle.

His hand is tightly wrapped around yours, and you can’t help but marvel at how much larger he is all around compared to you. His hand makes yours feel puny in his like a child’s, and he stands tall like a majestic Greek statue replica of a God. You can admire someone’s objective beauty without being attracted to them, and Geto’s the definition of an ethereal beauty. You have noticed the stares. He’s popular in the area; everyone knows about that wacky cult leader who performs exorcisms at his temple for those who believe they have been by spirits. Little do they know their suspicions are correct and they aren’t the crazy ones, but to the general public, it obviously sounds fucking insane.

But the more you pick up on curse spirits, the more you realize how much of humanity has been the cause of their own suffering. You have overheard Gojo and Geto discuss how spirits are born from negative human emotions, and when you think about the history of all of the supernatural folklore you’ve consumed in your youth, you can’t say you’re surprised. Most monsters are human, or human-born, and Geto is an example of that fact: born from normal humans but became a monster due to negative human experiences. Gojo on the other hand is seemingly attempting to take a more noble approach but there’s nothing about that guy that screams ‘noble.’ He’s as wicked and vile as Geto, but perhaps in more specific settings.

You glance at your surroundings. It’s a clear sky. You hear various species’ of birds chirping and while in the early mornings it grinds your gears at this moment it feels tranquil and peaceful. Even if you are with an absolute psychopath keeping close to you like a shadow. Everyone’s out enjoying their simple lives; you even catch a few happy, carefree couples like the day Geto spirited you away from the bakery. Something tugs at your heartstrings at the sight.

Even if you do get out of his hands, are you ever going to have a normal life? Are you ever going to find a peaceful, safe love, like these couples seem to? They seem like they’re glowing and perhaps that’s in part due to the glow of the sun’s rays bathing their skin. It all seems so unfair that your chances at anything normal might be done for the count. All because you have caught the eye of two greedy sorcerers who think they rule the damn universe.

They may as well be, if what they say is true: that they’re the strongest of the strong. Nothing can stop them. The only people who can stop each other, is well, each other. And neither of them want to destroy the other for the sake of stupid sorcerer vs human politics.

Geto calls your name, and you don’t realize you stopped in the middle of the stone bridge.

“Did you want to stay and enjoy the view here?” Geto inquires with a hum, shifting to wrap his arms around your stomach. You rest your hands over the rail and look out, smiling a little as you can see little schools of fishes in the small pond below. You sigh in delight as a refreshing gust of wind rushes past you both; the ends of Geto’s mane tickling your neck a little.

“I guess I had been lost in thought,” you admit shyly, not protesting as Geto pulls you in closer until your the back of your head rested against his chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, looking ahead to the distance with you. “Is it true, that only Gojo can kill you if it ever came down to it?”

“That is a matter that doesn’t concern you,” he mumbles, “But it is getting more complicated for him to see us.”

“Do you miss him?” you ask, rolling your eyes upward.

“Of course I do,” he says, lowering his voice a little. “But I have you here now. I’m not all that lonely anymore.”

Even if I can never love you back? Because the difference between Gojo and I is that he loves you, you think to yourself, biting back a groan in annoyance as Geto tightens his grip around your waist, fiddling with the hem of your pants absently like he wants to avoid this subject. Maybe Gojo’s absence really is affecting him.

“You know, maybe you should go after him,” you offer, “He might need to be the one to be chased, sometimes, you know?”

What the hell are you doing?

Not even you know.

But you don’’t think you’re crossing a line if you’re trying to console Geto in this case, and it’s all between you and him, right? You’re trying to push them in the right direction. Whatever the hell that means for them. As long as it gets them to shove you all the way out because you still don’t fully understand your purpose or your role.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he mutters after a period of reflection. “I think I’ll try that this time. I expect you to be on your best behavior if I’m gone for a while.”

“I don’t think you can expect anything less.” You can’t go anywhere. Not yet, anyway. But you’re going to find a way out of there.

You prefer without the ‘die trying’ part. You want to have some life left in you when you finally escape.

“I’m growing bored,” Geto announces while tugging you along across the bridge. “Come on. Let’s stroll around for a bit longer and then we can grab dinner anywhere around Takeshita Street.”

With a reluctant pout you allow him to tow you in wherever direction.

“Mom!” Mimiko calls out to you while approaching you with a little skip to her step. After the park date, Geto excuses himself to follow through on your suggestion under the guise of some matters he has to handle outside his business. He comes up with some elaborate yet believable lie, but now you’re left to cater to the twins in his absence while Miguel and some of his other nameless goons keep an eye on you.

You greet her with the most plastic smile you can.

“What is it, love?”

“How was your date with Mr. Geto?” she asks eagerly. Then Nanako steps in, shoving past her.

“Yeah! Did he get all romantic and everything?” she asks while clasping her hands together.

“Are you falling in love with Mr. Geto, Mom?”

“Girls, girls!” You sound like a kindergarten teacher calming a group of rowdy children as you raise your hands up in surrender. “Geto has been wonderful, no doubt.” What a fucking lie. “But everything is going to take some time to develop.”

“But you are staying, right?” Mimiko asks with hopeful eyes.

No.

“Of course,” you reply in a more robotic tone that they don’t point out much to your relief.

The girls beam at each other before turning to you again.

“We just want you to be happy too, Mom!” Nanako says, “And we don’t want you to be sad!”

Such fucking lies.

You can feel Miguel observing the scene unfold from the sidelines, his arms folded over his large, chiseled torso and you can’t make out his expression. He tends to maintain a neutral facade perhaps to protect himself.

As Nanako and Mimiko talk amongst themselves, you retire to sit on one of the couches. The thuds of heavy footfalls approach you, and you glance up to meet Miguel’s unreadable face.

“Hello,” you greet, your lips a bit pursed.

“So, got room to breathe did ya?”

You shrug. “Whatever that means for Geto, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and you quirk an eyebrow…for what? You have a feeling for what, they don’t think you belong here. Not for the reasons you at first suspect which is they all share disdain toward non-sorcerers. But because he pities your situation much like Suda does.

“Don’t have to be,” you reply, offering a small smile.

Miguel takes out your hand and rests a tiny, folded slip of paper onto your palm.

“I’ll escort you to your room now.”

“Thank you,” you respond, clenching your fist with the paper in it.

When he does, he speaks up again just outside the bedroom door.

“Your insignia,” he gestures to the pendant on the gold chain around your neck. “I added a little something extra for your sake.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head as your eyebrows knit together.

You unfold the paper and reveal the message.

It’s some kind of incantation along with instructions.

“Memorize it now. I have to burn the evidence,” Miguel instructs you. You nod, ingraining it all to your memory the best that you can. “While Satoru Gojo might be a little more difficult to escape, you’ll have no problem getting out of Gsto’s radar.”

Your brain short circuits for a moment.

…Hold the fucking phone.

“You know?” you gasp.

“Yeah,” he almost snickers, “Everyone and their mother here does. Those guys really think they have everyone fooled but no one is that dumb.”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a snort.

“Hang in there. I love Geto like a brother, but these matters aren’t your concern. You’ve just been dragged in for some unfortunate reason,” he goes on, adjusting his collar with a little grunt. “And I don’t know. I guess I just can’t let myself live with that. Neither can Miss Suda. Just remember, it’s between us.”

Miguel swipes the paper back and burns it to a crisp with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen. That is just like when Geto killed those innocent victims.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “So why did you choose to work for him?”

He shrugs as he brushes past you.

“I guess I just get where he’s coming from,” he answers, “He’s not all wacky, you know?”

“I very much disagree,” you counter with a frown.

Miguel laughs heartedly at that. “Can’t blame you one bit, Miss …. We’re not here claiming to be right or good, you know? We’re sorcerers, not saints. No matter which side we fight on.”

You bite your bottom lip.

“What more can you tell me about this world?”

It doesn’t look like Geto will return for a bit. Might as well take advantage of his absence while he fights for whatever it is he believes in between he and Gojo.

Miguel finally fills you in on some details Geto conveniently leaves you in the dark about.

It is in the dead of night when your sleep is interrupted by some rustling beside you. Geto curls an arm around you and kisses into your shoulder.

“Miss me?” he whispers with a little chuckle. Yeah. Sure, sure whatever he wants to believe, you fucking guess.

You hold your tongue, always knowing better than to speak your real truth—not unless you want things to go south for you all over again and you can’t afford another failure.

You scrunch your nose, adjusting yourself a little in your side of the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit as you move. “Mmhm-mm. How did things go with Satoru?”

“Wonderful,” he breathes, you can hear his smile, you don’t have to go searching for it in the blackness of the room. “Thanks to you and your brilliance, Mamma. Thank you.”

“Good,” you reply through a loud yawn, once again shifting in your spot and trying to get comfortable. “Get some sleep, darling. I’m glad I could do something for you.”

Laying it on so fucking thick.

“Satoru is coming by tomorrow,” he tells you, and you make a sound before you could stop yourself.

Fear shoots through your veins like an injection.

“But—!”

“—worry not,” he interjects, stealing another kiss on the corner of your lips, and then your jaw. “I won’t let him touch you. Not unless you’re okay with it. I’m a man of my word, Mamma.”

You find that very hard to believe.

“Okay,” you whimper, not protesting as he pulls you in close, practically spooning you and your breath hitches when his pelvis grinds into your ass.

“Suguru, darling,” you whisper, hiding your face into your pillow. You know a tear has slipped from your cheek. A real one. You’re so tired, and not just from the day. “Rest.”

“Okay,” he replies, nuzzling his nose into your neck, keeping you caged around his body.

You feel like you might suffocate in his hold but you just remind yourself that it might very well be almost over. Miguel is there. Suda is there.

You’re going to be okay.

Needless to say, Gojo doesn’t take well to the change in the arrangement. You can’t remember the last time Gojo came for a visit so naturally he’s going to be furious at the idea of not getting his end of the deal. He ultimately won’t deny anything Geto tells him to, you have taken notice to that very early on.

Geto lets him down easy, but even then—

“—What the fuck do you mean I can’t do anything today?”

“She’s not feeling it,” Geto retorts, casting a judging glare at Gojo. “Simple as that.”

Gojo casts a curious glance at you, fuming like a petulant toddler.

“Can we still snuggle, Princess? I swear I’ll keep my hands in modest places,” he begs, stepping toward you.

You’re sprawled on the couch, and dragging out a defeated sigh, you gesture for him to come with a wave of both of your hands. Gojo beams and squeals in glee like a child who just hit the jackpot at an arcade and swoops into your arms, burying his face between your breasts.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your clothes with a pleased sigh, rubbing his face harder between your busty mounds. “Fuck, I’m in Heaven.”

So much for keeping his hands in modest places… they never truly follow through ok their word and you have come to accept that. It doesn’t mean it still doesn’t fucking piss you the fuck off.

You sneak a curious glance at Geto, who doesn’t seem pleased by Gojo in that moment. Oh so maybe he does actually want to show you a little grace for once? What a fucking refreshing change of pace!

Yet you doubt it’s going to last. Geto can only hang on for so long. His resolve crumbles so easily.

“Don’t touch, Satoru,” Suguru chides. This time his tone sounds a little different, like he’s playing a different tune. You sense a little note of jealousy. You aren’t sure if your ears are fooling you. Yes, Suguru believes he’s in love with you, but these feelings for you can’t possibly be real. “I expect you to follow orders.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves him off. His eyes roll up with a little sparkle to them. It’s here where you realize just how snow white his lashes are up close. It’s such a beautiful contrast, and such beauty is wasted on a man as pathetic as him.

Suguru joins the two of you on the couch, casting a sideways glance at Satoru burying his head between your boobs. You can catch that little flash of green from envy, like he fears Satoru may take advantage of you.

Why does he care so much all of a sudden? You feel your head winding like a spinning top—what the hell has changed all of a sudden? Nothing adds up. You’re adding two plus two and somehow coming out with five.

Then you remember what Geto brought up before. Realization dawns on you and your stomach sinks like the goddamn Titanic.

Is he serious about marrying you should things go to shit between he and Satoru because of that war?

When Miguel filled you in on the details you knew so little about, it still doesn’t make much sense to you, and nobody honestly expects you to understand anything. It’s a whole new world for you. Try as you truly might and even you have to accept the fact that indeed, this is not something you are meant to understand and maybe you just don’t have to. All the more reason why you have no reason to be here, in a world where nothing makes sense and you’re caught in a loop of being their favorite pet to torture.

“So what the hell are we doing then? If I can’t touch, Suguru?” he asks with a little indignant huff, snaking his arms around your waist and clinging tight. “Not sexually, I mean.”

As if this isn’t that, either?

“I’m still here, Satoru,” Suguru answers with a little smolder that makes you want to vomit. Satoru’s head snaps up and he grins wide.

“Of course I can’t say no to that!” Gojo says gleefully, his eyes practically lighting up at the prospect.

You wish you can breathe out in relief but you know that might raise questions. And you have no mood to be interrogated by the most infuriating duo. But Satoru settles onto Suguru’s lap instead, peppering slobbery kisses all over his face. Suguru cast a curious glance at you, hoping to see some kind of positive reaction that you won’t give him the satisfaction of giving because no one should be rewarded for basic decency. You turn away, hugging your knees to your chest.

As long as neither of them have to touch you today. Then you’re fine with whatever happens.

You just don’t want to be touched, for once.

“There was never us ruling out that she could be in charge of you today, Satoru,” you hear Suguru suggest and this time you twist your head over your shoulder, your mouth agape as you assess his expression for any catch to the idea.

“If it means I can feel her, then that’s a fantastic idea,” Satoru purrs with a wraggling of his eyebrows.

You definitely feel some bile threatening to spew out of your mouth. Fucking sickis. Fucking psychopaths. Fucking…dinguses! Morons! Nightmares! FUCKERS! YOU HATE FHEM WITH EVERYTHING IN YOUR HEART!

But you have to admit, Suguru’s idea does pique your interest a little.

“What am I allowed to do, Suguru?” you inquire with that same innocent tone, hoping your voice isn’t betraying you.

Suguru locks his arms around Satoru’s hips, humming in thought.

“Well, Satoru does have this little fantasy of getting pegged while he sucks me off…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Are you okay with that, Suguru?” you ask in a syrupy sweet tone as you inch toward him, brushing your lips against his ear in a tantalizing, delicious way. You see his breath hitch in his throat and you can’t help yourself, your lips twitching upward in a smirk. “I’m happy to do that, if it makes you happy, Suguru.”

“I’m only happy if you’re comfortable doing so. But Satoru doesn’t get to touch you. That’s the rule now,” he whispers seductively, stealing a kiss on your lips. His hands sneak up Satoru’s thighs and Satoru gasps, instinctively spreading himself against Suguru’s lap.

Suguru cups Satoru’s cock roughly through his slacks and Satoru inhales through his nose sharply, inching toward the touch.

“Satoru, relax,” he chuckles, slipping his lover’s cock out and cuffing his tip roughly with one of his hands as the other pumps his shaft. “I barely even started.”

You snake an arm around Geto’s neck, scooting closer. He flashes you a little smirk.

“Can’t—haaa—help it, missed you,” he whimpers while his hands fly up to Geto’s chest, pinching his nipples through his robe.

“Undress me, my love,” he instructs you and you nod, sliding off the robe and he adjusts himself to make the process a bit easier. Gojo whines again, latching his lips onto one of Geto’s pecs and lavishing it with his tongue while Geto continues to fondle his cock. It’s already strained and stiff and leaking and Gojo is squirming in his spot, rendered utterly helpless at the slightest touch.

“Suguru?” you beckon for further instruction, trailing your fingers down one of his arms. He lets out a dreamy little sound, pleased by your touch, by your cooperation more so.

“Just follow my lead, my love.” He’s been calling you that more than ‘little dove,’ which is an improvement but not ideal to say the very least about the shift. “He can’t touch you, but you can touch him. Do you understand?”

So, there’s the catch. Of fucking course it’s never that fucking easy.

You nod. His mischievous smile widens.

“Good. Go to the storage unit and pick your poison. Grab the lube and choose a large one to peg him with. He needs something my size or bigger to satisfy that slutty hole of his.”

He emphasizes that statement with a firm fisting of his shaft and Gojo squirms in his hold again, whining.

“Suguru…! Haaa…! Please! Want Princess to fuck me!”

“Patience,” he chides with a sharp swat on one of Satoru’s thighs, making him keen and arch his back into Geto’s body.

“Want her to fuck my brains out,” he babbles on as you gather the strap-on, lube, and eyeballing the sizes. You choose one of the far girthier ones. You furrow your brows as you adjust the strap on and return with the bottle of lube in hand. While you have gathered the items Suguru has yanked Satoru’s pants off and adjusted him so it was just him on the couch. He keeps his legs spread wide and you hand the bottle of lube to Geto.

“I can take care of the prep and I’ll talk you through it, my love. You haven’t done any of this before?”

You shake your head. Of course you haven’t. This is all foreign territory to you but the idea you can control what happens to a certain degree in this is kind of appetizing and you shouldn’t feel that way because you know it’s all part of some grander scheme up Geto’s sleeve. He wants you to want him. He wants you to return his feelings no matter what he tells you otherwise. He is trying to appeal to you.

Don’t fall for it, you remind yourself. Don’t fucking fall for it. It’s all a fucking game.

Suguru grabs Gojo’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks, and guides him to his cock. Gojo opens up without protest, groaning in delight and arousal the moment Geto’s cock fully settles in his mouth. Slobber dribbles messily down Gojo’s chin as he bobs his head back and forth on his lover’s huge, hard cock. Moaning and groaning like it’s an honor to please him.

All the while Geto’s dextrous, slicked up fingers work him open with his other hand still pumping Gojo’s shaft.

You’re awestruck at the sight in the worst way, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. Just like they go at it like rabid animals with you, they go at it like rabid, insatiable animals with each other. Geto maintains a stellar pokerface while making Gojo deepthroat him and you’re certain you’re appalled yet you can’t deny the arousal pooling in your groin. 

You’re sick of your own perfectly natural physiological reactions. Maybe you’re getting off to the fact that you can actually take something back. The lewd squelching noises and the slicht! Slicht! Slitch! from Geto fisting Gojo’s cock is overstimulating and Gojo shouts when he splatters his own seed all across his abdomen and torso. Geto just laughs with vigor as Gojo pants from the high, muffled through Geto’s cock constantly hitting the back of his throat mercilessly.

Geto’s piercing violet gaze fixes on you as he curls his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, and you cautiously approach him. He grasps the toy you chose that you attached to the strap on and lines it up to Gojo’s stretched entrance. He coos little sweet nothings to you as he assists you in sinking it inside, making Gojo thrash about but Geto commands him to hold fucking still.

“Just thrust your hips like that, my love. There you go, find a rhythm that works for you and makes him feel good,” he talks you through it like he promises, purring as he grabs a fistful of Gojo’s hair and controls the pace in which he fucks his mouth while you fuck into Gojo’s ass.

“Swallow me, Satoru,” Geto grunts a command and Gojo moans as he does as he’s told. He yanks Gojo’s mouth off of his dick and Gojo parts with kissing the tip of it before his voice breaks into more broken moans as you pick up a kind of moderate pace once you get the hang of it. Geto continues to coach you and guide you, admiring the view of the ridged girthy toy disappearing into Gojo’s hole.

“Fuuuuck, Princess, you’re such a fucking natural. Don’t stop!” Gojo babbles as a line of drool dribbles down his chin. Geto chuckles, remaining behind you and rubbing your shoulders as beads of sweat drops from your forehead and slides across one of your brows. Gojo’s praises and Geto’s words of encouragement do make you feel a type of way. You feel a sense of empowerment you haven’t felt in a long time. Watching Gojo grip the edge of the cushion he’s seated on trying to maintain some semblance of composure but he’s writhing and keening and all because of you and it’s riveting. Truly riveting and you can’t believe it.

“Ah—fuck—gonna—haaaaa—come, Princess! Fuck!” He shouts as Geto instructs you to watch his hole clench around the toy and his pathetic cock twitch as more seed splatters on his stomach again.

“You did so well, my love,” Geto gushes as he helps you pull out the toy and yanks it off of you. Gojo’s panting heavily, whimpering again.

“Don’t want to stop,” he begs, pouting, “Please please please let her fuck me again!”

Geto eyeballs you and you shake your head. While you kind of do, that took a lot out of you.

“Go easy on her, Satoru,” he purrs, “That was her first time doing something like that. And isn’t she a natural?”

His hand rests on the small of your back. You ignore the shot of cold crawling up and down your spine. You can’t show you still fear him yet you do. You do fear him and that’s exactly what he’s trying so hard not to make you feel around him.

But you mean what you said before—nothing’s ever going to change. Not for as long as your heart is still beating life into your body, are you ever going to feel anything other than fear and resentment for either he and Satoru. These men are a plague to you—parasites that have made a home out of tormenting you under the guise of affection.

“Want moooorrree, Suguru…” he drawls, sticking his tongue past his lips while clawing his hands at the air. “So good.”

“Looks like you broke him,” Geto murmurs in an amused tone into your ear, expecting a little giggle out of you at least but all you do is glance up at him with bewildered eyes. His expression falters. Of course you don’t fall for the schemes he pulls. “I got it from here. You rest now. You did so good.”

He presses a tender kiss to the bridge of your nose, and then your lips. When he pulls away, he has a soft look on his face. In another world it might have knocked the wind out of your lungs in the best way.

But this is not that world, you remind yourself. This world is still your personal Hell.

[sunnydayaoe]

Off Schedule

[CCCC FIC] Contains: Platonic Soul, Heart and Mind, Pet regression, [~4,000 words]

Stressed petre!Mind + Caregivers Soul & Heart! From the request "s.so. so puppy mind after a stressful day with heart and soul as caregivers,," Mind can't complete its normal nightly schedule, and gets super stressed because of that... Luckily, Soul and later Heart help him relax :]

Fic under cut! or on AO3

It was hard to understate how much of Mind's, and really all three of their, mental state was linked to their physicality. Sometimes, this worked in his favor. Indeed, today was one of those days, at least, he'd thought it was.

If it tried to ignore all the strife and focus entirely on getting things done, it could set aside... most of the annoyances. His body was more machine than flesh at this point, and any phantom pains could easily be ignored for the Whole. He didn't want to disappoint his Soul [or his Heart], after all.

It wasn't thinking today was a good day now, curled up in bed, an hour before it'd regularly turn in for the night. He had started lagging earlier in the day, but had decided against slowing down his usual schedule; if he was feeling bad, that just meant the whole was having more intensive thoughts and needed him more than ever. Rest was not an option.

This had gotten him only though most of his routine, but, annoyingly, he couldn't get done with his last step. Every night, he'd read for about an hour before bed. This usually helped him wind-down and get relaxed and into the proper headspace, but his head was too scattered. That really was the last nail in the coffin.

He could stand an increased workload, the impending dread that something was Wrong, but his schedule... God, he didn't even know why he was so stressed out. He'd finished everything actually important, had finished everything that would actually help the three of them. The only thing he couldn't get to was some frivolous wind-down time, truly pathetic that that was what had done him in.

To add to this horrible mess, he couldn't even get to sleep. There was a buzzing under his skin, a restlessness he couldn't shake. He wanted to move. He also very much Didn't want to move.

A knock at his door startled him out of his curled up ball on his bed. He grunted an acknowledgement, hoping they wouldn't come in. He was... not presentable. He knew he'd probably be mean and unsociable, and that would just get so tiresome when it made the other, whoever it was on the other side of the door, inevitably got annoyed with him.

Apparently that wasn't enough for them, [figures, he was never enough.] because the door creaked open. It was Soul.

"Mind...?"

He turned away with a growl, hoping Soul would get the message. It was not in the mood.

"You okay man?"

Clearly, it didn't. Figures, Soul could never mind his own business.

"Yes. I'm... Fine." The words were slow and stilted, like it was pulling teeth.

Even without looking, he could tell his host was narrowing its eyes at him. The bed dipped with extra weight; Soul had sat down at the bed's foot. He was just getting ready to tell him to fuck off when he felt a hand reach over and settle on his forehead. Oh. Soul was in a touchy mood today. [Those were always nice days.] Maybe it could... wait a little bit, before kicking him out. Just a few moments, of course.

"Not too warm or hot... I guess, if you're sure you're fine, I could leave." Soul had become a bit of a worrywart in concord, caught up in attempting to make sure everything was running smoothly. Still, it backed off if one of them started getting snappy. a good call, because usually, Mind found the mother-henning kind of annoying [it was, after all, the one supposed to be keeping things in order. Any more than the base worry started feeling suffocating.]

Today, however... the idea didn't seem too bad. It was selfish to consider, because it knew it was liable to lash out like this. That wouldn't be a good ending for any of them, for Mind to snap at Soul only trying to help. Still, the temptation.

"No."

"You want me to leave?"

"No." It growled, frustrated with its inability to talk clear and the fact Soul misunderstood. God this was already getting it angry; this was definitely a bad idea.

It rolled over until it was back to facing Soul, squinting a bit at how light it was; his dear host had left the door open, and the hallway light was on. Annoying. Worth it though, because he could push against Soul's side, making it very clear he didn't want him to leave.

"Okay, okay, I get the message." Soul giggled. His hand gently carded through Mind's hair, "Think you could tell me what's wrong? Sick, tired, stressed-"

Mind nodded at the last one, careful not to dislodge Soul's hand, before contemplating for a second and holding up two fingers for the second option: he was also pretty tired. Soul's eyes softened a bit at that, drooping in the corners [reminding it of the portraits of Him Soul hadn't covered up].

"Want some help relaxing?" the words were a tad hesitant, and they were paired with gentle hands sliding behind his ears [something it leaned into easily. Again, touchy days were Always the best.] It didn't sound like it knew if it should be offering and it took Mind a moment to realize, exactly, what it was suggesting; usually he was the one asking, albeit awkwardly, if Soul could look after him while regressed. Even then, Mind hadn't really done it much...

It nodded, after a few silent moments weighing the pros and cons. It didn't have to talk, or make any decisions, or do any work, and it could just have Soul dote over it... it figured it had done enough productive work to earn itself some pampering. Probably. Maybe. Anyway, Soul was offering; to not take the opportunity would be... illogical.

Seeming satisfied with the confirmation, Soul pulled away. Before Mind could get snippy and whiney about it, he quickly explained himself, "just getting your stuff... unless you want to do it without it?"

That was logical enough, still a bummer though. It just huffed, "Fine."

His host rolled its eyes at him, but made quick work of sorting through Mind's drawers and pulling out its collar, along with its dog themed socks and gloves. He made a quick detour to the door to close it as well. [Much to Mind's gratitude. The room was now lit by a slightly dimmed light: pleasant.]

Mind didn't really have much he did with regression, so new to it; Soul easily kept track of everything it did, usually the one with him during. He was back in moments. Still, the sun took each item from its host to put on itself; it had already submitted itself to enough vulnerability, it could put on its own socks.

Now finally ready, and already feeling the tiniest bit better, it felt all the antsy-ness and over-energy come back with force. The buzzing underneath its skin was getting hard to ignore. He hoped Soul would be fine with a more playful session than usual.

"Now who's my good puppy?" Soul cooed hands reaching out to cup its face, like, well, one would do with a puppy. It wasn't really a puppy just yet, but the sweet words usually let it fall into it more easily. While definitely a tad embarrassed, it relaxed almost instantly into him. It knew it would feel great once the first little bump was gotten over. Just needed to let go a little [a Lot].

"Good boy!"

It shifted a little further into him, letting itself fall almost into his lap, nodding. Talking always got a bit hard like this, and it was already having a difficult time beforehand. That was fine though, his Soul was definitely expecting it.

"Want to play, or nap, Apollo?"

Oh the nickname was definitely the last straw; he was wholly in puppy-space now. It wanted to play, and it let him know with a playful yip and pushing its full weight into him; wrestling was always its favorite.

Not expecting the switch to such loud enthusiasm, Soul staggered a bit and nearly fell over when Mind bowled into him. He chuckled a little, hands gently pushing at its shoulders to get it off of him.

"Sorry puppy, I'm not the most into contact sports," he summonsed a chew-toy, characterized like all his summoned objects by a solid red color, "Wanna tug-a-war instead?"

Well, it wanted to wrestle, but... whatever; tug-a-war could probably be just as fun. Grabbing onto the toy, it gave a harsh tug.

With that, the game was on; Soul made sure not to pull too hard, not wanting to hurt Mind's jaw or teeth, but Mind had no such reservations. It growled around the toy, teeth sinking in further than it probably should let them. It could let out way more of that nervous energy it had had throughout the day like that though.

Soul didn't seem that happy with its disregard for propper safety, "Hey! Drop it boy, drop it."

Normally it would heed the call, it always adored the way Soul would coo soft praises when it did as he asked, but today it needed to get out these feelings. Shaking his head like a dog, it gave another sharp jerk at the toy. Its teeth hurt for a moment, probably why Soul let go.

Later it would recognize letting go as not an unsound decision, [Mind's jaw Had hurt for just a moment before Soul released the pressure, and it definitely would have hurt more if Soul Hadn't let go.] but in the moment it just went flying backwards and off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump and whine. The fall was onto carpet, and didn't even hurt that much, but the betrayal certainly did.

He heard a muffled "shit" overhead, but that was quickly ignored in favor of whining as loudly and pathetically as possible. This sucked, its back Kind of hurt, and Soul had just been incredibly horribly mean to it. That was such a mean way to win tug-a-war, cruel and unusual! Everyone in a fifty-foot radius Needed to know that. Immediately.

Soul was on the floor with him in an instant, cooing soft words and shushing gently, like that would earn him forgiveness for what he'd done. [It Did forgave him, but Soul didn't need to know that!] Its tantrum was definitely stressing Soul out more than the fall hurt it, but that serves him right! Being mean to a puppy is crime punished ten-fold.

It seems it’s wailing had gained it more than just Soul’s frantic attention; loud footsteps echoed from the hallway. Heart, probably, but in the minuscule off chance it wasn’t, it shoved itself right into Soul’s unprepared lap. He could make up for being so mean to it by protecting it from any monsters that may or may not exist. [That was definitely why he went into its lap, and not because Soul was very comfortable.]

The door creaked open yet again, and Heart peaked in. “Everything okay in here? I heard a thud and ah, a lot of noise.”

Soul was quick to answer, “ah, yes. Everything is fine. Mind just took a bit of a tumble.”

As if to accentuate this Mind let out a little whimper, needing Heart to know he was having the worst time in the world [or well- it was actually having a rather nice time, but it was ignoring that]. The moon would have sympathy, wouldn't he?

Heart seemed to need a second to realize what that sound was, and when he did he let out a little giggle. “Do we have a puppy in here?”

They didn’t wait for Soul’s “yeah” before going on, closing the door behind them. With a few directions from their host, he settled down on the floor beside the two of them. “Mind if I join you two?” The question seemed mostly in jest, Heart had already sat down next to the two of them, but there was an underlining genuinity.

Mind heard none of this, and was warring between two decisions: one, stay in Soul’s lap [rather awkward, because it hadn’t been prepared for him to just crawl on,] or jump at Heart and see if he wanted to play wrestle. Soul was very warm, and past a bit of squiring, pretty comfortable, and had even started giving it pets, but Heart would probably take him up on the offer of wrestling…

The two had moved on in conversation while it considered its options. Soul was answering a question it didn’t catch: “I really don’t know why he’s being so loud… the fall was pretty short. Do you think it might have landed wrong?”

Heart was making considering noises, but Mind was fuming. The two having conversation overhead didn’t bother it at all [it rather liked that they didn’t expect or need it to contribute] but Soul didn’t even know why it was mad at him?

That was definitely the last straw, and it wriggled out of Soul’s gentle hold to run into Heart. He didn't bowl them over, but that was only because Heart was a brick wall compared to Mind. There was a giggle, and large arms wrapped around it in a hug. It squirmed for a moment in the hold before leaning up to lick a stripe over Heart's cheek.

This very heartfelt show of affection earned him nothing but a few snickers and getting pushed back a little. Nobody here appreciated him as much as they should. Still, he stopped whining; Heart wasn't the one who let it fall off the bed, after all.

"I think Mind was just mad at you..." Heart said, shoulders shaking with silent laughter now that they'd figured Mind wasn't actually in any pain. "Was Soul being mean to you, puppy?"

"uhuh!" Mind agreed, easily. He wouldn't really say Soul was being Mean, per se. but he wanted to be mean back anyway. It usually didn't like talking like this, but it was going to make a small exception, just for this."B-bad at... playing."

It shoved its face right into Heart's chest now that it had spoken its piece, that was enough of that for now! His Heart didn't immediately react besides shift Mind into his lap more comfortably, face tucked into his neck. After a moment of adjustment, he was immediately on Mind's side; the way everyone Should be.

"Soul did you really fuck up playing so bad you made him mad at you? When he's like this?"

"Don't swear in front of it!" Soul, sidestepping the question, interjected.

There was a moment of silence, with the exception of the rhythmic thump of Mind's tail, before Heart burst out laughing. "You, my Soul-" He couldn't finish, giggling and wheezing way too hard. He tried again, "You censor yourself in front of Mind?"

[Mind knew Soul Tried, he was just very very bad at it. If he had any of the want to count he's sure its pretty high in the double digits, and they've only started doing this for a couple weeks at this point.]

"Yes! I do!"

"He's- He's still Mind. I don't think censoring swears will get it more into character either..." They considered it for a moment, like a thought had just occurred to them, "Unless you censor yourself in front of pets normally...?"

More silence, followed by breathless giggles. The sound made Mind want to laugh too, contagious. Soul didn't answer, turning away with a huff.

"Mind's not some delicate little thing like this, Soul." Heart said, turning his attention back to Mind. "isn't that right buddy? You're a big dog aren't you?"

Mind nodded against Heart's chest, giddy at the praise. It liked where this was going, quite a lot.

"Wanna show him how to really play?" His Heart gently shoved him off their lap and grinned down at it, sharp teeth on display. "Know you like wrestling, Apollo."

It lets out a happy yip, wasting no time in engaging in the fun. The two are grappling around the floor in moments, Soul's surprised yelp background noise.

Heart was always fun, never missing the opportunity to stress out Soul or let Mind have some more rough playtime. Not to say they were it’s favorite… just that, sometimes, maybe Mind preferred their treatment to Soul’s.

Like now! Tumbling about the carpet hit the exact itch Soul couldn’t. There was action, loud and aggressive, and it could really get its adrenaline pumping. Best yet, Mind could just let itself sink into it all without having to worry about things going south. The others would never hurt I a puppy, after all.

The thought brought on another wave of giddiness, and it threw its weight at Heart with rendered vigor, finally pinning him to the ground. Victory was his, at last!

Heart didn’t struggle much, a bit out of breath and mostly happy Mind seemed satisfied. At least, that's what it thought. “Ahh how terrible, to be bested by this awful beast…”

[Mind preened at that, for it Was an awe inspiring creature.]

His Hearts mouth turned into a sly little smile, before he was curling up with a lunge and grabbing Mind in a hug, warm and constricting, but not too tight. He laughed, big and loud and exaggeratedly evil, “or so you thought!”

It squeaked and squirmed and made a big show of Not wanting to be caught, but didn’t actually struggle too badly. Playtime had tired it out a little, and it was definitely not at 100% beforehand. Not a good mix for a puppy… Plus how awfully nice it was to be in Heart's arms? He didn't stand a chance.

Yawning, it let it’s chin hook over Heart’s shoulder, attempts to escape his arms short lived and abandoned. The moon was very very warm, one of the many things that made him such an appealing caretaker. How could it not adore someone so warm and snuggly.

There was a concerned noise behind it, and it could feel it’s ears perking up, trying to figure who it was. Soul, [obviously [there were only the three of them here, after all] but it liked having to puzzle it out. Smooth and angelic, with a hint of static, of course that was his Soul.] tinged with only a hint of worry, “was he too rough?” It asked him, before quickly changing gears to address Heart, “It looks tired.”

“It looked like it had too much energy when I got here, just tired it out enough for bed.” Heart’s easy response, self-assured. His grip tightened around Mind and he shifted it a little, like a man presenting a fish they’d caught, “worked like a charm!”

Mind only struggled a little bit at the handling, but rather liked it. There was just something so pleasant about being… a prize. Observed and adored and pampered like a treasure, but any contributions it offered were incidental to it, the machinations of another. Mind could just doze off in Heart’s arms and the soft cooing just came rolling in! It was living the dream.

Soul made a considering sound but didn’t fight him further. It tapped Mind’s shoulder to gain his attention. It to glanced back, eyes already half-lidded and tired from the adrenaline rush of its game ending so quickly.

“Mind…? Want to go to bed a puppy?” His hand was already hooked under its collar, ready to take it off. Usually the sessions weren’t so close to the time it turned in for the night [Mind liked having its before-sleep reading time], and it usually liked to get out of puppy-space an hour or two before bed. Soul probably assumed it wanted out before getting to sleep.

Mind growled, the sound at odds with its earlier good mood. What would have been a squeaky puppy growl on anyone else came out deep and crackling from the sun.

Soul pulled his hand back, palms free, “easy puppy! Was just a suggestion.” Heart was laughing at him.

Satisfied its point came across, it nodded. Going to bed actually did sound pretty nice right now…

Heart seemed to sense its thoughts, because he lifted it off the ground as he stood, gently setting it back on its bed. Like an evil creature that fed off of only suffering, however, he did Not crawl in bed with it.

Letting out a loud whine, it stared between Soul and Heart with a wide eye, glassy with what would be tears if it had any. It earned him a startled sound from Soul, “I thought you were enjoying cuddling with Heart…?” And Heart’s feigned resignation, “well… I guess I have too,”

It turned away from Heart with an annoyed huff. He should’ve been grateful and humble! Not resigned; Mind was a wonderful puppy, to cuddle with him was a gift, or a burden. Eyes drifting right over him to look at Soul instead, it gave a few paws at the air, tying to get him closer without Actually getting out of bed. He let out a laugh, a little indulgent, crawling in bed with it. "Fine, but only if you take off that collar. We don't want it poking you in your sleep, right?"

It huffed, annoyed at the fact Soul was right. Getting pricked in the neck by it's spiky, crown-shaped tag seemed like a recipe for discomfort though, so it presented its neck. Soul made quick work of removing the collar and it wasted no time in tucking itself into his side when he was done. Soul was still moving around a bit, putting the collar on the bedside table and getting comfortable in Mind's bed, but it was still nice.

"Am I still expected to join in?" Heart asked from behind, though he didn't sound too dejected anymore. "Or have I been rejected from the cuddle pile."

Mind considered shooing him away, but ultimately the idea of cuddling both its Heart and Soul sounded too nice. [And maybe.. it didn't like the idea of excluding its Heart from all the fun.] It made sure not to wriggle out of Soul's arms but it did wave him over with its free arm.

His Heart let out an amused sound, "Am I not even worth turning around for?" but crawled in bed beside it anyway, squishing it between themself and Soul. It arched its back a bit, so it could press against both its thirds, earning another amused noise and arms wrapping around it.

Its host didn't really cuddle back, but he did let it snuggle up against his side. His Heart, seeming to have discarded all his feigned reluctance, holding it close to his chest in a firm hug.

All in all, it was perfect. It almost forgot about what had stressed it out, tomorrow would probably be similarly difficult...It tucked itself closer, face shoved into the cook of Soul's neck.

This earned him a concerned coo from its host, "What's wrong buddy?"

Even after all that, it still wasn't in the mood for talking. It just shook its head, wanting to ignore the problem and focus on cuddling. Soul's hand lifted to its hair, lightly scratching its scalp. From behind, Heart cooed little comforts into its ear. The two working in tandem to distract it from its worry.

Soul could never leave well enough alone though, and asked anyway. "Was it what got you so stressed in the first place...?"

It nodded, hesitant. Soul probably wouldn't be dropping this unless it admitted that much, at least. His visible eye softened at that, "Don't worry about that. We can help you out with whatever it is tomorrow, okay?"

That actually sounded pretty nice... It didn't know how much help the two could actually be in the things it normally did, but even the knowledge that they would try was... appealing. Comforting. The thought of tomorrow didn't seem so stress inducing with the two of them around it.

It could feel itself relaxing back into their embrace, the stress lining its figure draining. Its eyes drooped further, the lack of worry and warm bodies around it making it difficult to stay awake. It tried to keep its eyes open though, it wanted to enjoy this. It wasn't common for the three of them to get together like this, warm and safe and without any argument.

One of them, and at this point it couldn't tell who, gently shushed it, "Go to sleep buddy, we'll be here tomorrow."

That was the last thing it heard before the world went dark, the need to rest winning out. Maybe... this wouldn't be the last time they did this.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

"I want you there ..."

Tech Grief Ficlette

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Warnings: Sad, Grief.

Summary: A grown up Omega has some news for an old friend.

WC: 661 Read on Ao3

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Omega’s boots crunched along the gravel of the familiar path. It had been a while since she had trekked back to Pabu, now the sea breeze danced about her, caressing her cheeks like a welcome from an old friend. 

Her portfolio case swung from one hand, the familiar broken goggles from the other. She was almost never seen without them. Today though, she was heading to a special place on Pabu… the place she came to talk while she finished growing up. Talk to him. 

The cliff line finally broke, giving her a gorgeous view of the sunset. Brilliant orange, just like the amber glass in her hand. She sat at the rocks edge, opened her portfolio and with a sigh, slipped on the goggles. 

She hit record. 

“Hey, Tech… it's been a while, I wanted to update you on what I've been up to…”

It had been forever since she talked to him like this, panic and dread had set in one day when she realized the internal data storage was running low. She didn't want it to loop and record over anything but today was worth talking to him… formally. 

She pulled out the first etching, a dark umbra alive with bonfires and crude little drawings of people. 

“I've been doing well with the rebellion, we won an important skirmish a few months ago, Partied after harder than Hunter says you guys did… but I guess he might have down played what you boys got up to…”

She trailed off, stroking the figures around the little fire, just to have her hand come away black with sooty medium. She furrowed her brow, and wiped her fingers on her pants before drawing out another sketch. 

“This… well, I was trying to design a call mark for the hull of the marauder… nothing really worked out,”

There were over a dozen half finished figures with exs through them, and scattered notes. It wasn't what she was really after. She looked more carefully through her etchings, finally pulling out one of a full body figure. Their back was on full display and every detail and shadow had been filled in lovingly. 

…

“I'm getting married soon… it's gonna be here, on Pabu. I met them out there and well, life is short on the battlefield… you know that more than any so…”

A lump was starting to form in her throat but she swallowed the old pain gracefully, continuing. 

“I'm planning on wearing your goggles… so you can come to, I just wanted to give you a heads up before… before you were just, walking me down the aisle… I hope that's okay,”

It was nonsense, but it always felt like putting his goggles on and pressing record… it was like Tech could open his eyes again for a brief moment. 

“I was always gonna wear them anyways… Hunter insists he should be the one to walk me, but Wrecker said it was unfair and I think it upset Crosshair too… they're taking turns now. Hunter starts, Wrecker in the middle and Cross'll finish it… but you'll be with me the whole time… I want you there…”

She stopped the recording and whipped the goggles off, squeezing her eyes as a few hot tears grazed her cheeks. It had been a long time since she last cried for Tech, but the heightened stress of the past few weeks left her vulnerable to the old wounds. 

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have insisted we go, it's my fault…

She caught the thoughts there, releasing them with a shaky sigh as the cycles of grief lit through her for the life that should have been. Thoughts she'd never be rid of even though she knew they weren't true, almost a comfort that she could still feel his absence so greatly… that she never forgot. 

Catching her breath, she checked the remaining storage. Only a few hours left… 

I hope this is okay … I want you there. 

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 11

Notes: Probably my last chapter for the day. I'm queasy. ;u;

Summary: Sonic and Shadow discuss what happened to diverge their timelines..

Chapter Select!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“So it sounds like our stories line up all the way until I fell from the ARK..,” Shadow says quietly from his spot on the couch. They moved to the living room to get more comfortable, figuring this conversation was going to be a pretty long one. Sonic had whipped up a chilidog for Shadow, of course. While they’re not the most appetizing food to Shadow, he’s not picky when he’s starved.

He sets his empty plate down on the coffee table for now, taking another long sip of his water before looking back to Sonic who sits diagonal to him in the loveseat.

He looks a bit drained.. Apparently the incident with Shadow falling from space was one that haunted this Sonic pretty regularly. He didn’t enjoy reliving it..

Neither did Shadow, to be fair.

“...They have to disperse somewhere,” Shadow concludes with a rub to the side of his face, sighing and pursing his lips a moment.

“...What happened next for you?” Sonic asks after a pause, looking at Shadow now. His eyes look red around the rims.. When’s the last time this hedgehog got any sleep?? “Well..,” Shadow is quiet a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Losing one’s memory several times definitely makes one rethink them when retelling them. But he’s pretty sure he’s gotten everything sorted out correctly in his head at this point. “I was awoken by Rouge–” “Rouge??” Sonic questions, a furrow of his brow, “..the bat?? Like the jewel thief?? Works for GUN, has a on and off thing with Knux– that Rouge??” “Yes, who else?” Shadow questions, his brow raising a bit questioningly at Sonic’s reaction.

Sonic’s head shakes a bit at that, placing a hand on his own chest, “I am the one who found you.”

Shadow blinks at that, his eyes widening a bit. The diversion. This must be where their universes separate.. “You?”

Sonic nods, moving a hand to rub the back of his neck as he averts his eyes, “Yeah- after you fell, I couldn’t sleep. It wouldn’t sit right with me. It felt like I was missing something. So I started doin’ some diggin’. I thought maybe if I got to know your story the best I could, maybe I could find some sort of closure over your death. So I broke into GUN facilities, raided abandoned research caches, even made a deal with Rouge to retrieve all information she had given GUN on you before your death.. I learned everything I possibly could about you.” Shadow listens silently as Sonic explains his obsession with Shadow after his supposed death. He can’t say he doesn’t relate to it.. He’s certainly experienced similar amounts of guilt. It’s enough to make someone spiral if they don’t have the proper support system..

“I knew there were still pieces missing. Gerald Robotnik’s journal was redacted to the point it was hardly readable. That’s when I figured Eggman might have access to the full story.. Maybe he had the whole journal, ya’know?? So I broke into one of his bases and… well..”

“You found me,” Shadow finishes, slow realization creeping onto his face.

“I found you..,” Sonic breathes as if experiencing the relief all over again, “...I can’t tell you what I felt when I saw you in that tank asleep..”

Shadow doesn’t speak a long moment, pondering Sonic’s words and how something as simple as Sonic being the one to wake Shadow up could change so much..

“..and what of Omega??” Shadow asks, trying not to show too much concern in his tone.

“Omega??” Sonic asks, seeming a bit thrown off by the question before snapping his fingers and, “Oh yeah! That robot that was there when I woke you. He put up a decent fight, but you scared him off pretty quick. He said he had more important business to attend to before flying away. Only ever saw him again working with Rouge at GUN. He always talks about annihilating shit..”

Shadow smirks slightly at that. Some things never change, he supposes..

“...What happened then?? When you found me??” “You couldn’t remember nothin’, Sonic answers with a sigh, leaning back in his seat, “I told you who I was. That I was there to help you.. You seemed skeptical, but you eventually let me take you back to Tails. He ran tests on you and stuff. Said you had amnesia, but were indeed the real Shadow.”

“You thought I potentially wasn’t??” the ebony hedgehog questions with a tilt of his head.

“Well, you did fall from space and survive,” Sonic smirks a bit, “Not many can do that.. And we thought if one Robotnik could make a Shadow, then another potentially could. So we made sure.” “Hm,” Shadow nods, crossing his arms, “Fair enough..” “After that, you stayed with us for a while. I told you your story, showed you the things I had discovered about you. You were extremely appreciative, and when you asked how you could ever return the favor, I told you not to worry about it. Just don’t go falling from the sky again,” Sonic snickers a bit, his eyes looking off at the floor as if reliving the moment, “...You joined my team. Said we worked well together, and you wanted to help me protect the world. Just like Maria would want..”

Shadow’s brows knit a bit at the mention of Maria, looking away as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“..The rest is history,” Sonic shrugs, clapping his hands on his thighs before rubbing up and down them with a grin, “We’ve been unstoppable since.”

Shadow hums, his mind racing with all this information. There’s the obvious questions of how major events differed with Shadow and Sonic working together.. Such as with Infinite.. Did that even happen?? And did Shadow accompany Sonic on all his adventures?? Did Black Doom ever invade, and if so, did Sonic stick by Shadow’s side through all of it??

And then there were the smaller things, too. Like how Shadow’s personality had changed due to this. Was he an obnoxious smirking hero like Sonic in this world?? What about Rouge?? Did he even have any sort of affiliation with her??

The thought made his chest ache a bit.. He hoped she was alright in this world.

None of that mattered in the end, though. It was a world that wasn’t his, and its history had no effect on him. So he swallowed his curiosity in fear over overwhelment.

“...What happened in your world?? You said Rouge found you?” Sonic asks, leaning forward some to show he’s listening. “Yes, Rouge found me. She was looking for treasure of some sort in Eggman’s base when she stumbled upon me. She actually talked Omega and I down from a battle, and we all ended up teaming up together to find Eggman for some answers– well. Except Omega. He just wanted to kill the bastard.”

Shadow snorts almost affectionately when he says this, but Sonic’s smile seems a bit uncomfortable.

“Did he??”

“Kill him?? No. Not in the end. It’s complicated,” Shadow assured, continuing, “We ran into your team at some point. We battled for the sake of it, I suppose.. But in the end, we all had a common interest, and that was defeating Eggman’s rogue robot that had been leading us all to a trap.” “Metal??” “Mhm,” Shadow nods, “We won, of course. You and your group defeated him with relative ease once you used the chaos emeralds to transform. After that, Black Doom invaded with the Black Arms–” Shadow pauses, noticing how Sonic sucks in a tiny breath and how his hands clench his own thighs a bit tighter..

“..I guess you’re familiar with them.” Sonic nods. Nothing more..

Shadow doesn’t push it, nodding in return before continuing, “After their defeat, I decided to move on with my life. I had regained most of my memory, but it didn’t feel like me anymore. I was.. disconnected with that life. I wanted to continue on doing and being whatever I chose to do and be with nothing from my past defining it.. That was until the Time Eater came and quite literally made me face my past once more..”

Sonic shifts a bit in his seat at that, brows knitting up as he speaks quietly, “That.. happened here, too. I hated it.. I wasn’t able to be with you for most of it because I was having to restore the timeline. But when I finally found you in the White Space, you looked so frantic and confused and hopeful and stressed..” “I was hoping to save them..,” Shadow explains quietly, looking away again, “...in my world, Sonic and I raced for the emerald. I ended up tricking him and giving him a fake.”

He pulls out the fake then, holding it up with a small smirk, “This one, in fact.” “How’d you pull that off if I needed them to defeat the Time Eater?” Sonic smirks right back with a quirk of his brow.

“Swapped it before you faced it,” Shadow explains, tossing the emerald up and down in his palm absentmindedly before tucking it back into his quills, “You never even knew.” Sonic snorts, rolling his eyes with a little chuckle, “Sounds like a lot of trouble. Bet there’s lots of times you and your world’s version of me could simply get along and team up and get shit done quicker, but make it more difficult because your egos.” Shadow looks insulted for a moment, opening his mouth to argue with this but–

It’s a fair point.

Shadow shrugs at this and leans back in his seat, “To be fair, my Sonic is the biggest pain in the ass and nearly impossible to reason with.” “Aw- I’m sure he ain’t that bad,” Sonic snickers with a little grin playing on his lips, “He probably just has a cr–”

He stumbles. Stopping himself before he finishes as his eyes widen slightly at what he was about to say. “--rrramp. Yup. Running like that all the time definitely gives you cramps. Maybe it makes him moody? Heh heh..”

Shadow’s eyes narrow at Sonic’s obviously improvised words, eyeing the hedgehog that now looks a bit nervous. 

“Right..,” Shadow mutters, not convinced but deciding not to push it. He may not like what he discovers if he does..

Instead, he looks off at the wall again, now getting a closer look at some of the picture frames hanging about. There’s one of Shadow sitting in a field of lavender, someone else having taken the photo. There’s one of Shadow with Sonic, Cream and Amy at Twinkle Park. 

There’s one of just Sonic and Shadow.. Sonic’s arm around Shadow’s shoulders and hugging him close enough that their faces are smushed together. Sonic making a peace sign with his lips puckered and a wink at the camera, while Shadow just smiles small and shy.. He’s looking at Sonic.

“You know, my Shadow and I had a lot of tension between us for a while as well,” Sonic says after a moment, regaining Shadow’s attention back to him, “We bickered a lot. He was so serious and quiet and focused and I was so–” “Obnoxious?” Shadow finishes with a raise of his brow. “I was gonna say opposite,” Sonic’s eyes narrow at the hedgehog before he continues unbothered, “Anyway. It was hard for a while.. Learning each other’s mannerisms and ticks and boundaries.. It was definitely a challenge.” Shadow hums. “But thank Chaos we both like challenges, huh??” Sonic beams, winking at Shadow. Shadow just rolls his eyes with a small groan. “I don’t like challenges. I just refuse to be made a fool by some egotistical moron running around without a care in the world.” “I’ve got plenty of cares,” Sonic corrects with a pointed look. “..plenty.” “Right,” Shadow says unconvinced, his tone sarcastic and precise.

Sonic huffs a bit at that, grumbling mostly to himself, “I soo didn’t miss this..”

Shadow’s own huff escapes him in response before he looks out the window.

It’s getting dark out. Shadow isn’t precisely tired after resting so long. More groggy than anything..

He looks back to Sonic and finds he’s also looking out the window.

A longing in his eyes..

He misses him. His Shadow..

Shadow tries not to think too much into that, but..

“...Sonic–” “You wanna go for a run??”

[soldier-tf2-america]

Soldier listened to Engineer speak. Listened to his words carefully. Wise is the only word he could come up with to describe how well Engineer spoke. How he explained how he viewed Soldier when they first met. How he explained that they needed each other... Soldier seemed to immediately agree with Engineer in his mind. That he needed Engineer, and that Engineer needed him. But it wasn't in a gay way... hopefully.

Soldier only slightly glanced at Engineer, noticing his goggles on his head. He froze on the spot. He knew what he would see if his eyes trailed down. He'd see Engineer’s eyes, his nose, his very, very kissable lips... Soldier had to mentally berate himself for that last thought. Engineer didn't have kissable lips. His eyes were not calling to him. And his nose had no importance. But the image of them still lingered in Soldier’s mind. He wanted nothing more but to forget about it. He continued to stare at Engineer's goggles, not noticing that he was now fully turned around, looking like he was staring at nothing, or at something behind Engineer.

All Soldier wanted to do in that moment was to throw caution to the wind, grab Engineer’s shoulders, tell him how he was better than Soldier, how he was more resilient, more smart, maybe not more strong but more willing to do things for a cause. He wanted to tell Engineer that he loved looking into his eyes, looking at his just slightly crooked nose, and his lips... he had never thought of them until he looked entirely at Engineer's face in a new way. He knew now deep deep down he wanted to kiss Engineer's lips, feel their softness and unevenness, holding him close and...

(Cw: internalized homophobia+SH+PTSD+drinking+abuse)

Soldier wanted to hit himself right in the head with Scout's baseball bat. He wanted to throw himself off the balcony right then and there, and through the pain, he'd get up and walk to the bar, downing a bottle, then hit it over his head, feeling the vibration that made the glass shatter, then using that glass to cut open his skin and let himself bleed out slowly and painfully, without the promise of respawn or a medkit to help. He shouldn't have been thinking like this. His parents definitely wouldn't like this. He could still hear bottles shatter every few moments, and wooden bats breaking against the counter tops. He still felt the sting in the back of his throat from bile and alcohol from when he was forced to "toughen up", "take it like a man" and yet his age wasn't even in the double digits. It's what he deserved for saying he had taken a liking to a boy at school. But now, in his mind when he was thinking of Engineer at almost every notice, it made him feel warm, but sick. Sick with himself. How dare he? How dare he like Engineer's features like this? How could he? After avoiding every man he knew was handsome, it was as if now he couldn't avoid it. He hated himself for it. He needed to get away from there as fast as he could. He regretted that day he stayed behind with Engineer in his dying moments. Hated that he wanted to be a savior, when he was nothing more than a weak, pathetic excuse for a man.

He was so wrapped up with how disgusted he was with himself, he didn't notice how close he had gotten to Engineer, still staring at his goggles and refusing to look any lower than that. It was until he noticed how close he got that he accidentally made eye contact with Engineer, and now he was trapped.

[ @rengineer ] " Y'know son, all that shoutin' might just be scarin' the bolts outta my machines. "

HA! SCARING BOLTS! I NEVER KNEW I WAS EVEN ABLE TO MAKE BOLTS SCARED, BUT NOW I DO, AND I WILL SCREAM AT THEM UNTIL THEY LEARN TO STAY IN PLACE!

[girlcrushau]

[trianglegoddess]

Feral McGee™

It starts with the Joker. 

His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he? 

Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again. 

The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does. 

It happens like this. 

The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair. 

Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham. 

And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair. 

Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up. 

He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold. 

Then he looks towards the camera. 

“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves. 

Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham. 

“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”

“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”

—

The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler. 

He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes. 

While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely. 

Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch. 

They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”

The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black. 

Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless. 

“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”

“Hn.”

—

After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised. 

Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on. 

Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down. 

Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.  

He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again. 

And then the Joker escapes. 

It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after. 

Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up. 

They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™. 

The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid. 

Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed. 

“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say. 

They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger. 

“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood. 

“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”

Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it. 

In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him. 

When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker. 

“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”

The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”

“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice. 

 “Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”

“Hn.”

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x afab! reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… part one?

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Mrs Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: suggestive

It was the first time in your career that you walked as a Victoria Secret Angel and you couldn't be more proud and grateful for the opportunity that was given to you. All the work and effort over the years paid off and you were finally able to check off one more thing on your wish list.

This was such a special moment for you, you were so excited to walk the runway with your wings and the fact that you knew your husband would be in the audience supporting you made that moment even special.

Lando took a private plane to NYC directly from his business commitments to support his wife and be her biggest fan. You weren't sure how he would fit it into his busy schedule, but one thing you were sure of was that he would be there. You were sure he would find a way because you knew he wouldn't miss it for anything.

But what you didn't know was that Lando was going to take your daughter with him as a surprise guest for you. He carefully planned everything so that the two most important people in your life would be there for you on one of the most important days in your career.

The show was just about to start and while you were finishing the final touches backstage, Lando and Isla settled in the front rows of the runway. Lando looked like he might as well conquer that same runway in his black suit with his shirt just unbuttoned. His mullet looked flawless, his curls stood out perfectly with his well-known necklaces around his neck, a watch on his wrist and his daughter on his lap, he looked like a god.

As the music started, you were getting more and more nervous, but in a good way, you couldn't wait to get out on the runway and walk your wings.

Words couldn't describe the adrenaline that ran through your veins once you stepped out onto the runway. You've done it a thousand times before, but this time it was a completely different experience. You felt so powerful, so proud and so important, like you could conquer the whole world, as if no one could stop you.

As you walked your eyes searched for your husband, and when they found him it took everything in you to remain professional and not let your motherly feelings get the best of you when you saw your daughter sitting on Lando's lap. Your eyes sparkled and filled with tears when you saw how happy she was, how she waved at you and shouted mommy!!.

"Yees!! That's my wife! I love you baby!!" Lando shouted proudly as you walked by and blew both of them a kiss.

"That's my mommy!" Isla said excitedly pointing her little finger at you.

"Yes, baby, that's mommy" He smiled looking how fixated Isla's eyes were on you.

"She's so pretty," She commented. "And she has wings?!"

"She is, isn't she? Do you like the wings?" Lando chuckled seeing how excited Isla got about them.

"I do!! Daddy, can I have them too?"

"Oh, baby" Lando softened. "Well, not right now, but maybe one day when you're all big and grown up. Even though I hope not.." Lando muttered the last part quietly so Isla wouldn't hear how he hoped his daughter wouldn't one day walk the runway in tiny lace lingerie set in front of a million people and cameras following her every step.

It's not that he didn't want her to succeed one day, but that's just not any dad's dream when it comes to his daughter especially not Lando's.

"But..I want them now, daddy" She pouted. "I wanna be pretty just like mommy"

"Pumpkin, you are just as beautiful as mommy. Daddy's gonna buy you smaller wings so they can fit you perfectly as soon as we get home, okay?"

"Okay." She agreed and Lando kissed her cheek before they continued to watch the rest of the models walk.

By the time the show came to an end, Isla was already too tired and fell asleep on Lando's shoulder. Since it was long past her bed time she didn't even mind all the noise happening around her, she was peacefully sleeping hiding her head in the crook of her daddy's neck.

Once the show was over, Lando, with Isla in his arms, headed backstage to congratulate you. You melted when you saw how tired your daughter was and felt a little bad that she wasn't in her bed right now.

"I'm so proud of you, Mrs Norris" Lando said kissing you as you hugged him over Isla.

"Thank you, baby. How..? How did you manage to do this?"

"Just wanted to make sure both of your biggest fans were there for you on such an important day"

"You're incredible..I love you so much" You said feeling so grateful for the immense support you felt from him, not only now, but always.

In his vows, he promised you that he would always be there for you and ever since that day, he has never broken that promise. He always did everything for you and you only. When it came to you, nothing was impossible for him.

"I love you too, baby. Do you wanna go to the after party?" He asked.

"No, I wanna go to the hotel with you and Isla."

"Oh, she's going over to grandma and grandpa's tonight" Lando smirked.

"What do you mean? We're in New York?" You asked confused not knowing that Lando's parents were there as well tonight.

"Let's say I flew them out here so she can stay with them after the show."

"Oh really?" You laughed already knowing what he had planned in his mind. "And why did you do that?"

"Because I knew what I wanted to do to you tonight." He smirked squeezing your hip. "Daddy needs to show mommy just how proud he is of her for being so marvelously beautiful and owning that runway tonight."

"Oh so I get to have my own personal after party?"

"Oh yeah" He smirked connecting your lips again. "Do you get to take that set with you?" He asked referring to what you were wearing tonight before you changed.

You moved closer to his ear and whispered "I'm wearing it right now under this dress"

He took a deep breath in closing his eyes picturing you again in it.

"Good, because all I could think about was how I'm gonna be taking it off you after the show ends."

When you were ready to leave the show venue, a crowd of paparazzi greeted you at the exit on your way to your waiting car. Camera flashes went off so hard it made it hard to see where you were walking. Lando took off his blazer and wrapped it around Isla to shield her since she was still sleeping undisturbed on his chest. He kept you both under his grip, his hand on your waist first pulling you closer to him then letting you walk in front of him so he can keep an eye on you while with the other hand he tightly held your daughter.

You weren't the least bit sorry that you weren't going to attend the after party with the rest of the models because you knew that the after party you were about to get tonight would be like no other.

[brazilian-vampyra]

៹ ☆ MUSIC TO FUCK TO ! ꞌꞋ ࣪

(english)

⟡— synopsis: songs that jujutsu characters would listen to while having sex with you.

⟡— characters: nanami kento, gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, ryomen sukuna and toji fushiguro.

⟡— warnings: raw sex (please use condoms), rough sex, breeding kink, dacryphilia, oral, fingering, male dom, praising kink, hair pulling, degradation kink, alcohol use (only mentioned), size kink, fem!reader.

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜 𝗞𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗢 𖹭︐

IT IS COMMON SENSE to agree that this man exudes elegance and luxury, in addition to having refined taste — despite his life as a salaryman.

Kento likes to enjoy quality time where he can relax and rest listening to something peaceful, real music for his discerning ears. So he bought a rustic record player in a vintage store that had opened downtown. With that, he could leave the music boxes and headphones aside, enjoying the various vinyls that were on the shelf in his living room.

He loves jazz and blues.

It was a peaceful Friday night, and his apartment was quiet, with the record player playing. You just had a few glasses of wine and enjoyed some cuddling on the black leather sofa. But every time you took a sip of the expensive wine, the contents seemed to go down your throat and straight to your legs.

It seems that your favorite blonde felt the same way, and it didn't take long for the innocent late-night caresses to evolve into heated, intimate touches.

Now you were in the bedroom. Your back was on the comfortable mattress and your hands gripped the silk sheets as your boyfriend held your legs on his shoulders. He held on tight, moving his hips against you. Your clothes were scattered around the house and you were completely surrendered to the heat, feeling it hit your core perfectly.

Nanami's hoarse moans were mixed with the sensual notes of "Sometimes I'm Right" by Hubert Sumlin.

The blonde held your legs, close to the knees, at the end of your thighs, keeping you still so he could be more precise with his hips. His beautiful eyes seemed to look into your soul, intoxicated by the growing desire that made your heart race. The dim orange light from the bedside lamp shone on his athletic body, giving you a perfect view of those muscles.

━━ B-Babe... please... stop torturing me... — you asked in a plea, for him to move his hips faster.

A hoarse, sarcastic soft laugh left his lips.

━━ Oh kitten, you have to stop being so hasty... — he placed a hot, sensual kiss on your ankle. ━━ You know me, you know I like to taste every little part of you...

This was an absolute truth. For him, it didn't matter if the sex was going to be slow and sensual or rough and fast. The most important thing was to be able to enjoy every last second with you in that intimate moment.

At a certain point he moved his hips a little further and then thrust in quickly, all at once. This time you cried out in pleasure.

━━ Always being a good girl, taking my cock so fucking well...

This blonde was madly in love with you.

[...]

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𖹭︐

WE CAN ALL AGREE that this man is one of the most promiscuous on Earth, right?

The strongest have a very strong sexual aura, and all women — even some men — wondered what it must be like to sleep with Satoru. That was a question you never wondered for long, as he had developed a notable interest in you.

He can make jokes all day long, he can take some situations in a more playful way and all that stuff, but when it comes to sex he is super serious. Although life seems simple for the strongest sorcerer in the world, he gets stressed about a lot of things on a daily basis, and there is no one who can help him relieve all of that as well as you can.

You've already fucked in many places, listening to the most varied artists, but in more intimate moments there is a specific artist that he likes to listen to more than the others: Two Feet.

Maybe it was because of the melodic tone, or the acidic guitar notes, or even his engaging voice, but Gojo loved listening to him.

Now you are in the bathroom, listening to "Love Is a Bitch".

Your back was against the tiled wall, and the ideal temperature hot water ran down your bodies, while your boyfriend held your thighs, getting support so he could thrust his hips slowly. You moaned against each other's parted lips, and he sucked your lower lip shamelessly. The steam from the hot water filled the room, along with your moans and the sounds of this sensual melody.

Although the sex wasn't rough this time, it was slow and deep. He could make your mind go wild by moving his hips like that.

━━ Hell yeah, babe... that feels so fucking good...

He groaned in your ear, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he slid his hands down to your ass and squeezed.

━━ I can't get enough of you- ugh! S-Satoru... please...

Hearing this he bit the sensitive skin on your neck, making you whimper louder. He felt the soft taste of the chamomile soap that he had rubbed over your body with a soft sponge a few minutes ago.

You didn't let this go unpunished and brought a hand to the back of his neck, grabbing the wet white strands, pulling a little, making those piercing blue eyes look into your irises. A mischievous smile was plastered on his lips.

━━ You'll be the death of me someday...

The sorcerer wasn't lying every time he said you were his strongest weakness.

[...]

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗨 𖹭︐

THIS MAN IS much more reclusive when it comes to his particularities. But you noticed that he was almost always smoking around, while wearing his headphones and having black strands of hair thrown across his face.

Maybe it was hard to tell what he liked to hear, he was so quiet. His voice was soft, he wasn't as "scandalous" as Gojo Satoru, Geto was always a guy who had his own vibe. However, he really liked listening to rock, especially alternative and indie.

You started getting closer when he saw you in the park, it was summer and you were under his favorite tree, reading a book you had gotten from the library and listening to some music on your headphones. He had no problem "sharing" his favorite space with someone else.

There was the beginning of your friendship with that beautiful boy with siren eyes. And it didn't take long for this friendship to evolve into a beautiful relationship — thanks to a little help from Satoru.

It was now a rainy afternoon in the city, not as cold as it seemed. You were lying on his bed, your panties were probably on top of some random pillow and he had his head buried between your legs. Drops of rain wet the window glass and you saw the wind ruffle the leaves of the trees, but you couldn't pay much attention while he was eating you out.

There was something very addictive about your pussy, something that not even he could say what it was, but he was on his knees for it. Literally.

"Knee Socks" by the band Arctic Monkeys was playing.

You were wearing one of Geto's shirts, which had the fabric pulled up, exposing your stomach and breasts. White socks that reached just above your knee covered your legs, which were draped over his shoulders.

━━ Uhmm... this pussy is so fucking delicious, darling — he groaned against your body, while his skillful tongue worked on you.

Suguru's soft lips also moved in sync, making you want to close your legs. You pressed your thighs against his head and you could feel him smile against your sensitive skin. Immediately those big cold ringed hands of his went to the sides of your thighs, squeezing a little and holding them open so he could rub his face there.

━━ S-Suguru! Yes, babe! Yes!

You screamed slyly, taking a hand to his soft, long black hair, squeezing and pulling a little. He really liked that and would never deny it.

━━ Like this?

He asked, in a hushed tone of voice, as you felt him slide two fingers on your wet sex and penetrate, sliding easily, curved slightly upwards to reach a spot that made you scream. He used his mouth again, but this time on your clit as the rhythmic chords of the music played, mixing with your needy moans, his muffled moans and the erotic, wet sounds.

This man is your deepest desire.

[...]

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𖹭︐

THIS HELL OF A MAN is a walking question mark. He really was a big unknown, but unfortunately — or luckily — for him, you loved solving puzzles.

Toji wasn't the most "difficult" person you had ever met, but he was certainly the most reserved. He didn't talk about the past, about life, he didn't express his feelings, he didn't share personal tastes and there was no way he would spit out the secrets he carried behind his frown. But, despite everything, that wall of muscles could talk about some things that wouldn't expose his particularities so much.

For example, you once brought up a topic about musical taste, a very vague and silly subject, but it was the starting point for you to approach him. Yes, it was much more varied and had much more culture than you expected.

It was perfectly eclectic.

He really liked listening to music when he was fucking too. You were in his room, with the neon light on, not too strong and not too weak, illuminating the room and your features in a shade of blue mixed with purple. The soft bed's sheets were a little wet due to the obscene and intimate acts being performed on top.

You were on all fours, your palms and knees serving as support so you were comfortable. It was playing "Hotel" by Montell Fish.

Toji was right behind you, with that beautiful physique exposed and illuminated by the neon light, that made everything more arousing. He thrust his hips roughly against your ass, and this caused the erotic sound of your bodies to echo throughout the room. His big, strong hands were holding your waist tightly; maybe it would leave some marks.

━━ Now that's a pussy... hmm... so fuckin' tight around my cock, am I too big for your poor little hole to handle, my angel?

He practically growled, followed by a rude laugh, in a bitter tone.

━━ I-I can handle! — you replied, in a desperate tone, lowering your head a little.

Immediately Fushiguro took one hand from your waist and reached for your hair, holding it in a sloppy way. This caused you to whimper and look at the huge mirror there.

━━ No, no. Don't look away... keep watching the way I ruin you!

You would be completely destroyed afterwards, but it would be so worth it, just like it was every time before.

[...]

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗢 𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗢 𖹭︐

HAVING A SHY BOYFRIEND could be difficult for other people, but it wasn't so much for you. It's okay when you approached him you didn't have much to talk about, since he didn't do "mundane" things like everyone else did.

Curses generally didn't listen to music or watch cartoons and go to parties, as is normal to see human beings doing. He was also very inexperienced in several aspects, because despite having centuries of years, he didn't do much and didn't interact with people in general.

But he had no problem learning from you.

You introduced Choso to music little by little, first you started by showing him what you liked and then you started introducing him to what he might like. This worked out really well, as little by little he began to accept this as something natural and listened to music more frequently.

Kamo discovered that he really likes rock and metal, and is now willing to learn how to play the guitar. Maybe that's a topic for another time, the most important thing is what you were doing at that moment.

The song "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" was playing, it was originally by The Smiths, but the version that flooded the room was by Deftones. He had put together a playlist full of songs with this theme that walked a fine line between being horny or going into depression.

You were riding him in reverse cowgirl. The elastics that held Choso's hair had come loose a long time ago and now he had his black hair loose, framing his face. He was panting and begging beneath you, his hands on your hips, squeezing your ass a little, watching as you moved it up and down at a slow yet very satisfying pace.

Since he was still a bit inexperienced, he had no problem letting you be in charge most of the time. And you loved having the honor of being on top of that beautiful and arousing man. You could hear the sound of your bodies along with your boyfriend's moans and the whimpers of the Deftones singer, as well as the distorted guitar riffs.

Without any prior warning, you began to move your body faster.

━━ F-Fuck, my love! If you keep this up I'm gonna cum inside of you! — he whimpered as you felt his cock twitch against your walls.

━━ But that's exactly what I want, silly.

You looked back with a wicked smile on your lips, seeing his pale cheeks completely flushed and his strong chest going up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

[...]

˛ 𓏲࣪ 𝗥𝗬𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔 𖹭︐

THE GREAT KING OF CURSES was an ambitious man, who desired greatness and power at all times. He did not accept anything that was different from the standard he was used to receiving as a powerful and feared entity.

He was not at all monogamous, he was used to having several women in what would have been a harem. He was insatiable, a ferocious beast who depended on sex as one of his main sources of fuel. However, now Sukuna had to get used to the modern world, whether he wanted to or not.

Curses were no longer respected or feared, as sorcerers were on hand to fight them. By the irony of fate, you ended up crossing paths and since that day there was no concubine to feed his desires, he only wanted you. Despite the countless declarations of love coming from him and all his talk, you weren't easy.

You didn't sleep easily with anyone, even more if this person was him.

But he was a trickster, he wasn't the king of curses for nothing. He approached you with that soft talk and that naughty way until you were finally able to create a bond. But flirting with people in the modern era was a bit tricky for a man who had been away for many, many years.

You introduced music to Sukuna, and over time he became more fond of it. He really liked rock and classical music, they were two different extremes, but who were you to question the taste of the king of curses?

Although when he was fucking you he wouldn't listen to Mozart or anything like that.

You were in his castle, in a room filled with the most diverse and luxurious tapestries. There were extremely comfortable cushions and silk sheets everywhere, as well as treasures, pillars and chests. Sukuna was on top of you, his naked body full of symbols a little sweaty and his gaze devouring you.

Your legs were comfortably crossed around his hips, while those strong hands with purple nails grabbed your wrists and pinned them high above your head, leaving you immobilized. He had a rough pace and really loved every little inch of you, every time.

The song "One Of The Girls" by The Weeknd was playing. That song had a very strong sexual atmosphere, and that made him even more likely to fuck you.

You felt some of his pub hair touching your skin every time he moved back and forth with his hips. He was thrusting deep inside you, making you tear up from so much pleasure you were receiving. That was a the best thing in the world for that sadist who found it adorable to see the salty tears running down your hot cheeks as you begged for relief.

He knew he wasn't hurting you — because if you indicated he would stop instantly. You changed Sukuna a lot, took away from him that kingly immediacy that he possessed, and above all consent was sexy as hell.

━━ Baby... I-I don't know if I can cum any more... — you cried out, because he had already made you cum several times today, you didn’t know if your body could take any more.

━━ Aww, are you so sensitive that you are crying, my princess? — a sadistic smile was on his lips while those red eyes seemed to be darker from the lust flowing through his veins.

━━ Y-Yes...

━━ But you are a very obedient princess, and I know I can make you cum again. You don't need to control yourself and give it to me again. I'm only going to stop when this pussy is squirting all over my cock, understood?

He took one hand off your wrist and brought it to your face, squeezing your cheeks a little and making you nod. With your free hand, you pulled him closer to kiss him intensely, making your tongues touch each other in a bold way.

He had found his other half.

[...]

୭ 📂 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄¹: this is my first time posting something in english on tumblr, and as it's not my first language i'd appreciate it if you could correct any grammar mistakes˚. ᵎᵎ

୭ 📂 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄²: all of this is created by me, i do not authorize adaptations or inspirations without credits˚. ᵎᵎ

XOXO, kisses that taste like blood o negative, see you next time little bats 💋

— brazilian-vampyra, 2024.

[dksfml]

what would you do if I went to touch you now? - riki

pairing: younger!nishimura riki x older!reader genre: office romance, flirty niki, workplace tension, niki teaches you japanese. summary: despite your best efforts to maintain professionalism, the undeniable tension between you and riki makes it impossible to resist the connection growing between you. it doesn't help that he calls you "noona" at work. warnings: suggestive, kissing, implied smut word count: 2.7k

your professional relationship with riki had been straightforward when he first started. quiet and shy, he took careful notes during meetings, absorbing the work culture like a sponge. as his mentor, you were tasked with guiding him through the ropes, ensuring he understood the nuances of the company.

“make sure he knows what he’s doing,” your boss had instructed, handing you the responsibility like a personal mission. and you took it seriously. riki was younger by a few years, in need of your guidance. at first, he seemed timid, his questions asked in soft tones, his posture always slightly defensive, as if afraid of stepping out of line. you naturally fell into a nurturing role, steering him whenever he seemed unsure, offering advice when necessary. but as time passed, riki's confidence grew, along with a noticeable shift in your dynamic.

it started subtly—small changes in his attitude. his work improved dramatically, and soon he was strutting around with a smirk, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. his newfound cockiness was relentless, even though you reminded him to stay focused.

“riki,” you sighed, standing by his desk, flipping through his presentation slides. “i told you to cross-reference these with last quarter’s data. this is incomplete.”

he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “i was going to fix it, but i thought i’d leave some for you to correct, noona. keeps me humble.”

you narrowed your eyes, unamused. “this isn’t a game. you can’t slack off just because you’re comfortable. these clients are important, and if we don’t get this right, it’s on both of us.”

his grin faltered, but just as quickly, he masked it with a wink. “got it. i’ll fix it. but only if you promise to let me take you out for dinner when we nail this project.”

you shook your head, suppressing a smile. “this is serious. you missed an email i asked you to forward last week. and calling me ‘noona’ here at work? we need to keep this professional.”

riki straightened, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. “right,” he said, his voice softer. “i’ll keep it professional. but you can’t blame me for trying.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but deep down, you felt a rush of excitement at his boldness. “i want those revisions by the end of the day, riki. and no more flirting until this is done.”

“yes, ma’am,” he replied, a mock salute on his part, and for the first time in weeks, there was no teasing in his tone.

now, the two of you were working on a critical project, preparing a proposal for a japanese client your company was eager to sign. it wasn’t just a regular pitch; this deal was huge—a make-or-break moment that could lead to long-term collaboration. you had thrown yourself into the task, familiarizing yourself with every detail of the project. but there was one problem: the language barrier. the client preferred to communicate in japanese, and while you had learned some phrases, you were nowhere near fluent.

that’s when it struck you—riki was fluent in japanese. you recalled him casually mentioning it one afternoon, and now that you needed the skill, you struck a deal with him: he’d tutor you in japanese after work, and in return, you’d ensure his involvement in the project didn’t go unnoticed by the higher-ups. a fair exchange, strictly professional, you told yourself.

later that night, during one of your lessons, the atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension. riki sat across from you, leaning forward as you practiced reading a passage. you stumbled over a phrase, and his sharp gaze caught your mistake.

“no,” he corrected, his voice low and firm, sending shivers down your spine. “it’s nihon, not nee-hon. you’re stressing the first syllable too much.”

his tone was both authoritative and teasing, igniting a spark of mischief that made your heart race. “let’s go over that phrase again,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding. you nodded, struggling to focus, but the heat radiating from his body made it impossible to think clearly.

“try it one more time, noona,” he urged, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. the closeness sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you instinctively shifted, seeking a little more space.

“um, okay,” you stammered, trying to keep your composure, but the way he looked at you—a mix of amusement and something deeper—made your cheeks flush. “i’m trying.”

riki leaned in even closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. “you’re not trying hard enough,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “what’s the matter? feeling a little shy?”

“shy? no,” you protested, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just—”

“just what?” he interrupted, his gaze piercing into yours, his confidence unwavering. “can’t handle a little pressure?”

your heart raced at the challenge in his voice. “at work, i’m your superior, riki. you need to respect that.”

“respect?” he echoed, leaning back just enough to gauge your reaction. “or maybe you need to realize that i’m not the junior anymore. you’re the one who seems to struggle with that.” his eyes danced with mischief, and you felt a thrill race through you.

“riki,” you warned, but your voice faltered, unable to hide the quiver of excitement that danced beneath your words.

“tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged, leaning closer, their faces mere inches apart. the air thickened with tension, and you could feel his warmth enveloping you. “because i know you feel it too.”

before you could respond, the sudden power cut plunged the office into darkness, leaving only the dim emergency lights flickering above. your heart pounded, and the adrenaline heightened every sensation.

“well, i guess that’s the end of tonight’s lesson,” you attempted to joke, but your voice trembled, revealing your unease.

riki’s eyes glinted in the low light, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “no, we’re not done.” he leaned closer again, his hand brushing against yours, sending a wave of heat up your arm.

you pulled back slightly, heart racing. “riki, this isn’t—”

“isn’t what?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “we both know there’s something between us.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the urgency in his gaze silenced you. your breath hitched at the finality in his tone. the professional barrier you had carefully constructed was crumbling.

“we should go,” you muttered, fumbling to gather your things. but riki reached out, his hand brushing against yours, halting your movements.

“we could go to your place,” he suggested, his voice dangerously low. “finish the lesson there.”

the implications hung heavily between you. you met his gaze, searching for any trace of the playful riki you’d trained, the one who’d always danced around the line but never crossed it. but there was nothing playful in his expression now—only a raw intensity that made your skin prickle.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice, and within moments, you were heading out of the office together. the ride to your apartment was silent, the weight of what was about to happen sitting thick between you.

the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, and the familiar surroundings only heightened the surreal nature of what was happening. you barely had time to turn on a light before riki was in front of you, his presence magnetic. the silence between you was thick with everything left unsaid, but his gaze—intense, burning—spoke volumes.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both caught in the tension that had been building for weeks. his eyes swept over your face, lingering on your lips as if contemplating his next move. you stood your ground, refusing to back away even as your pulse raced in anticipation.

“you’re still thinking about work, aren’t you?” his voice was low, teasing. he stepped closer, just close enough that the warmth of his body radiated through the space between you. “always so professional, noona.”

you swallowed, feeling the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “someone has to keep things in check,” you replied, though your voice faltered just slightly, betraying the tug of desire that made your skin prickle with anticipation.

he chuckled, soft and deep. “maybe it’s time you stopped thinking for once.”

before you could react, his hand slid up your arm, fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was far from the playful teasing you were used to. it was hungry, intense, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. the taste of him was intoxicating, and before you realized it, you were kissing him back with just as much need.

your back hit the wall softly as his body pressed into yours, every inch of him enveloping you, filling the space around you. his hands trailed down your sides, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before dipping under the hem, finding bare skin.

“riki,” you whispered, breaking the kiss for a breath, but your voice was breathless, needy. his name left your lips like a confession.

his lips barely left yours as he responded, his voice a raspy whisper. “you keep acting like you’re in control, noona,” he murmured against your skin, his hands now slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. “but i don’t think you are anymore.”

the challenge in his voice made something inside you snap. you wanted to respond, to assert yourself as you always had, but the heat between you was overwhelming, and before you could muster a reply, his lips were on your neck, pressing soft, hot kisses along your skin that left you trembling.

“i’m not the kid you used to boss around,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your ear. “you can’t keep treating me like i don’t know what i’m doing.”

his hands slid lower, and you gasped as his touch became more insistent, his fingers deftly working to unbutton your blouse. his lips returned to yours, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he wanted to savor every second. there was nothing hurried about the way his hands roamed your body, exploring with a confidence that made your head spin.

you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, your fingertips brushing over the smooth lines of his chest. he was handsome, undeniably so, but up close like this—underneath the layers of work clothes and the carefully constructed professionalism—he was breathtaking. your hands trailed over his skin, feeling the tautness of his muscles, the way his breath hitched slightly as you touched him.

he grinned against your lips as you pressed your body into his, feeling the hardness of his form against you. “see?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “you can’t even resist me now, noona.”

you wanted to argue, to assert your authority as you always had, but the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly how to unravel you—left you powerless.

his hands made quick work of the rest of your clothes, every movement deliberate, controlled. he was no longer the shy, uncertain junior you had once guided. here, in the dim light of your apartment, riki was commanding, confident, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom, laying you down with a gentleness that contrasted with the heat of the moment. and then he was over you, his hands exploring, his lips trailing over your skin in ways that made your breath hitch. you responded in kind, your fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

when his mouth found yours again, it was softer this time, but no less intense. his touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of your body, every gasp and shiver he elicited. you couldn’t help the sounds that escaped you, soft whimpers that only seemed to spur him on.

“don’t think just because i’m calling you ‘noona’ that i’ll let you keep this up,” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “you’re not the only one who can take charge.”

the air between you was charged with desire, thick with the tension that had been simmering for so long. every touch, every breath shared between you was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. you had never imagined this—being here, with him, in this way—but now that you were, there was no going back.

and when he finally claimed you, when the last barriers between you fell away, it was like everything else disappeared. there was no work, no professionalism, no rules—just you and him, bodies moving together in perfect sync, lost in the heat of the moment.

the world outside faded into oblivion, and all that remained was the sound of your mingled breaths, the feeling of his skin against yours, the way he made you feel as though you were the only two people who mattered.

and in that moment, nothing else did.

“i still do want to take you on a dinner date though," riki said, breaking the silence with a light-hearted lilt that hung in the air like a sweet melody.

you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his, as if seeking confirmation that this wasn’t just a fleeting fantasy. “really?” the question slipped out before you could hold it back, a mix of surprise and delight dancing in your voice.

“yeah, really,” he replied, his smile growing wider. “just you and me. somewhere nice. maybe italian? i hear they have the best pasta in town.”

his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment. you could feel your heart quicken, the anticipation stirring something deep within you. “that sounds perfect. when do you want to go?”

“how about friday?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’ll even let you choose the place.”

a laugh escaped your lips, the sound light and airy. “i hope you’re ready for my pick then. i might take you to the best italian place in town, and you’ll be regretting it the next day.”

riki chuckled, the warmth of his laughter making your heart flutter. “i’ll take that risk. besides, i have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”

in that moment, as the soft glow of the streetlights seeped through the window, you felt the weight of the week lift, replaced by the promise of something beautiful on the horizon. but just as the excitement began to settle in, you were pulled back to reality by the sound of your phone vibrating against the table, a harsh reminder of the world outside this blissful bubble.

you glanced at the screen, and the moment slipped slightly, the glow of notifications flickering like an unwelcome reminder. it was a message from a friend, checking in about the weekend plans.

“sorry, i should probably—” you started, but riki gently took your hand, grounding you again.

“hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “you can always reply later. right now, let’s focus on us.”

you looked back at him, the connection reigniting. the moment stretched out like an unbroken thread between you, the world beyond the walls of this room fading once more into insignificance. you nodded, your heart soaring as you settled back into the warmth of his gaze, the future bright and inviting.

“so, friday it is?” you confirmed, your voice steady and full of excitement.

“definitely,” riki replied, a grin breaking across his face, as if he had just won a victory.

and just like that, the evening unfolded around you, a delicate balance of playful teasing and soft confessions, a new chapter beginning to write itself in the quiet spaces between your laughter.