#this? this already feels like a perfect return to form | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meownotgood · 3 months ago

Text

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

��═══════════════════

"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?"

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes.

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat.

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions.

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest.

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face.

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers.

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register.

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug.

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks.

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone.

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-"

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy.

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus.

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this."

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?"

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins.

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop."

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?"

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath.

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice.

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh.

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic.

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this.

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose.

"That's when you find it."

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right.

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside.

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze.

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles.

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest.

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days."

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration."

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again."

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you.

"And what is it I'm doing?"

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to."

"I am not-"

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down.

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count."

Your mouth forms a hard line.

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-"

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that."

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach.

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-"

"It is a necessary risk."

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…"

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going.

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his.

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him.

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was.

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn.

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together.

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background.

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear."

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal.

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron.

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula.

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away."

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on."

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity.

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again.

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy.

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles.

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning.

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams.

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love.

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-"

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet —

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back.

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving."

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately.

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale.

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-"

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me."

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones.

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion?

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench.

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please."

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?"

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears.

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die."

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears.

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness.

It's a reminder that you're right.

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time.

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions.

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him.

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands.

He knows this body is… wilting.

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him.

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last?

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted.

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped.

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology.

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do.

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus.

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying.

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to.

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once.

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful.

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change.

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline.

It's something Viktor picks up on.

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him.

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you.

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can.

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral.

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice.

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned.

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring.

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him.

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop.

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt.

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it.

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before.

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth.

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it.

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull.

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve.

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead.

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back.

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special?

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck.

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone.

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks.

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand.

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you.

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens.

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his.

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration.

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead.

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like.

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone.

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together.

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat.

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair.

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold.

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight.

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation.

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun.

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his.

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things."

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids.

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway.

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different.

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough.

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to."

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?"

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired.

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…"

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting?

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw.

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?"

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap.

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession."

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his.

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression.

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears.

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late."

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?"

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance."

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate.

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious."

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day.

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly.

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you.

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe."

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress.

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you.

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd.

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'"

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums.

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time.

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional.

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene."

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you.

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget.

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm —

"Vik-"

"I need to have your trust."

Your eyes widen.

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-"

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you."

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open.

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking —

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please."

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it.

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you."

Viktor softens.

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you.

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark."

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane

7K notes · View notes

sigilslvt · 24 days ago

Text

JEALOUSY • DRABBLE

☣︎ Summary: The men all have their reasons for getting jealous around you. But how exactly do they react when they feel the threat is much more real? SURELY, they’re rational, right?

Includes: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Tags: fem! reader, friends to lovers, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, teasing, bulging, pussy eating, choking, breeding, praise, overstim, possessiveness, threatened gun violence, toxic possessiveness, car sex, dry humping, rough sex, squirting, pining, premature ejaculation, love bombing, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, true form sukuna, slight angst

WC: 13.1k

A/N: I cackled writing Choso’s, my poor baby is too precious 😩💜

༒︎ Gojo Satoru ༒︎

You pull into the gas station because, once again, your car is on its last leg. Satoru’s been absolutely useless this entire car ride, lounging like some kind of overgrown housecat, sunglasses crooked on his nose, humming the most obnoxious song he can think of just to get under your skin. His long legs are kicked up on your dashboard like he’s king of the world.

“Finally, a pit stop,” he says, stretching dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d just run us out of gas for fun. You know, to create a bonding moment.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, putting the car in park. “Stay in the car. Not that I have to tell you that.”

He snickers, not even looking up from whatever weird little game he’s playing on his phone. “Sure thing, sugar. Let me know if you need me to heroically pump the gas for you. I’ll try not to make it look too easy.”

You ignore him because giving him attention only makes it worse. You grab your wallet and step out, the cold air biting at your face as you swipe your card and get ready to fill the tank as quickly as possible so you can return to the cocoon of warmth that is your car. You’re in your own little zone, minding your business, when a voice breaks through the quiet.

“Hey there! Need some help?”

You glance up, startled, and see a guy walking over. He’s got that effortless, small-town-boy charm, the kind of guy who probably calls everyone “ma’am” and knows how to fix a tractor. He’s smiling, too— a little too widely, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s taking the pump right out of your hands.

“Oh, I had it,” you say, trying to be polite, but this guy is already on a roll.

“Nah, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to pump their own gas. It’s just not right.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between confusion and being impressed, because— wow. Is this really happening?

You glance back at your car, hoping Gojo hasn’t noticed, but as soon as your eyes land on his, you know you’re doomed. He’s sitting up now, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, staring at you both like he’s just been served the juiciest gossip of the year. His grin is growing and you’re sure he’s ready to put on a show.

Before you can stop him, he throws open the car door and steps out like he’s been summoned to the stage. He stretches unnecessarily— arms up, head tilted back, like he’s on the cover of a sports magazine— and then saunters over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

The gas station guy looks up, noticing Gojo for the first time. His smile falters just a little. “Oh, uh… hey. Didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

Satoru’s already grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just her boyfriend. You know, the adoring, perfect, doting one who pumps her gas all the time.”

You groan. “Toru—”

“What? I’m just saying, it’s cute that you’re trying to help, bud,” he says, turning back to the guy with a grin so wide it’s almost terrifying. “But this is kind of my thing. I know she’s just the sweetest, but she’s taken.You get it, right? Yeah, you get it.”

The poor guy blinks, clearly unsure if Satoru’s joking or about to start something. “Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mutters, handing the pump back to you like it’s radioactive. “You two have a good day.”

“Oh, we will!” Gojo chirps, giving him a little salute. “And hey, nice try, man. Better luck next time.”

The guy doesn’t even look back. He practically sprints back to the safety of the gas station, and as soon as he’s gone, you turn to Toru, crossing your arms and pursing your lips in annoyance.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, feigning innocence as he leans casually against the car. “I was just making sure no one stole my job. You know how much I love pumping your gas.”

You gape at him. “You’ve never pumped gas in your life!”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “That’s what makes this moment so special. It’s a sacred duty.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re so insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, draping an arm around your shoulders, “you love me. Isn’t that wild?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get a snack. Want something?” you roll your eyes and start walking toward the station.

“I’ll come with, I’m craving something sweet.” he smirks with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite discern.

You raise a brow and walk with him, entering the gas station with the goal to grab a bag of chips and water, but the second you head for them, your hand is being trapped by Satoru’s and he’s tugging you toward the bathroom. You shoot him a look of confusion and annoyance, but he pays it no mind as he yanks you inside, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it.

“Toru, wha—”

“Told you I wanted something sweet, sugar. Bend over a little f’me.” he instructs, turning you so you’re facing the door. Your palms lay flat against it, trying to use it as leverage to turn yourself, but he presses your head to the door, too, his strong palm mushing your cheeks to it, sucking his teeth in disapproval.

“You’re insane, w-we’re in a gas station,” you try to reason with him, but his hand’s already shoved up your skirt and peeling down your panties. “Satoru, seriously…”

“Y’telling me to stop? She’s cryin’ f’me, though, I think she’ll be so sad if I don’t give her what she wants,” he purrs, getting to his knees and littering kisses on the fat of your ass. “C’mere, baby.”

You’re lost to him the moment he stuffs his face into your already dripping cunt, bucking yourself back against him and into the feel of his greedy tongue slipping between your folds and down, down, down to your clit. You can feel him smirking against you when he draws out a long shaky whine from your lips between your panting and while normally his cockiness would annoy you beyond belief, it instead turns you on more. And yet—

“Wh-hah— why couldn’t this wait until we got to the hotel?” you ask, nails scraping down the door when he plunges his tongue into your twitching hole.

He pulls away for a moment, spreading your ass to spit a glob of saliva between your folds and slurp it back up while sucking your clit. No answer. You huff and tremble, unsure of how long you’ll be able to keep yourself standing if he’s just gonna keep eating you like a man starved.

You try, you really do, to keep your voice down, but when his tongue hits that spot inside of your gummy walls, his hand between your thighs and thumb working on your clit, you can’t help but let your moans slip out. And oh, does that make him even more unrelenting. His thumb draws circles on your clit quicker and with more pressure, his tongue fucking into you as rough as can be.

Your eyelids flutter closed, breathing labored as you feel that sweet sweet build up that you love so much. He knows what comes next and while normally, he’d see you to the end, this time he stops, earning a frown from your pretty face.

“Wh-why’d y—” you start.

“Y’mine, say it.”

“What? Toru, what’s—”

“Say. It. Say y’mine… say y’love me and I’ll make you cum so good, sugar, I promise.” he all but whines.

You don’t know why it needs to be said or what’s going on with him, but you’ll be damned if you let your orgasm escape you. With every second that passes, it runs from you, so you give him what he needs. “I’m yours, baby. I love you.” you coo.

“Again.” he huffs against your cunt, making your knees weak. He’s so close. You’re so close.

“I love y— hah,” your breath escapes you when he delves his tongue back into your pulsing hole. “Fuuuuck… I love you, I love you, I l— fuck!” your cunt tries it’s best to grip his tongue, but he fucks it into you with more force as you cum on it, losing strength in your legs and slumping down while your brain goes dumb with pleasure.

He holds you up, tongue slipping out of you and back to your clit, his head shaking side to side while he licks at your clit, overstimulating you beyond belief. All you can do is cry out for mercy, palms battering at the bathroom door as you raise your white flag.

With that, he frees you from the sweet torture, massaging your thighs and resting back on his ankles. “I’m pumping your gas from now on.” he huffs.

Coming back to your senses, you realize why he pulled this stunt off. “Satoru. Were you… jealous!?” you chuckle in disbelief.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, it seems. What with the ‘I love you, I love you, I—’” he mocks you while standing up and you smack his arm.

“Sh-shut up.” You huff, pouting as he puts your panties back in place, dolling you back up and kissing your shoulder.

“Nope. But you’re gonna wish you had when the poor guy out there’s blushing redder than red.” he teases. Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand when you realize he had to have heard everything.

“You’re insane.” your voice is muffled by your hand.

“Insane’s one word for it,” he smirks. “I like to say I’m just crazy for you.”

Not long later, you’re climbing back into the car. Satoru follows, flopping into the passenger seat with a contented sigh like he’s just won a marathon.

As you pull out of the station, he stretches again, kicking his feet up on the dash like he owns the place. “You know,” he says casually, “you should really thank me. That guy was totally about to ask for your number. I saved you from a very awkward situation.”

And you could quite literally kill him.

༒︎ Geto Suguru ༒︎

The room is buzzing with conversation, a polite undercurrent of tension that doesn’t escape you. Cult leaders and their followers mill about in finely tailored clothes, exchanging calculated smiles and empty pleasantries. You’re trying your best to look engaged, but your thoughts keep drifting to Suguru.

He stands a few feet away, surrounded by a small circle of curse users, his tall frame commanding attention with ease. His black robes flow elegantly around him, his long hair tied back neatly. The faint smirk on his face, the calm way he speaks— it all oozes confidence. Control. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, his sharp eyes softening for just a moment before flicking back to the conversation.

You’re nursing a drink near the refreshment table when someone sidles up beside you.

“Ah, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” a smooth voice says.

You turn to see a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his polished appearance almost too pristine. His expression is warm but calculated, and his sharp eyes are already fixed on you. Takeda. You recognize him instantly— leader of a large, influential cult. Non-sorcerer, but powerful in his own way.

“Good evening,” you reply, forcing a polite smile. They have their role to play, Geto tells you, so you make sure to keep appearances with non-sorcerers despite their usual poor attitude toward you.

He smiles wider. “Good evening, indeed. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here all by yourself. It seems almost criminal for someone as lovely as you to be left alone at an event like this.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment, a small flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not alone. I’m here with my boyfriend,” you say, gesturing subtly in Suguru’s direction.

Takeda follows your gaze and chuckles softly. “Suguru Geto. Of course. I’ve heard much about him.” His attention snaps back to you, and his smile turns almost wolfish. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone so… captivating would end up with a man who seems so creepy… Besides, I’m sure he’s always so busy. Too busy to truly appreciate a beauty like you.”

Your face heats further, and you stammer, “He’s not too busy. He’s just—”

Before you can finish, he takes your hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It’s old-fashioned, deliberate, and enough to leave you momentarily stunned. Not in awe, but in pure shock. He’s bold, you’ll give him that.

Your breath catches, and you feel a wave of heat rush to your face. You try to pull your hand back, but his grip is firm— not unkind, but enough to make you falter. You can’t ruin appearances by hurting him, so you allow it, praying he’ll give up soon.

“A pleasure meeting you,” he murmurs, his lips still ghosting over your skin.

And then you feel it— the air shifting suddenly. A heavy, familiar presence fills the space around you, and Takeda finally releases your hand. You glance over your shoulder to see Suguru a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you as he approaches.

“Takeda,” Suguru says smoothly, his tone light but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip because you know better.

Takeda straightens and flashes a smile that’s far too confident. “Geto. What a pleasure to see you,” He gestures toward you. “I was just introducing myself to your lovely partner. She’s quite… enchanting.”

Suguru’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels too loud in the quiet. Suguru’s gaze flickers briefly to your hand before returning to Takeda.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he continues softly.

Takeda chuckles nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Geto’s not usually the type to be confrontational in public. It’s normally all smiles and politics for him, so this has Takeda stunned. “I meant no disrespect, of course.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “No disrespect… Of course not.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile sharpening. “But you’d do well to remember your place, Takeda. Admiration is one thing. Touching, however…” He trails off, his tone turning razor-sharp, dark eyes honing in on the poor man’s. “That’s dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

Takeda falters, his polished demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I— I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters before excusing himself and retreating into the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone, Suguru turns to you, his sharp expression softening slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You seemed… flustered,” he says finally, his voice quiet but probing.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “I wasn’t, he just caught me off guard,” you mumble.

Suguru steps closer, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you sure? Because from where I was standing…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “It looked like you didn’t mind it.”

“Suguru—”

“Did you like it?” he interrupts, his tone impossibly soft, almost vulnerable. “A weakling holding your hand, kissing it like that… Did you enjoy it?”

Your heart twists at the faint frown tugging at his lips, the rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually composed expression. That’s when you recognize the look in his eye. It isn’t anger, it’s fear. Insecurity. Things you never expected to see from him.

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Of course not. I could never, baby.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, he exhales softly and takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over the spot where Takeda’s lips had been.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.

He leads you down a hallway, wanting to be away from the noise and chatter of the convention. When he pushes open the door to an empty room and pulls you inside, the silence feels almost deafening in comparison to everything on the outside.

Suguru closes the door and turns to face you, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. Without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Say it,” he whispers, his voice raw.

“Say what?” you ask softly, your hands resting on his chest.

“That you’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “That you wouldn’t leave me for some monkey.”

Your heart aches at the quiet desperation in his tone. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours.” You whisper, your hands curling into his robes. “Always.”

The next thing you know, his lips are melting yours, soft at first, but quickly growing more insistent. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and his eyes are darker than ever.

“Again,” he all but whines, his lips trailing down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice racing as your heart squeezes. “Only yours.”

He exhales sharply, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Good,” he whispers, moreso to himself. “Good… because I need you.”

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses you again, this time with a desperation that feels like he’s trying to erase every trace of Takeda’s touch from your skin.

His nails dig into your sides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting all that you have— all that you are. He’s needy, moving to hoist you up and hook your legs around his waist.

Your dress rides up your thighs and he wastes no time gripping at the fat of them, subtly rolling his hips into you in a way that tells you he may just be doing it subconsciously. Gasps are shared between your lips as he kisses you a few more times before moving to swipe his tongue up your neck, stopping just under your jaw and sucking a big fat hickey into the crevice.

It feels so good that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working their way down, down, down to your ass, pulling you into him with every roll of his hips. You feel how hard he is even through his robes, unable and unwilling to stop yourself from sliding the top of his gojogesa off his broad shoulders. You’re dipping your head down to pepper kisses all over his shoulder while he marks you up, your nails leaving marks of their own on his skin from how hard you’re gripping him.

You know what this is. Know what he needs. You’d be a fool to stop him from taking it. “Sugu… here.” You tell him, emphasizing your words by rolling your hips in tandem with his.

You swear you hear him growl as he tears his lips from your throat and grips your underwear on one side to tear them off, your eyes widening at the action. Suguru’s normally a calm, calculated man, even when he makes love to you, everything is suave and he’s always in control, but now? Now, he’s become someone entirely different. Someone needy. Someone eager to prove a point. To stake a claim.

“Here, angel.” Is all you hear before your mouth is stuffed with your own underwear and– when did he whip his dick out? You’ve got no idea, but it’s plugged into you before you can react, a long and grateful groan just spilling from Suguru’s lips like he’s finally laying in bed after a long day of hard labor. He’s home. Your head falls back against the door and he uses the opportunity to attack your neck again, littering the skin with kisses, licks, and the occasional bite.

He’s got no rhyme or rhythm in his thrusts, he simply ruts into you with a force that has the door shaking, the metal bar rattling and making your stomach lurch with fear at the fact that it could so easily be pushed for you two to end up on display for everyone. The fear falls away soon, however, replaced with nothing but pleasure when he’s targeting that wonderful gummy little bullseye that makes you go dumb on his cock.

Your eyes start searching for something in the back of your head, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and soaking your underwear as your shaky moans are muffled by the fabric. And you don’t know when it started, but your ears tune into Suguru whining the same thing repeatedly. “Mine, all mine, mine, mine, mine—” again and again and again with every punctuated thrust targeting your poor cervix.

Your nails rake down his back, hoping to find some sort of balance to compensate for the fact that your legs are beginning to ragdoll, no strength left in them as they flop by his sides with every thrust. Except, you don’t have to worry. No, his grip on you is bruising, he never wants to let you go.

And you wish you could see his face in this moment. See how he looks when he’s so adamant about proving it to himself that you’re his. Before you know it, you’re snaking a hand into his hair and tugging his head back, earning a needy little whine from his puffy lips before he’s looking at you. Oh, is he looking at you. Like you’re the world. Like you’re salvation. His brows are drawn tightly together, a pout on his lips that tells you he’d be nothing without you. God, you wanna kiss him. Wanna tell him a million times over that you’d never even think of another.

The look on your face tells him exactly what you want, you think, because in the next instant, he’s tearing the underwear from your mouth and crushing his lips into yours. His thrusts have rhythm now, his hips fucking into you with urgency. Every time his thick cock slips past your puffy folds, you’re inched closer, oh so closer to cumming and your stomach draws tight at the feeling. He’s chasing both of your orgasms, not once missing that spongey little spot that makes you see stars as he pounds you into the door, your voice sounding out to God knows how many people are in the hallway while you kiss him, your drool now slipping down his chin.

You hear him groan into the kiss as his hips start to falter– he’s close. And yet, while his rhythm is lost, his force is worse. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there. “I love you,” he whines against your lips before breaking away and letting his head fall back. “I love you, I love you, I. Fucking. Love. You.” He punctuates the last repetition with a thrust for each word, cumming on the very last one along with you, who couldn’t help but cum at the words he’s never said before.

You two had been together for a year. A whole year and not once had Suguru ever uttered the words. You always knew he wasn’t an emotional man, so you never expected to hear the words. You felt it, though. His care for you. It was in his actions. How he never forgot an important date, how he would always bring home food or a treat or flowers for you, how he loathed being away from you for any given reason. And yet, the words still shock you.

He ruts into you a few more times before he stills, nothing to be heard except for your breaths shared between each other until his eyes go wide– perhaps in realization of what he’s just said, and he kisses you. Softer this time. More sure of himself. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he’s confessed.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Don’t let anyone else touch you like that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. Not angry, not upset, just… needy. “I don’t care who it is. I won’t stand for it. Even if you don’t love me like I love you, I just can’t bear to see that again.”

You smile and offer a tired chuckle, brushing his hair back from his face. “Y’know, for someone usually so calculated and knowing, you sure are stupid,” you shake your head softly. “I love you, too. More, actually.”

His lips press against your temple, and he exhales slowly, the tension in his body finally easing. “Not possible,” he murmurs again, his voice soft. You can hear his smile in it. “Nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you.”

༒︎ Toji Fushiguro ༒︎

You aren’t sure if dragging Toji to your high school reunion is a brilliant idea or the worst decision you’ve made all year. On one hand, you know he can charm the socks off anyone when he wants to, all cocky smirks and lazy grins that send shivers down your spine. On the other hand, he doesn’t exactly thrive in situations that involve niceties and polite small talk—especially with people he doesn’t give a shit about. Still, you’ve convinced him, mostly because you want to show him off. He’s hot, and he’s yours. What’s the point if you can’t gloat a little?

Toji is surprisingly well-behaved for most of the evening. He nurses a glass of bourbon with his usual swagger, leaning against the bar and throwing you looks that tell you that he’ll be waiting for you to make this worth his while later. He even manages to avoid scaring off too many of your old classmates, though you catch the occasional side-eye when he’s not so subtle about telling them to fuck off. Everything’s going smoothly.

That is, of course, until he notices you talking to him.

You don’t mean to bump into your ex-boyfriend. Really, you don’t. But there he is, standing near the drink table with the same easy grin you remember from your teenage years. He calls your name, and before you can stop yourself, you’re smiling back and walking over. Toji’s gaze burns into your back the entire way.

“Wow, you look amazing,” your ex says, his tone warm but casual. It’s just an observation— a compliment between old friends, but you can just feel the way Toji’s teeth grind from across the room.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, keeping your tone light. The conversation flows easily, filled with harmless reminiscing about old high school antics. Nothing romantic. Nothing serious. Just memories of embarrassing pranks, favorite teachers, and the god-awful cafeteria food.

But you know Toji. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching, his sharp green eyes narrowing every time your ex laughs or steps just a little too close. You can practically hear the internal dialogue: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Then your ex does it. The thing you know is going to push Toji over the edge.

He hugs you.

It’s quick and friendly, a casual embrace to say goodbye. But as soon as your ex’s arms wrap around you, you feel your body being eaten up by your boyfriend’s shadow. You pull back quickly, about to turn to Toji to defuse whatever storm is brewing, but it’s too late.

He moves quickly— silent and deadly. One second, he’s leaning against the bar. The next, he’s standing behind you, his presence towering and suffocating. His hand rests on the back of your neck, deceptively casual as he leans in close.

“I dunno why yer touchin’ her, pal,” Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous, “but don’t let it happen again.”

Your ex blinks, clearly startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I… sorry? I was just saying goodb—”

Toji’s hand moves and you worry he may actually hit the poor guy. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna say goodbye, then get the fuck outta here,” Toji says, his grin sharp and feral as he subtly lifts his sweater just enough to reveal the gun tucked into his waistband. “Before I decide you don’t need yer legs.”

Your ex’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself to retreat, mumbling something about it being nice to see you before practically sprinting away. You don’t even have time to scold Toji before security is suddenly very interested in the two of you.

Five minutes later, you’ve been escorted out of the venue, Toji’s hand resting possessively on the small of your back. You wait until you’re alone in the parking lot to whirl on him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, smacking his arm. “You pulled a gun on him?!”

“Relax, doll,” Toji says, his grin infuriatingly smug. “I didn’t even take it out.”

You groan, stomping toward the car. You reach for the passenger door, but before you can open it, his arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Nah,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Yer sittin’ in the back with me.”

“What, am I in trouble now? Gonna spank me?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Toji doesn’t answer. He just opens the back door and shoves you inside, sliding in next to you and shutting the door behind him. You cross your arms, giving him a pointed glare. It doesn’t take long before he’s sulking.

He leans back against the seat, legs spread wide, and huffs like an overgrown child. “Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters.

You snort. “Sure you weren’t.”

“Ain’t funny,” he grumbles, glaring at you.

You can’t resist pushing him just a little further. “If you’re not jealous, then you won’t mind if I go back inside to grab his number. Y’know, for old times’ sake.”

His head snaps toward you, his jaw tightening. In one quick motion, he turns, caging you against the seat with his arms. “The fuck you just say?”

“You heard me,” you say, smirking. “If you’re not jealous, it shouldn’t bother you.”

Toji’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the car shifts again, but this time it isn’t anger. It’s something else entirely. He leans in until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“Ain’t about bein’ jealous,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my girl. Don’t care what reason they have.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as his lips ghost along your jawline. His touch is possessive, his grip firm enough to leave no room for argument. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Toji…” you start, but he cuts you off with a low chuckle.

“Nah, you’ve been mouthin’ off thinkin’ yer cute,” he says, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Time to shut that pretty mouth o’ yours.”

He's enjoying himself, towering over you in the confined space of the car, the sunlight streaming in from the windows only highlighting the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

“You’re so—”

"Hm?" He hums, his hand already snaking down your side, easily slipping under the hem of your dress as he plants a kiss onto the side of your neck. "Y' got somethin' t' say, doll?"

His fingers dance on your skin, inching closer and closer to the spot he knows will make you weak in the knees. He's toying with you, getting a kick out of your restraint as you try to formulate words again. But before you can finish even a syllable, he cuts you off.

"Save it, sweetheart. Was gonna be nice 'nd all when we got home t’night, but you had to go and run that pretty mouth with yer ex." He growls lowly in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So while yer getting yer brains fucked stupid, I want you t’remember… this is on you.”

With a rough grasp, he flips you onto your stomach in the backseat, your dress riding up your ass as he yanks your panties down with a swift tug, the cool air hitting it and making your hole clench around nothing. His dick is hard and straining against his pants, pre seeping through to form a dark spot. The anticipation of what's to come has your breath hitching, heat pooling between your legs. He leans over you, the weight of his body pressing down onto yours.

He’s rutting against your ass, one hand sliding up to toy with one of your nipples while his other hand massages your hip. God, if you could see the needy little look on your face right now, then he’d finally get you to understand just why he’s so addicted to you. You’re just so gluttonous for him. Always wanting more, more, more. And of course, he’s always willing to give.

But right now isn’t the moment for giving. No, he needs to take. To take and take and take until there’s no more left of you to give to anyone but him. Always him. He backs away just enough for him to unzip his pants, his cock springing free. His hand finds it immediately, stroking himself in slow, teasing motions, hard length throbbing against your bare ass. There's a devilish grin on his face as he utters, "Gonna show ‘er how much she needs me."

Without waiting for a response, he aligns himself with your sobbing cunt, teasing your folds with his thick head just swiping back and forth and mixing his pre into your skick. He groans at the contact, his hand gripping your hip tighter. Suddenly, with a swift thrust, he plunges himself deep, his girth stretching you so mind numbingly good that you fear you may just pass out. The thing is, he’s barely in, but the sensation is already overwhelming, causing you to gasp and buck your hips.

He wishes you knew how fucking good you feel. Wishes you knew that whenever he fucks you, that tight ring of resistance tries so hard to push him out. That is, until he’s fucked his fat tip into you a few times, because then you’re practifally sucking him in. He knows the stretch is a lot. Knows you’re sore hours later without fail and yet, you still beg for more. Just like now.

Words are failing you, but your look is enough. You want more. Need more than just his tip. You wanna be broken in. And so he does. He feeds you inch after inch of him, sitting up and pausing at the halfway point to admire the way your cunt looks swallowing him so eagerly. He grasps at the globes of your ass, jiggling them and biting his lower lip at the God granted sight.

His free hand moves to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair before he grips tightly and brings your head up so he can press your face into the window. And just light that, he fucks the rest of himself into you roughly, grunting.

"Fuckin’— take it," he rasps out, taking a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of your tightness around him, unable to resist a little moan of his own. Then, he starts moving. Slow and punishing at first, then picking up speed with the same punishing force. Each thrust is precise and purposeful, perfectly hitting that spot inside you that makes you feel fuzzy. He's unabashedly vocal too, grunting and groaning with each delicious slide in and out of your wetness. "Fuck... y' take my cock so good..." he compliments, pushing your face harder into the back window.

Easing up on his grip on your waist, he rolls his hips, grinding against your ass before pulling out for just a moment to slap his tip against your folds, watching as your cunt twitches and then thrusting back in again. His actions are deliberate and controlled, meant to stir you up and drive you to your limit.

"Please baby, please, please, please..." you moan helplessly, your words swallowed up by the sounds of your bodies slapping together and his grunts of pleasure. But he merely chuckles darkly, gripping your hip and pressing your face against the window harder as if to anchor himself and punish you at the same time, his thrusts never faltering.

"Y' can gimme more than that," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down, teeth nibbling at your exposed neck.

He slows almost to a stop, but the slight shallow thrusts still feel so overwhelmingly good you think you’re gonna go insane. “Y’really think she could live without me? Mmm mm, no, she needs me. I’m the only one who can stuff this greedy little pussy the way she needs to be stuffed. Isn’t that right, baby? Say it f’me.”

“F-fuck! Toki, gonna—” SMACK!

“Not talkin’ to you, princess. Talkin’ to her.” He delivers a pointed thrust into you to emphasize the fact that he’s genuinely talking to your cunt in his pussydrunk state.

Your sure he’s left a permanent handprint because of how hard he spanked your ass. The sting that lingers where his palm landed makes your cunt twitch and ache around him, which he considers to be answer enough. “S’what I fuckin’ thought. Atta fuckin’ girl, yes baby.” He groans, quickening the pace ever so slightly and beginning to pull you back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Talkin to an ex, y’must have wanted to get yerself fucked stupid, hm? Is that what you wanted? To be fucked like this?” He’s talking, but you can tell it isn’t for actual answers, no, it’s more to himself. He’s fucked out. So close to the edge.

The thrusting quickens, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "Cum f' me, doll," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, "show me how good I make y' feel. Only me. And then I’m gonna breed yer cute cunt so good." With that, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, aiming for that spot inside you that will unravel you completely.

That’s when you finally let loose, the coil inside your tummy snapping and letting you feel so much pleasure that you’re moving your ass back into him with a force that’s unmatched, just swallowing him deep into you over and over again. And that does it for him— his cum spurting inside you and filling you so good.

He kisses you so hungrily you feel you may just lose your breath entirely and pass out. His hands are holding you in place so you don’t fuck back onto him, because he knows if you did, he’d break you.

Toji leans back, smirking at the sight of you, his thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“You done throwing your little tantrum?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

He glares at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.” And deciding to drop the bombshell now, you lean back against the seat and say casually, “By the way, he’s married. To a man. They have two kids.”

Toji freezes, his expression shifting from smug to incredulous in seconds. He blinks like a cartoon character in shock, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yup,” you say, your grin widening. “Your big, scary display of dominance? Totally unnecessary.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. The look on his face is so priceless you wish you could brand it into your memory. “Tch. Coulda fuckin’ said somethin’ sooner.”

“And miss all the fun?” You laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Before you can say anything else, he’s on you again, his hands roaming as he mutters, “Gonna make you pay for makin’ me start a scene.”

You laugh, the sound cutting off into a gasp as his hands find their mark. “I made you start a scene? Oh, this I gotta hear.” You say, your voice breathless but still teasing.

“Keep talkin’, doll,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “See where it gets ya.” And then his lips are finding yours again. Just like that, the argument is forgotten, lost in the haze of his possessive, consuming affection.

༒︎ Choso Kamo ༒︎

The mall is crowded, loud with the hum of chattering voices and echoing footsteps. It isn’t your favorite place to hang out, but your best friend had begged you to come along. Somehow, Choso ended up tagging along too, though you weren’t sure why. He wasn’t exactly the mall type, after all— too quiet, too detached from the bustling energy of human spaces like this.

You glance over your shoulder at him now, and there he is, just like you’d expect. He’s trailing a few steps behind, hands shoved into the sleeves of his robe, his dark eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. His usual stoic mask is firmly in place, making him seem untouchable to anyone passing by. But you know better than that. Beneath the unapproachable aura, Choso is awkward— painfully shy even. He’s still figuring out how to interact with humans, still trying to understand what it means to live in a world like this.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re his safe space.

You smile to yourself, turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your friend had told you they’d meet you at the bookstore, but they’re running late, so you decide to wander into one of the nearby shops to kill time.

Choso doesn’t follow. You assume he’s probably going to find a dark corner to tuck himself into.

What you don’t realize is that he does follow. At a distance. He’s used to watching from the sidelines, content to let you move through your world without interference. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he learns from watching how you interact with people, animals, media, and the likes. He learns about the world, but more importantly, he learns about you.

His eyes are on you now, but just seconds later, they shift. There’s a new focus, a new target. Him.

The guy behind the counter at the little boutique you walked into. He’s tall, clean-cut, and obnoxiously friendly. At first, Choso thinks nothing of it. It’s not like he can stop every stranger from talking to you. But as the guy’s gestures become more animated, and his laughter gets a little too familiar, something shifts in Choso’s chest.

He wishes he could hear whatever it is he’s saying that has you so giddy. Wishes he could just— wait, what?

The guy leans forward across the counter, his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, maybe a receipt, maybe a bag, Choso doesn’t care. Because what he does next is what hammers the nail in the coffin. His hand moves to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair, making you laugh. It’s the casual intimacy of the gesture that makes his stomach churn. He knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knows. But he can’t help the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers curl into fists in his sleeves.

You’re still smiling at the guy. You’re laughing. And he hates it.

His mind spirals before he can stop it. The scene plays over and over in his head, each time twisting into something worse. What if you like this guy? What if you’re into someone who can flirt with ease, someone who doesn’t stumble over their words or overthink every little thing?

What if you don’t want him?

Choso feels a sharp pang in his chest, like something fragile has cracked. He’s been so careful, so guarded with his feelings. He thought he could keep them tucked away, safe from rejection, safe from ruining this. But now? Now he feels them slipping through the cracks, raw and unmanageable.

He looks away, leaning back against the wall outside the store. His heart’s racing, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he has any claim over you. You’re your own person, free to talk to whoever you want. He’s just… He’s just the weird half-curse with no idea what his place is in this world who follows you around and doesn’t know how to say what he feels. But what if he did say it?

The thought hits him like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. He’s scared, sure— terrified, actually, but the idea of staying silent is worse. He doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, not without at least trying.

So he waits.

When you finally walk out of the shop, you’re holding a small bag, a content smile on your face. You spot him instantly, standing off to the side like he’s been there the whole time.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. They had some really cute stuff in there,” you say, holding up the bag as if to explain.

Choso doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to the shop behind you, then back to your face. He doesn’t ask about your purchases. Instead, he asks, “Who was that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to,” he says, his tone as flat as ever, but there’s something behind it—a tension you can’t quite place.

“Oh, him? That’s just my friend from school. He works here part-time,” you explain, shrugging. “I didn’t even know before now.”

Your words are casual, but they allow Choso a wave of relief. That relief is short-lived, however, replaced almost immediately by a surge of determination. This is his chance. His moment to say what he’s been holding back.

“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You tilt your head, curious but not concerned. “Of course. What’s up?”

He gestures for you to follow him, leading you away from the bigger crowd and toward a seating area deeper in the mall that’s less populated. Once you’re there, he turns to face you, his hands still buried in his sleeves.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s searching for the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, what comes out is raw and unfiltered.

“I thought you liked him,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. “What? No, Choso, I told you, he’s just a friend.”

He nods, but his gaze drops to the floor. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you ask gently.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. “This. Any of this. Being around people. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act.”

You wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But with you… it’s different,” he continues, his voice steady despite the nerves etched into his expression. “I don’t feel lost when I’m with you. I feel… human.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t interrupt.

“And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I like you. I… I think I’ve liked you since the moment we met. I just didn’t know how to say it— didn’t know what it was. B-But I do, now.”

You stare at him, his confession hanging in the air between you. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake. That he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross.

But then you smile.

Not just any smile— the kind of smile that makes him feel like the world isn’t so complicated after all.

It’s all you can do because his confession doesn’t catch you off guard, not really.

You’ve always known.

“Cho,” you say softly, stepping closer, “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “You… knew?”

You nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to give you time. Time to figure out what you wanted, how you felt.”

He’s silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified.

“For what it’s worth,” you continue, your voice warm, “I like you, too. Just as you are. You don’t have to change or be anyone else for me, Choso. I like you for you.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s now a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something more raw. His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Can I… kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, not because you don’t want him to, but because of the way he asks it, so tentative and earnest.

“Of course,” you say, your tone gentle but steady.

But he hesitates, his eyes darting to the small crowd around you. His voice drops lower, almost shy. “Not here. Can we… go somewhere else?”

You bite back a smile at how endearing he looks, his cheeks tinted pink as he avoids your gaze. “Come on,” you say, nodding toward a quieter hallway where the restrooms are tucked away.

He follows you like a shadow, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he keeps his head down. When you reach the single-occupancy restroom, you push the door open and step inside, holding it for him as he follows. The door clicks shut, and the noise of the mall fades into a distant hum.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the tension in the small space thick enough to cut with a knife. Choso shifts nervously, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… don’t know how start,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your smile soft and steady. “Just follow my lead.”

You step closer, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. He freezes for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, but when you lean in, his lids flutter shut.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as you deepen it, something shifts. It’s like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, gripping you like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He grows bolder with each passing second, his fingers wandering over your arms, your back, your hips, your ass. There’s a desperation in the way he touches you, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. Finally, he pulls you flush against him, his entire arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your shoulder.

You can’t help but chuckle against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Easy, Cho,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face flushed as he loosens his grip, but only slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Your smile softens, and you press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to feel nervous.”

You kiss him again, this time letting him lead you. As things heat up, he starts to get carried away again, his hands roaming with a mix of urgency and inexperience. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath ragged as he presses closer, his body practically trembling against yours.

Suddenly his whole body stiffens and a low, unsteady sound akin to a whine escapes him before he pulls back, his face burning with embarrassment. He avoids your gaze, his hands falling away as he stammers, “I— I’m sorry. I dunno what— I didn’t want to stop, I—”

You pull back further to see a dark patch beginning to form even on the purple cloth that rests in front of his robes, realizing what happened. Your perfect Choso just came in his pants from kissing you. You can’t stay silent much longer for fear of making him more embarrassed, so you hush him gently, cupping his face and tilting it so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “Cho, it’s okay,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all new for you, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of judgment or disappointment. When he finds none, his shoulders relax just a little.

“You mean that?” he asks softly.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course, I do. We’ll take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his posture easing as he lets out a shaky breath. After a moment, he looks at you again, his expression soft but serious. “Is this… what love is?” He closes his eyes, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he leans into your touch. And in that quiet, stolen moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in its place.

༒︎ Ryomen Sukuna ༒︎

The room is dimly lit, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. You’re lying back on the exam table, your dress pulled up over your growing belly. The monitor hums softly as the sonographer, a man with overly polite eyes and a soothingly gentle touch, adjusts the machine. He explains the process as he goes, his voice calm and warm, clearly trying to put you at ease.

Today is your first 3D ultrasound where you’ll finally get a better view of the life growing inside you. It feels surreal. You’ve had to wait until you’re 32 weeks along to get the best view, so the wait has made you antsy. Will it look like Sukuna? You? Will it smile or suck its thumb? Surely it’s too early for that, right? All of these questions are running through your mind and making your body vibrate with both nervousness and anticipation. It actually does help that the sonographer noticed and is trying to soothe you.

You glance to the corner where Sukuna stands, his towering figure leaned protectively against the wall. His crimson eyes are locked on the sonographer, sharp and unyielding, like a predator stalking prey. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, claws tapping rhythmically on his forearm, a faint sound that portrays his growing irritation. The air feels heavy with tension; thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t contribute to your current nervousness.

The sonographer prepares to squirt gel onto your belly, offering you a soft smile. “This might feel a little cold,” he says, his tone careful. “But it’ll help us get a clear image of the baby.”

You flinch slightly at the cold, and the response is immediate.

“Watch your hands.” Sukuna’s voice slices through the room, low and menacing.

The sonographer freezes, visibly startled. His gaze darts nervously to Sukuna. “I- I’m just preparing her to perform the scan, sir. There’s no need to worry.”

Sukuna scoffs, the sound dark and mocking. “Worry? I’m not worried, human. I’m warning you.” His crimson eyes narrow, radiating danger. “You’re touching my wife who’s carrying the heir to my throne. Be mindful.”

You press your palm to your forehead, exhaling sharply. “Ryo,” you say, your tone firm. “He’s doing his job. Stop scaring him.”

Sukuna’s eyes flick to you, softening slightly, but the fire in them doesn’t fully die. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The sonographer hesitates, visibly uneasy, before resuming his work. The wand glides gently over your belly, and the monitor flickers to life. He points out the baby’s heartbeat, their tiny limbs, and the way they seem to kick at nothing in particular. His voice is soothing as he explains, almost too soothing for Sukuna’s liking.

You can see that the baby has four limbs, thankfully, and it’s got a frown on it’s face, much like its father’s. Until you speak, that is. When you speak, you can see the soft smile that graces your sweet baby’s face, again much like its father’s. You feel tears prick at your eyes finally seeing your baby so clearly.

The sonographer glances at you again, his smile almost reverent. “You’re doing wonderfully. Your baby looks perfect— beautiful, actually.”

That does it.

“Beautiful, huh?” Sukuna mutters, his voice laced with venom. “Bet you say that to every woman you see. Must be part of your script. You’re just so reassuring. Well, my wife doesn’t need that. She has me. Do you think yourself better than I?”

“Ryomen.” Your voice sharpens, and you shoot him a glare that tells him you’re angry. “Enough.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips curling in mild defiance, but he backs off for now. The sonographer continues, though his hands move a little faster this time, clearly eager to finish. Sukuna’s eyes remain locked on him, every small movement scrutinized like a hawk circling its prey.

Finally, the scan concludes. The sonographer hands you a towel to clean off the gel, offering another polite smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna doesn’t give him the chance.

“You’re done, right? Get out.”

The man’s eyes widen; he looks to you as if hoping for an intervention. You manage a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. Forgive my unpleasant husband,” you say pointedly, dismissing him with a polite nod.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone. Sukuna stands there, still bristling, his claws twitching at his sides.

You sigh, wiping the last of the gel from your belly. “You’re ridiculous, Kuna. He wasn’t touching me in any sort of suspicious way.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you in the first place,” Sukuna snaps, taking a step closer.

“He’s a medical professional, Ryomen. It’s his job.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “He was too close; too soft. Like he thought he could make you feel safer than I do.”

You sit up, tugging your dress down over your belly. “No one is trying to take your place.”

He scoffs, pacing in front of you like a restless beast. “You’re mine. No one else gets to put their hands on you like that.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders as you step into his path. “Would you rather our child go unchecked and we miss something bad? You can’t scare every single person who helps me, Ryomen.”

His eyes narrow, the frustration in them simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re too soft,” he mutters. “Always making excuses for people who don’t deserve it.”

“Soft doesn’t mean weak,” you counter, standing firm. “And I don’t need you turning every little thing into a fight. Trust me, Ryomen. I’m not going anywhere. But… you’re wrong, you know. I do need comfort. You provide safety, yes, but never reassurance. Gentleness. Maybe just… passive acceptance. I’m carrying your child. Of course I’d like to be doted on and treated with care.”

Before he can get upset again, you add, “By you. Only you. So just— please stop it with the anger and hostility. I want my child to know their father is capable of love the way I know he is.”

The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly, though the possessiveness in his gaze remains. He steps closer, towering over you, his hand coming to rest on your belly. His touch is firm but deliberate, a reminder of who you belong to.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You. The baby. You’re my dearest prizes. No one else gets to act like they know how to care for you better than I do. I study everything, every minute detail about you and what’s to expect with the child. I suppose I’ve been so wound up with preparing myself and protecting you that I’ve gotten more hostile than usual. I… can work on it.”

You place your hand over his, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Get back on the exam bed.”

“What? Why? He’s finish—” he interrupts you by walking you backwards until your ass hits the edge, caging you in.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look carrying my heir and standing up to even me. And I’d like to show you just how much I love it.” He says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, just below your jawline. As expected, you tilt your head up for a kiss and he indulges you, kissing you so hungrily and lifting you onto the bed.

His hands wander all over your body, his touch carrying a gentleness you’re not used to. Goosebumps raise on the whole of your body in response and you’re leaning forward into the kiss, losing yourself in it. You don’t even realize he’s hiked your dress up and removed your panties until the cold hits your slick-sheened pussy.

“Ryō—”

“I know, brat, I know.” He says, a teasing lilt in his voice as he parts from your lips to kiss along your jaw. “Come to the edge f’me.”

You do exactly that as he undoes his robes to reveal his second set of arms… and his second mouth. God, you love how freaky this man is. His second set of arms grip the globes of your ass to hold you steady as he pulls you flush against his lower mouth, his fat tongue just smearing your cunt with your slick and his saliva.

You’ve never cared to admit that this mouth of his has always been your favorite. It’s so big that it offers more coverage, more pressure, and gets so much dee—

“Biiiiig stretch.” Sukuna warns you before he plunges his second tongue into your hole, lingering at that first ring of resistance to deliver a few shallow, but mind numbingly pleasurable thrusts before he pushes the rest of the way in; as much as he can, that is.

He uses the moment your pretty little mouth releases an ah! to kiss you again, his first set of hands slipping up your dress to find your tits. If there’s anything he’d put on top of the list of things he loves about your changing body, it’s this. How fucking thick your ass has become and undeniably huge your tits have grown. Just swelling and preparing to fill with milk to sustain his heir.

He pinches your sensitive nipples between his large fingers, making you moan into the kiss, relaxing your cunt around his tongue between you. Suddenly, you’re lifted just slightly above the table, his other hands beginning to fuck you on his tongue, his saliva and your slick just drip, drip, dripping onto the bed and floor beneath you.

“So greedy. Pussy’s always so fucking greedy…” he groans, resting his forehead against yours so you both can watch as your pussy bulges from swallowing his tongue so eagerly. It’s such a lewd sight, one you’ve undeniably grown addicted to in your time together.

Your moans mingle together and it’s then you realize that he’s now using just one of his hands to fuck you on his tongue. His other is wrapped around both of his cocks and pumping them together, ribbons of pre falling down his lengths and being smeared by his movements. You’re not even slightly ashamed of the way you salivate seeing him getting off while eating your pussy and watching himself do it. It’s so fucking filthy that you can’t help but—

“Gonna cum f’me, aren’t you? Mmmmmhm, can tell by how she’s flutterin’ around my tongue. My needy fucking wife.” He smirks, pulling you flush to him so that the widest part of his tongue rubs against your clit while he switches it up and fucks his tongue into you, faster this time.

“O-Ohmyfuckinggod!” The words come out strung together, the added attention on your clit making you see stars, your breath quickening, heart beginning to race. You lean back onto the bed using your hands to prop you up so you can get a better view.

“So nasty, beautiful.” A chuckle falls from his lips and you can’t even respond before his upper hands are just engulfing your tits and kneading, easing the pain of the swelling and pleasing you at the same time.

Then, something happens. Milk begins to drip from your right nipple and it has you both stopping in your tracks. You’d heard of the low possibility that milk can come before you give birth, but you never considered it’d happen to you. A blush of embarrassment creeps on your face and you’re about to apologize when you hear Sukuna groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth immediately latches onto your tit and he just sucks.

“S-Sukuna, fuck!” You whine, his lower tongue beginning to work your quivering pussy again, bringing you right to the edge of pleasure.

He releases your tit with a pop! and nips it gently. “Mine. Mine, mine, all fuckin’ mine, such a good Queen providing for my heir early. Gonna be such a good momma.” He praises you before beginning to suck the lactating nipple again, making you come undone on his tongue, your gooey insides clenching around his tongue, trying to stop him with how tight you are, but he’s too strong, fucking his tongue into you through your orgasm to swallow up every last bit of cum you have to offer him.

It’s not until you’re whining and your legs are limp, weak pushes against his shoulders making him release your tit and slip his tongue from your slobbering hole. He runs the tip of his tongue against your oversensitive clit just a few times before you feel him kiss your puffy folds, making your body lurch.

You watch breathlessly as he tries to suck up the milk from your poor abused nipple again, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging his face up to yours. “Y’know, you’re mine too. Forever. Don’t you forget that.” You smirk.

Something flickers in his eyes— pride, possessiveness, and a touch of vulnerability he’d never admit to. “Damn right I’m yours,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “But don’t think that means I’m gonna get soft on people.”

You lean into his hand as he caresses your cheek, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. His voice drops to a rumble. “Carrying my child. Still standing by me. So brave.”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” you tease, though your voice softens with affection.

He lets out a low chuckle, pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re brave enough to take my cocks after cumming like such a good brat f’me.”

Your eyes widen, feeble hands trying to push him away by his chest, “Kuna! We have to leave, they’re probably traumatized!” You tell him in a hushed tone, suddenly all too aware that you’re in a doctor’s office for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, well. They can afford the therapy.” He gives you a shit eating grin while thumbing open your cunt. “Open up real wide f’me, baby.”

And as you brace yourself, you remind yourself to make apology rounds to the staff whenever your husband is through with you.

༒︎ Nanami Kento ༒︎

Nanami Kento is tired. Not just the kind of tired you feel after a long day, though God knows his body aches from another grueling shift of paperwork and exorcisms. No, it’s deeper than that. A bone-deep fatigue that comes from too many hours spent away from the one person he’d rather be with. You.

He steps through the door, loosening his tie with one hand and holding his briefcase in the other. The house is warm and smells faintly like the lavender candle you always light in the evenings. It feels like home, but he quickly notices something’s off.

Your voice carries down the hall, light and warm, tinged with laughter. It’s a sound that usually has his shoulders relaxing, but tonight, there’s an edge of tension beneath it that prickles at him. He sets his things down quietly, toeing off his shoes, and listens.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of lonely lately,” you say, and he freezes in place, his hand hovering above the coat rack. “I mean, I get it. Nanamin works so hard and I love him for it, but… I don’t know. I just miss him. I feel like I barely see him anymore.”

His chest tightens. You’re talking about him. He takes a slow, measured breath and steps closer, rounding the corner silently.

“Thank you for keeping me sane, though. Honestly, if I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably be climbing the walls by now.” There’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line. Gojo’s laugh. The realization is instant and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gojo. Of course, it’s Gojo. His coworker, the occasional thorn in the side, the most insufferable man he knows. And apparently the one you’ve been leaning on while he’s been too busy drowning in work.

Kento feels his jaw tighten, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He knows— logically, rationally— that there’s nothing going on between you and Gojo. You’d never betray him like that and Gojo, for all his teasing, would never cross that line. But the knot of jealousy twisting in his chest doesn’t care about logic.

You must have heard him shift uncomfortably because you glance over your shoulder, startled. Your expression softens when you see him and you give him a small, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, Kento just got home,” you say into the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo’s laugh sounds out one last time before you hang up. He doesn’t say anything as you set your phone on the counter, but his silence is heavy. You know him well enough to recognize it immediately.

“Ken,” you say softly, stepping toward him. “Long day?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze steady on you. It’s not cold, but there’s something simmering behind it; something that makes you hesitate. “Gojo?” he asks finally, his voice calm but with an edge you can’t ignore.

You blink, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Yeah. He was just checking in. He knows I’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

“Does he?” His tone is even, but the sharpness is undeniable.

You frown, crossing your arms. “Nanami, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. Our friend. You know that.”

“I do.” And he does. He knows it’s innocent. But that doesn’t make it easier to hear you laughing and confiding in someone else while he’s been too busy to do the same.

“Ken.” Your voice softens and you reach for him, your hand brushing his arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up or think anything crazy. I’m not mad at you for working so much. I know why you do it. I know it’s for us. But… it’s hard sometimes. That’s all I meant.”

“I hate that you feel like this,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That you have to go to someone else when I should be here.”

You step closer, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re here now,” you murmur, trying to pull him out of his head. “That’s what matters. That you always come back to me as soon as you can.”

He looks at you, something dark and conflicted in his eyes. “Is it enough?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Am I enough? Or would you rather have a husband who has more time for you?”

Your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice. “Kenny,” you say firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s hungry. Desperate. As if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent away from you in one moment.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to the globes of your ass and gripping tightly. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll change for you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “No more late nights. No more overtime. I’ll cut my hours. Whatever it takes to be here with you.”

“Ken, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His hands slide under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle as he lifts it over your head and lets it fall to the floor. “I won’t let you feel like you’re second to anything. Ever again. You’re too precious to me. My world. My heart. My wife.”

His lips find your neck, trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone. He moves with a purpose, his hands exploring your skin as if to reacquaint himself with every inch of you. It’s more than physical— it’s a promise.

You tug at his tie, fumbling with the knot until he helps you pull it free and rips off his button-down. Then his hands are on you again, guiding you toward the bedroom.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding but with an undercurrent of tenderness that makes your pulse race.

You obey, sinking onto the bed as he leans over you, his lips finding yours again. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his movements careful but insistent. Every kiss, every caress feels like an apology and a vow wrapped into one.

He wraps a hang around your throat, squeezing for one fleeting moment before trailing it down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, over your pubic bone, and finally under your nightgown to meet your slick riddled cunt.

“Shit,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours while he catches his breath, his fingers slipping back and forth between your folds, teasing at your clit in passes. “My love… I don’t want to waste any time, I just need t’feel you. Normally I’d ea—”

“I know, handsome, s’okay, I’m ready, I can take it.” You reassure him, knowing he was going to apologize for not properly warming you up.

You see, Nanami has always been one for foreplay. He could slurp up your saccharine slick for hours upon hours if you let him, but tonight? Tonight, he just wants to be one with you.

His hand finds one of yours and he intertwines your fingers, his other hand working to free his cock from the suffocating confines of his pants. When it springs free, it’s just throbbing an angry pink, beads of pre forming at the tip now that his dress pants aren't there to absorb them.

He aligns himself with your painfully empty hole, pushing past that first little ring of resistance with a long groan. The grip he has on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white as he feeds you inch after mind numbing inch of his cock until his tip’s kissing your cervix. But you know his body well enough to know that isn’t it. And so you brace yourself for him to push in to the hilt, his mushroom tip ever so slightly bullying open your cervix as he does so, making you yelp out in both pleasure and pain.

His lips swallow your whines and whimpers, he’s determined to take everything you have to offer and give you more than what he has. The world, if you asked. His free hand finds purchase on your hip and he holds you steady as he starts to roll his hips into yours, passionately. Roughly. Like he’s trying to stuff you full of all of the love he has for you.

You moan out, reaching your own free hand up to cup his cheek, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back, effectively telling him you need more. With every thrust after, you can’t help but gasp. You feel him in your lungs stealing every bit of breath you have, reddened leaking tip repeatedly hitting that bullseye that makes your mind go stupid.

“K-Ken, feels s’good! Hah!” You whine out, back arching up and pressing you flush to him. He moves his hand from your hip to wrap his arm around you, effectively holding your bottom half in the air to get deeper inside of you.

“Mine. My wife. My wife, my love, my beautiful, m-my heart.” He’s babbling, burying his head into your neck and pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to it. You feel him slip his hand from yours and instead, he has the top of your head in the palm of his hand, using it to keep you still, but also to anchor himself so he doesn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom. Wh—hah, what kind of husband have I been by not trying to give you my babies? We can start now. After I cum riiiiight here.” He babbles, his other hand moving for only a second to press down where your stomach bulges with his thrusts.

And the look in his eyes tells you this is a promise, not just something he’s saying while fucking you. Just like the perfect little thing you are, you cum for him right then, dragging a long and frustrated groan from him.

“Pussy’s always so good for me. Milking me so good, my love…” he shudders as you cum on his throbbing length.

“Ken, f—fuh— fuck! Cum in me! Please, baby, cum in me!” You beg, making him chuckle.

“Oh? You think I’m done? No, I have to make up for lost time. Evert second I missed, I’ll make up for with an equal amount of time spent buried in this beautiful cunt of yours. Understood?”

And oh are you so incredibly fucked.

1K notes · View notes

st7rnioioss · 1 month ago

Note

omgggg can you please do bestfriend chris guiding inexperienced reader on how to ride for the first time

BSF!CHRIS GUIDING INEXPERIENCED!READER HOW TO RIDE

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... smut, p in v, unprotected sex (nuh uh!!), kissing, mentions of hickeys, lowkey hate this💔

“shh- hey. it’s okay, you’re doing so, so good..” chris mumbled, his hands stuck on your hips while his thumbs traced mindless circles over your soft skin, admiring your pretty form on top of him.

your face was contorted with pleasure, eyebrows knit together and eyes pinched shut while trying to adjust to his size. you were sucking him in, his tip already kissing your cervix as you sat on top of him, your walls fluttering around his thick stretch.

“mhh- chris.. i- i can’t-“ your voice cut through the constant praise and sweet murmurs from chris, your nails digging crescent-shaped moons into his shoulders.

he let a soft groan fall from his lips, running one of his hands up your back in a comforting manner, attempting to soothe your nerves and pain just a little. your pussy was already drooling around him, and all it took was a couple right words and a pair of fingers.

“yes you can, sweetheart.. fuck, such a pretty sight. can you believe i haven’t made you do this earlier, huh?” his question was mostly rhetorically asked, not really expecting an answer from you because of the already fucked out expression plastered on your face. gosh, you haven’t even started yet.

“um.. n-no..?” you shook your head weakly, your eyes batting back open to look down at him, his head thrown back against the headboard of his bed, your response earning a chuckle from him.

“i- i think i’m ready..” your words were mumbled, but chris nodded, clearing his throat as he tightened his grip on your hips.

“i’ll help you, okay? then you’ll try.” you nodded in response, his hands slowly guiding your body to move in a back and forth motion, his eyes flickering to your face to see your reaction, if it made you feel good.

still clawing at his shoulders, your jaw fell slack, letting strings of moans fall from your parted lips. chris was nearly about to cum from just the sight, almost not believing a second of what he was seeing—his best friend since forever, riding him like that.. well, grinding.

“yeah? y’like that?” he chuckled dryly, looking up at you through his lashes from his halfway-shut eyes, nearly leaving marks from his tight grip.

whines fell from your lips as you ground on him, your clit brushing perfectly over his pelvis. chris’s grip on your hips became tighter, gently attempting to lift you, helping you ride him properly this time.

“o-oh.. oh my god-“ you moan, pinching your eyes shut at his tip kissed at your cervix over and over again. “f-feels good..”

chris could tell you were close already from how you basically squeezed around him, your cheeks flushed and lips parted into a perfect o-shape.

“so beautiful.. can’t believe i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he smirked up at you, deciding to loosen his grip on you, causing your movements to still. your eyes flutter back open in confusion, his fingers making their way to your waist instead.

“w-what are you doing?” you whined, your hands running down across his chest, eyes glued to his.

“come on. keep going baby, you can do it,” he lightly ran a thumb over your bottom lip that was stuck in a pout, dragging it down just enough to part your lips.

but you couldn’t. at least that’s what you had convinced yourself. “chris.. i can’t, please! it hurts..” you whined and pleaded, but chris just shook his head in return.

“oh, poor thing.. don’t be whiny, just do what i did, yeah? i promise it’ll feel better in a second,” he cooed, his hand cupping your face to lean in, pressing a kiss to your lips while his hand snaked to the back of your head, keeping the kiss simple but firm.

pulling away with a faint smile, you nodded. with your hands still on his chest, you tried moving your hips until you found a somewhat nice pace and motion. pretty moans slipped from your lips that echoed with the lewd squelches from your leaky cunt, eliciting a groan from chris.

“juuust like that.. that’s good-“ he murmured with a strain to his voice, his fingers gripping your waist almost leaving red marks, complimenting the ones he left earlier down your neck and collarbone.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head before batting them shut, eyebrows knitted up in pleasure as you desperately tried your best to keep going, to keep up your face.

but it was getting hard, your thighs aching from the unfamiliar stretch, from both the uncomfortable position and how snug chris was stuffed inside of you.

“chris! g’nna… c-cum..” you babbled between whimpers, letting go of his chest to hold onto his shoulders again, your movements turning sloppy and haphazard.

“g-go ahead.. y’look so adorable, doing just what i’m telling you to,” a choked moan fell from his lips, before taking the plush and swollen lip between his teeth.

when the waves crashed over you, letting loud and careless noises slip from between your lips, he helped you ride out your high, before you both stilled your movements. chris wrapped his arms around you, letting you collapse onto his chest.

“so pretty.. y’think you can keep going for me, angel?” he whispered while playing with strands of your hair, his lips grazing your ear before his hands sneaked back down to your hips.

more bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: that fucking cheetah print jacket you fucking hottie!!! anyway- not over the fact my fic was in an edit.. im literally sobbinggg its so funny to me. love you freaks!:33

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @forgottxen @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog

#🐇་༘࿐ works #⌗⋆. bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo angst #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #christopher sturniolo

1K notes · View notes

bleach-your-panties · 1 year ago

Text

JJK Men: When You're Sleepy, But They're Horny🍒🎀

(a/n: i usually suck ass at headcanons but let's give this a whirl. characters aged 18+. nsfw mdni, sexual content. fem reader)

(characters: yuuji, megumi, nanami, toge, gojo)

dividers: glitter-graphics, @/cafekitsune

♥︎

Yuuji:

It's 9pm and you had just returned from a solo mission, finished your shower, hair routine, and climbed into bed. You hear the soft click of your room door opening and you know that it has to be none other than your boyfriend, Yuuji.

"Babe, are you still awake?" His soft voice whispers right beside your ear before he presses a kiss to the side of your head. You groan out something unintelligible and Yuuji's heart sinks a bit.

He's really hard and he was hoping that you might feel like 'playing' a little, but he also knows that you're probably really tired.

"I can feel you pouting, Yuu. Put it in my hand."

You stretch your palm out from under your covers and Yuuji is quickly shoving his pants down to free his hard dick.

"T-thank you, so much, cutie. Fuck, I love you!" He whimpers/whispers as you stroke him with your nice, warm fingers running all along his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it only takes a few rough tugs before he's spilling his seed into your hand.

"Promise to fuck you good when you wake up, baby. You're so good to me."

You were already snoring before he cleaned your hand off and left your room silently.

♥︎

Megumi:

You're curled up in bed with Megumi spooning while the two of you watch anime. You've finished nearly half the season in the last couple hours that you've been watching and now your eyes are drooping.

Megumi is still watching the TV but his eyes flit down to where your ass is pressed against his crotch. The sleep shorts you're wearing give him a perfect view of your thighs.

Being a semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer, you have keen awareness and heightened senses, so you automatically feel Megumi's stone cold blue eyes boring into your back.

"What is it, Megara?" You yawn out, turning slightly to look at him over your shoulder. He rolls said eyes.

"Told you to stop calling me that."

He answers your question by rutting his hips forward and rubbing his hard-on against your ass.

"I'm tired, Megs. Here." You turn over halfway on to your stomach, fully presenting your ass to him and his eyes widen at the gap made by your thighs.

He sinks his dick into the makeshift hole and fucks it slowly, edging himself, until he feels his balls tighten and he's cumming into the opening.

A warm blush covers his cheeks but he dutifully grabs some wipes and cleans you off before kissing your head and pulling you into his chest.

♥︎

Nanami:

Kento is working another late shift and you just can't stay up waiting for him any longer.

You're quickly falling asleep in the armchair when the front door knob twists and he steps inside.

"Angel, are you asleep in the chair?"

"Mmm...Kento is that you?" You drawl with your head resting against the cushion. He chuckles at your cuteness.

"Yes, it's me, darling. Come on, let's get you to bed.

"Okay."

Once he's laid you on the bed, he can't help but begin to caress your smooth legs up to your thighs hidden beneath your nightgown.

His dick begins to strain against his dress pants but he looks up at your blissful face and dares not to ask you if you want to make love.

"Kento...what's wrong? Come on to bed, already."

"Do you mind if I eat you out, darling?"

Your heart swells ten times its size just knowing how much he cares for you.

"Mhmm, please..."

And he dives right in, sucking and licking you to Nirvana. It feels so good, your legs start shaking and you're cumming over his handsome face in record time.

Your orgasm completely knocks you out cold and he chuckles at your peaceful form before undressing to his boxers and climbing under the covers with you.

♥︎

Toge:

You're cuddled up in Toge's bed with him looking at memes and funny videos on his phone.

With a free day from classes, the two of you had been out all day exploring Tokyo and now you're absolutely exhausted.

You snuggle into his warm chest and inhale the scent of his laundry detergent. Toge kisses the top of your head, his lavender eyes then trailing down over your beautiful face....your lithe neck with the necklace he bought you for your birthday around it, and further down to your tits.

He softly inhales and wraps an arm around your back to press you further against him so he can feel your breasts squished against his hard chest.

You shuffle a bit in his hold and your sleepy eyes look up into his amethyst ones.

"Toge...?"

His dick is hard and swollen against his thigh, but you look so cute like this - he can't help but lean his head down to kiss each of your breasts.

"Sleep."

Your body can't do anything but obey.

That was probably the best sleep you'd gotten in a while.

♥︎

Gojo:

Satoru was away for the day on a field trip with his students and you decided to clean the entire house while he was away. You never had the time to do it when he was around because you'd either be holed up in the bedroom all day or pressed up against some random piece of furniture with him thrusting into you wildly.

When you finished the upstairs, you decided to go lie down and have a quick nap before he got back.

Hours later, you're still knocked out; the cleaning had really drained you more than you realized.

"Honeybun, I'm home and I brought you a souvenir!~"

Your joyful husband slams open the bedroom door with some shopping bags in tow.

The bags drop to the floor and he immediately hushes himself once he sees that you're asleep.

"Aww, look at my precious sleeping baby.." He slips off his blindfold, revealing his beautiful, crystalline blue eyes while he shreds himself of his work clothes and joins you in the bed.

The movements make you shift around a bit and then you feel warm breath over your neck and cheeks.

"Hm, Satoru.." Your hand tangles into his soft white locks while his lips press against the juncture between your neck and shoulder, leaving wet, hungry kisses on your sweet-scented skin.

"Missed you so much, sweetie...need to have you right now."

There was rarely a time when this man wasn't horny for you, but if you refused and wanted to just sleep, he wouldn't object. He knows that even though you're not a sorcerer you still have a life and things that keep you occupied when he's away.

You shift until you're lying completely on your back and Satoru is spreading your thighs with his knees. He pulls out his cock and begins stroking it until it's hard and leaking pre-cum.

"I love you.." He murmurs into your hair once he's sunken all eight inches inside your tight cunt.

Your eyes close instinctively, but he pats your cheek before gripping your chin in his rough grip.

"Look at me. I want to watch your pretty eyes while I fuck you back to sleep."

----

i actually fell asleep while writing this loool. going back to sleep now, peace.

5K notes · View notes

fangdokja · 15 days ago

Text

You tried to break up with him… but did you ever really want to?

❤︎ Synopsis. You thought walking away from him would set you free, but now you’re trapped in a game of his making, where every step away pulls you closer into his dark web. Breaking up was never an option—he’s already planned your return.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Johan Liebert x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Geto Suguru x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Headcanons. Never Really Gone - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 6,342

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + heavy manipulation, sexual themes, fear play, hints of rough play and sex, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, gaslighting, victim blaming, psychological manipulation and conditioning, manipulation of circumstances, white knight strategies

♡ Note. All art on the banner does not belong to me, and belongs to the artists who created the artworks.

♡ A/N. Yes, I wanted to philosophize this time. Been a while, since I wrote something like this. But, actually, before Tumblr and Ao3, I wrote these kinds of works often. Anything in relation to morality, humanity, existential questions, and more. It's fun.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose philosophy is rooted in the idea that nothing is truly unattainable. He grew up in a world where survival was an art, and morality was an illusion crafted by the powerful to control the weak. To Chrollo, freedom isn’t about doing what you want—it’s about taking what you desire, consequences be damned.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who applies this philosophy to you with a terrifying elegance. He doesn’t love you like a man loves a woman; he loves you like a collector loves a rare artifact. You are a piece of perfection he wants to study, admire, and ultimately keep under lock and key. His love is subtle, almost suffocating in its gentleness. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or make threats; his words are calculated to burrow into your mind and make you second-guess your every thought.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who uses your intelligence as a hook, weaving conversations so deep and enthralling that you forget he’s untangling every thread of your mind. He is endlessly patient, unraveling your independence slowly, methodically, until you reach a point where you don’t know where you end and he begins.

In your relationship, Chrollo is attentive but detached, like a scientist studying a delicate experiment. He knows when to praise you, when to pull back, and when to remind you of just how much you need him. He never forces his will outright; instead, he leaves breadcrumbs, ensuring that every choice you make feels like your own—when in truth, he’s orchestrated it all.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose philosophy is a chilling combination of nihilism and superiority. He sees the world as a fragile construct, its meaninglessness a playground for his manipulation. To Johan, people are tools, and love is the ultimate form of control—an emotion that binds people tighter than fear or violence ever could.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who views you as an exception to his usual detachment. Your quiet demeanor and sharp mind fascinate him in a way he can’t quite explain. You’re not like the rest of the world—mindless, hollow, and easily disposable. You’re a puzzle he wants to solve, a light he wants to snuff out and relight just to see how it flickers.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who expresses his love with an eerie calmness. He doesn’t smother you with affection or demand anything from you; instead, he quietly infiltrates your life. He learns everything about you—your fears, your dreams, your weaknesses—and uses that knowledge to become indispensable. He convinces you that he’s the only one who truly understands you, the only one who can keep you safe in a world that’s out to destroy you.

In your relationship, Johan is a paradox. He’s gentle, considerate, and impossibly kind, but there’s an undercurrent of control in everything he does. He’ll encourage your independence on the surface while quietly sabotaging any attempt to leave him. He’s the type to smile and say, “I’ll wait for you,” even as he ensures that no one else ever gets close enough to take his place. To Johan, love is about possession, and possession is eternal.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru whose philosophy is steeped in a twisted sense of superiority and duty. He believes that the strong have an obligation to protect the weak, but only those who are worthy. His disillusionment with humanity has left him with a stark view of the world—most people are parasites, unworthy of existence. But you? You’re different.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who sees you as a rare exception to his disdain. Your quiet intellect and detached nature resonate with him, a kind of purity he thought had been lost to the world. You’re not a parasite; you’re a treasure, someone who needs protection—not from the world, but from yourself.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who loves you with an intensity that’s almost reverent. He admires your mind, your resilience, but he also sees your fragility, and it terrifies him. He doesn’t want you to break under the weight of the world, so he takes it upon himself to shield you, even if that means isolating you from everything and everyone else.

In your relationship, Geto is controlling but not overtly so. He frames his actions as concern, his possessiveness as devotion. He doesn’t raise his voice or demand obedience; instead, he calmly explains why his way is the best for you. He creates a world where you feel safe and cared for, even as he slowly strips away your autonomy.

To Geto, love is a responsibility, a sacred bond that justifies any action. He doesn’t see himself as manipulative or cruel; he genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for your own good. And even if you hate him for it, he’ll accept that—because your hatred is still a form of connection, and he’ll take anything you’re willing to give.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who was drawn to you the moment he noticed the sharpness in your eyes. You had a mind that cut through deception like a blade, a presence that remained unshaken even under scrutiny. You never sought validation, nor did you waver under pressure—you existed on your own terms, and that made you utterly fascinating to him.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who admired your strength but saw it as something that could be refined, polished into something even greater. And who better to be your guide than him? His involvement in your life was never forceful, never imposing. It was patient, meticulous. A thoughtful conversation here, a well-placed question there. “You’re remarkable,” he’d muse, studying you with a gaze that saw too much. “But do you ever wonder if you’re carrying too much alone?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who never took anything from you—rather, he gave. Insight, solutions, a sense of ease. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you began to turn to him. Not because you had to, but because he always seemed to have the answers, the right words at the right time. A reassuring presence in the background of your life, always available, always understanding.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who never demanded your dependence, yet it became inevitable. He never corrected you outright, only offered perspectives that made you rethink your choices. “I trust you, of course,” he’d say, a gentle lilt in his voice. “But sometimes, even the most brilliant minds need a second opinion.” And over time, you found yourself hesitating before decisions, waiting—expecting—his input.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose love felt like a safety net you didn’t realize you needed. By the time you noticed how much of yourself had subtly reshaped around him, it no longer felt like change—it felt like growth. A natural evolution, one where he was woven into the fabric of your existence. And that was all he had ever needed.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who recognized something rare in you the first time he met you. Not just intelligence, but an elegance in how you carried yourself. A quiet depth, the kind most people overlooked. You weren’t swayed by charm or intimidation; you existed in your own world, untouched by the trivialities that consumed others. And that made you irresistible to him.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who never sought to change you—no, that would be crude. Instead, he aligned himself so seamlessly with you that his presence felt like an inevitability. He listened with an attentiveness that made you feel understood in a way few ever had. “You’re extraordinary,” he’d say softly, his admiration never loud, never overwhelming. Just a simple truth, spoken like a secret only he was privy to.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who became your quiet refuge, the person who knew exactly how to soothe the weight on your shoulders. He never told you that you needed him, never implied that you were weaker alone. But somehow, in moments of uncertainty, his words would surface in your mind. “You overthink things sometimes,” he’d once told you with an affectionate smile. “You don’t have to bear it all alone.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose influence never felt like pressure, only gentle guidance. He never dismissed your thoughts, only reframed them. “You’re brilliant, but even the most brilliant minds falter under unnecessary burdens.” His words never undermined, never dictated. Yet they lingered, shifting the way you perceived yourself, the way you navigated your own decisions.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, without ever asking for it, became the foundation you leaned on. And by the time you realized how deeply his presence had integrated into your life, it felt too natural, too comforting to pull away. After all, what was so wrong about relying on someone who had only ever wanted the best for you?

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who was intrigued by you from the start. A woman who stood with unwavering confidence, who carried an unspoken wisdom in her gaze. You weren’t someone easily impressed, nor did you seek approval from others. You knew your own worth, and that fascinated him.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never sought to diminish your strength, only to ensure it was preserved. “You’re exceptional,” he’d tell you, watching the way you dismissed the weight of his words. “But strength isn’t just about standing alone. It’s about knowing when to let someone stand beside you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru whose care never felt like control. If anything, he encouraged your independence—praised it, even. But beneath that praise was something else, a quiet implication that true strength was knowing when to yield. “You don’t have to prove anything,” he’d remind you, his voice soft but firm. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never outright questioned your choices but always offered an alternative. “I trust you,” he’d say with a smile, never condescending, never doubtful. “But have you considered another perspective?” And it was never an argument, never a dismissal—just enough to make you pause, to make you wonder if your certainty was truly your own.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, with time, became the voice in your head, the presence you unconsciously sought out before making a move. Not because he had ever demanded it, but because he had gently guided you to a place where his insight felt indispensable. Where, without even realizing it, you had come to need him just as much as he had always needed you.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who made his love feel like a sanctuary, a safe place to rest. And in the end, you never saw it as dependence—you saw it as trust. A quiet, unshakable trust that tethered you to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain, yet never wanted to escape.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who folds his hands neatly on the table as you tell him, your voice unsteady, that you think the relationship needs to end. He listens without interrupting, his expression as serene as ever, the faintest trace of curiosity in his eyes.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who tilts his head slightly, the movement so slight it’s almost imperceptible. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he says, his tone warm and understanding. “I can see how difficult this is for you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who doesn’t argue or plead, instead leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “If you feel this is best for you, I won’t stop you,” he says, his voice measured and calm. “But I do wonder…” He pauses, just long enough to make you glance at him. “Is this truly what you want? Or are you running from something you don’t fully understand yet?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who lets his words linger in the air, unchallenging yet heavy, like the weight of a velvet curtain falling over the conversation. “Regardless,” he continues, “I respect your decision. You’ve always been someone who values their independence.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, as he pays the bill and walks you to the door, doesn’t make a single misstep. His movements are fluid, his smile genuine. “Take care of yourself,” he says softly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who watches you walk away, his expression neutral, almost unreadable. There’s nothing overt, nothing dramatic, just a quiet shift in his gaze that feels like a shadow passing over the sun.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who sets down his coffee cup with a soft clink when you tell him, in a trembling voice, that you need to end things. His expression doesn’t change—calm, patient, as though he’s hearing something inevitable.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he listens to you. “You feel like you’ve lost yourself,” he repeats, his tone thoughtful. “That must have been so difficult to admit.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who doesn’t try to dissuade you, doesn’t argue or press for answers. Instead, he nods slowly. “If leaving is what will make you happy, I won’t stop you,” he says gently, his words carefully chosen, as though he’s weighing each one before speaking.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who lets the conversation drift into silence, his gaze soft yet focused. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he says after a moment. “And if you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll always be here for you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who watches you stand and gather your things, his smile faint but sincere. “You’ve always been strong,” he murmurs as you hesitate at the door. “Even now.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who remains seated long after you’ve left, his expression unchanged. There’s no visible reaction, no sign of distress—only the quiet stillness of someone who never truly lets go.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who sets aside his tea with a quiet sigh when you tell him, in a shaky voice, that you want to break up. He leans back slightly, his dark eyes thoughtful as he processes your words.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who gives you his full attention, his brows furrowing slightly in concern but not disbelief. “I see,” he says softly. “You’ve been feeling this way for a while, haven’t you?”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who nods slowly as you explain, his expression calm but attentive. “You don’t feel like yourself anymore,” he repeats, his tone careful and deliberate. “That’s not something I ever wanted for you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he regards you with a quiet intensity. “If this is what you need,” he says, his voice low and steady, “then I won’t hold you back. You deserve to be happy, even if it’s without me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who stands as you gather your things, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’ve always been someone who knows their own mind,” he says, his voice almost wistful. “I admire that about you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who watches you leave, his posture relaxed but his gaze lingering on the door long after it’s closed. He doesn’t move for a long time, his expression serene, though there’s an almost imperceptible tightness in his jaw—a subtle crack in the façade.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, after the breakup, doesn’t chase after you. He respects your decision—or so it seems. He remains polite, understanding, and almost distant, as if he’s already moved on.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who reaches out with carefully calculated timing, sending you little notes or messages that seem innocent. “You left your favorite book at my place. Should I drop it off, or would you prefer I mail it?” A reasonable question, but the reminder of how well he knows you lingers in your mind.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who subtly plants seeds of doubt without ever making it obvious. He’s a ghost in your life, popping up in conversations with mutual acquaintances, always painted in a positive light. “Chrollo’s been so generous lately; he helped fund a library downtown.” His altruism makes you wonder if you misunderstood him.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who manipulates circumstances so that you start to feel isolated without realizing it. A lost job opportunity here, a canceled appointment there—small inconveniences that seem coincidental but slowly erode your confidence.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who remains patient and kind when you reach out to him in moments of weakness. “I’m here for you, no matter what,” he says, his voice soft and reassuring. “You don’t have to do this alone.” It feels genuine, but his subtle inflection reminds you of how much easier life felt when he was by your side.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who ensures that you remember the best moments of your time together. A framed photo he “forgot” to return, a familiar scent in a letter—it’s never blatant, just enough to make you second-guess whether leaving him was truly the right choice.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who remains composed and graceful post-breakup, never pushing boundaries or demanding your attention. He doesn’t reach out directly, but his presence feels inescapable.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who ensures you hear about him through others—always in glowing terms. “Johan organized a fundraiser for the children’s hospital. He’s such a kind soul.” The stories make you question how someone so compassionate could have ever harmed you.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who plants doubts in your mind with precision. A single comment during a chance encounter: “You seem tired. Are you sleeping well?” It’s not accusatory, but the implication lingers, making you wonder if you’re truly okay on your own.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who subtly orchestrates situations where you feel overwhelmed and vulnerable. A sudden financial setback, an unexpected confrontation at work—problems that only seem to resolve themselves when he’s tangentially involved.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who appears at just the right moments, offering support that feels both coincidental and inevitable. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I noticed you were struggling. Let me help.” His calm demeanor makes refusing him feel illogical, almost cruel.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who always speaks to you with warmth and understanding, his words like a balm to your insecurities. “You’ve always been strong,” he says softly, “but even the strongest people need someone to lean on.” His sincerity feels unshakable, even as his influence quietly tightens around you.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who doesn’t fight the breakup, respecting your decision outwardly. He gives you space, never contacting you directly—yet his presence feels as steady as ever, a quiet force lingering just out of reach.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who subtly ensures that you notice his absence in your life. His knowledge of your routines allows him to step back at critical moments, leaving a void that feels unnervingly hollow.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who uses logic as his weapon, planting subtle doubts with precision. A chance meeting at the grocery store leads to a calm, reasoned conversation. “You’ve always been independent,” he says casually, “but it’s not weakness to need someone, you know.” His tone is gentle, unassuming, but his words stay with you.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who doesn’t sabotage you outright but instead carefully positions himself as the only stable constant in your life. When other relationships falter or opportunities slip through your fingers, he’s always there, offering quiet, unwavering support.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguruu who uses your own logic against you. “I understand why you left,” he tells you in a rare moment of vulnerability. “But I wonder if you’ve thought about what you really need. What makes you happy?” His words are measured, reasonable, and devastatingly effective.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never pushes too hard, his manipulation so subtle it feels like guidance. His calm demeanor and thoughtful advice make you question whether he’s truly the villain in your story—or if you’ve misjudged him entirely.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who waits patiently, never rushing, as the cracks in your resolve begin to show. He continues to be the steady, reliable presence in your life, always there when you falter but never overtly pushing.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who uses your love for independence as the final thread to weave you back to him. He leaves an innocuous invitation one evening: a handwritten note left in your mailbox. “There’s something I think you’d find interesting,” it reads. “Come if you’re curious. No pressure.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who takes you to a quiet library hidden deep in the city, its dimly lit shelves lined with rare, obscure texts—exactly the kind of place that would ignite your curiosity. He shows you something you’ve never seen before: a book you’ve spent years searching for, one you’d nearly given up hope of ever finding.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who smiles softly as he places the book in your hands, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t let you miss out on this,” he says. “It’s too perfect for you. It belongs with you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, as you flip through the pages with trembling hands, adds, “There are more like this. Rare treasures, hidden away. I’ve already started gathering them for you. No one else would understand their value the way you do.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, with his calm voice and unwavering gaze, ensures you feel that only he could ever truly see you, that his presence in your life is not control but a partnership you’d be foolish to walk away from.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who never pressures you, never raises his voice, and never crosses a line—his demeanor as gentle and perfect as it’s always been. He remains at the edge of your life, always watching but never intervening overtly.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who appears on your doorstep one rainy evening, his expression calm but his eyes soft with concern. In his hand is an envelope. “I wasn’t sure if I should show you this,” he says quietly, “but I couldn’t bear to keep it from you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who hands you a collection of documents—letters, reports, and photographs that seem to detail a series of coordinated misfortunes in your life. The lost job, the failed opportunities, the strange tensions with old friends—all traced back to a third party whose name you don’t recognize.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who lets you pore over the evidence in silence, his presence steady but non-intrusive. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he finally says, his voice low and steady. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on it. Whoever it is—they’ve been trying to isolate you. I’ve done my best to protect you, but...”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who watches as the realization dawns on you: the world is far more dangerous than you thought, and you are far more vulnerable than you ever realized. His timing is perfect—just as your walls are crumbling, he positions himself as your only sanctuary.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who places a hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he says. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who lets you spiral on your own, his involvement so subtle you don’t even realize how carefully he’s guiding you back to him. He never imposes, only steps in when absolutely necessary, his calm presence soothing your growing unease.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, one evening, reaches out with a cryptic message: “I found something that might interest you. Thought I’d share it with you before anyone else.” Attached is a link to a seemingly unrelated incident—a local scandal, a breach in security at a place you once frequented.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who meets you in a quiet café to discuss it, his tone as calm and logical as always. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way things have been unraveling around you.” His words are measured, his expression thoughtful, as though he’s piecing together a puzzle.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, after weeks of planting subtle hints, reveals his “final discovery”—a detailed explanation of how vulnerable you’ve become without him. He shows you the ways the world has already begun to erode your security, pointing out how reliant you’ve unknowingly been on his guidance all along.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leans back in his chair, his eyes calm but piercing. “I never wanted to burden you with this,” he says softly, “but I’ve been handling it for you. Keeping you safe. If you’d rather face it alone, I’ll respect that. But... I hope you’ll let me help you, as I always have.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who knows exactly when to pull back, leaving the choice in your hands—but ensuring that the only logical answer is to stay with him.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who doesn’t pressure you after helping you with the book and other rare treasures. Instead, he gives you time to process, staying polite and distant as though respecting your boundaries.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who contacts you weeks later with a calm, measured voice. “I just wanted to check in. You seemed troubled last time we spoke. I hope I didn’t overstep by helping you.” His tone is apologetic but faintly accusatory, planting the idea that you’ve been ungrateful for his efforts.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who listens carefully as you stumble through your words, his quiet sigh barely audible over the line. “I understand,” he says softly, “but it’s disheartening, you know. I’ve always supported you, even when you pushed me away. I thought we were a team.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who turns the conversation into a reflection of your supposed failings. “I never wanted you to feel weak or helpless,” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “If anything, I was trying to help you see your potential. Was that really so wrong of me?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who subtly reframes every moment of doubt you’ve ever had as evidence that you need him. “I saw how hard you were struggling,” he murmurs. “You didn’t see it, but I did. I thought... I thought you trusted me enough to let me help.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who lets silence hang in the air, his tone calm but weighted when he finally speaks again. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should’ve let you fall instead of trying to catch you. Would that have been better?” His logic is irrefutable, his manipulation so subtle that it feels like an honest conversation.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who ends the call with a resigned but loving note: “I’ll respect your decision, but know this—I only ever wanted what was best for you. I hope, one day, you’ll see that.” The guilt lingers long after the conversation ends, pulling you back toward him.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who doesn’t push after revealing the evidence of your supposed “stalker.” He lets you sit with the knowledge, never bringing it up again unless you do.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who runs into you by chance at a quiet café. He smiles softly, his demeanor as kind and understanding as always. “You look well,” he says warmly, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, when you thank him for helping you, brushes it off with a graceful wave of his hand. “I only did what anyone would’ve done,” he says. “But it’s good to see you taking control of your life again. I was worried about you for a while.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, over the course of the conversation, gently reminds you of all the ways you’ve struggled since leaving him. “It’s not your fault,” he assures you, his voice soft and soothing. “You were trying to be strong, but the world isn’t always kind to people like you—people who see things differently.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who subtly blames you for your insecurities without ever making it obvious. “You’ve always been so brilliant,” he says, “but sometimes you get lost in your own mind. That’s why I stayed—I wanted to ground you, to help you focus on what really matters.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who smiles sadly when you start to falter. “I know I’m not perfect,” he admits, his tone tinged with regret. “But I’ve always believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself. That’s why it hurt so much when you left—it felt like you didn’t trust me anymore.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who leaves you with a parting comment that stays with you long after he’s gone: “You’re strong, but strength doesn’t mean pushing everyone away. I hope you’ll remember that.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who remains calm and composed after showing you how vulnerable you’ve become. He doesn’t push or pry, allowing you to come to your own conclusions—or so it seems.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who waits until you reach out to him, his voice steady and reassuring when you speak. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says sincerely. “I was worried you might’ve felt overwhelmed after everything I told you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never raises his voice or shows frustration. Instead, he uses reason to guide you back to him. “You’ve always been so determined to stand on your own,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “But sometimes, it’s okay to admit when you need help. It doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who subtly reframes the breakup as a mistake on your part. “I didn’t want to say this before, but when you left, I was... worried about you. You’re so capable, but the world isn’t always fair. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t lose yourself.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who carefully plants the idea that you were at fault for how things ended. “Maybe I was too involved,” he says, his voice tinged with regret. “But I only wanted what was best for you. If that came across as controlling, then... maybe I need to rethink how I approach things.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who gives you just enough space to doubt your own decisions. “I never wanted to take anything away from you,” he says softly. “I wanted to help you build something better. But maybe I failed in showing you that.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who ends the conversation with a quiet, almost resigned comment: “Whatever you decide, just know that I’ll always be here for you. I can’t promise I’ll stop worrying, but I’ll try to respect your wishes.” His logic, his kindness, and his subtle manipulations leave you questioning whether you ever truly understood him—or yourself.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who watches you crumble before him, your voice thick with regret, your hands trembling as you reach for him. He doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets you grasp at his coat, his touch featherlight as he brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “No, my love,” he murmurs, his voice velvet-smooth. “You were simply lost. But now you’re here, where you belong.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who holds you that night, his body heat wrapping around you like a silken cage. His lips trace the slope of your neck, his breath a whisper of devotion. His fingers skim the ridges of your spine, languid and patient, memorizing every inch of your body. “I would forgive you a thousand times,” he breathes, “as long as you never leave me again.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who makes love to you as if he’s weaving scripture into your skin, each touch deliberate, each thrust a vow. His hands map your body with a reverence that borders on obsession, his lips branding you with soft, lingering kisses. And yet, there’s an edge beneath his tenderness—a silent warning in the way his nails dig just a little too deep, the way he marks your throat with his teeth.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose dark gaze never wavers as he cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice is soft, almost hypnotic. “Say it,” he coaxes, rolling his hips with slow, devastating precision. “Tell me who you belong to.” When you moan his name, it’s a prayer he drinks in greedily, his smile both serene and possessive.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who strokes your hair afterward, his lips grazing your temple as you succumb to exhaustion. His voice is barely audible, a lullaby meant for your ears alone. “Even if you left me again, I would always find you.” And though his words should unnerve you, the weight of his arms around you is far too comforting to resist.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who cups your face in his hands as you break apart before him, your apology spilling from your lips in frantic sobs. He hushes you gently, his thumbs smoothing over your damp skin, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite decipher. “You don’t need to apologize,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I knew you’d realize, sooner or later, that I was only protecting you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who takes his time with you that night, his touch languid and knowing, as though he’s unraveling you piece by piece. He kisses down your spine, savoring every shudder, every hitched breath. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands molding to your hips, holding you in place as he takes what is his.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who moves with slow, intoxicating precision, drawing out every whimper, every moan until you’re trembling beneath him. His grip tightens, his control absolute, and yet his voice remains unbearably gentle. “You were made for me,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “No one else will ever know you the way I do.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose every touch is a calculated act of devotion, his movements measured, each moment orchestrated to ensure you never forget the way he makes you feel. His lips curl into a soft smile when you cling to him, your breathless cries spilling into his skin. “That’s right,” he purrs. “Stay with me. Just like this.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who traces lazy circles against your bare shoulder as you lay entwined in the aftermath. His voice is almost absentminded, laced with quiet amusement. “It’s fascinating,” he muses, “how easily you let me shape you. But that’s all right—you don’t need to think about that.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who watches you with quiet patience as you stammer through your apologies, his fingers threading through yours as if to ground you. He tilts his head, his gaze unreadable. “You don’t need to explain,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “I always knew you’d come back to me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who handles you with deceptive gentleness that night, his touches reverent, his kisses lingering. And yet, there’s no mistaking the quiet command in his movements, the way he holds you against him as if daring you to slip away. “You’re mine,” he murmurs into your skin, his teeth scraping over your pulse. “You always have been.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who takes his time breaking you down, his pace unhurried yet devastating, his hands keeping you right where he wants you. His voice is low, soothing, as he whispers against your ear. “You don’t have to think anymore,” he coaxes, his fingers threading through your hair, his grip just firm enough to remind you of his strength. “Just let me take care of everything.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leaves traces of himself all over you—bruises shaped like fingerprints, love bites blooming across your skin like evidence of his devotion. His lips brush against your temple, his voice a promise disguised as a lullaby. “You’ll never need anyone else,” he murmurs. “Not when you have me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who holds you close as you drift into unconsciousness, his fingers idly tracing patterns over your spine. His voice is barely more than a breath, a thought he speaks into the darkness. “Even if you wanted to leave, I’d never let you.” He pauses, his lips curving against your skin. “But you won’t, will you?”

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

635 notes · View notes

dementedkittenribbon · 10 days ago

Text

First time tasting you

Jungkook x fem reader

18plus only!! Oral, fem receiving, munch!jungkook! My first time writing him so please be nice 🥺 (girl in picture is just for aesthetic!!)

“You’ve never…had a guy eat you out?” Jungkook says with disbelief and you play with the ends of your hair. You cast your gaze downwards and you feel his fingers tilt your chin up.

“I can, if you want.” He offers, rich brown eyes imploring yours and you swallow. You nod at him and he gives you a little smirk. Jungkook looks at the bed, “be a good girl and lay down.”

You swiftly listen, laying on your back and you naturally let your legs part. You wore a skirt with easy access but he didn’t immediately touch you.

He admired your form, trailing his eyes along your body and then set his hands on your hips. He gave them a light squeeze and sank to a kneeling position.

Jungkook pulled off your skirt, letting it fall to the ground and you were left in panties. Pink lace covering your cunt and he sighed sharply. He leaned down, his nose set against your inner thigh and he breathed in your scent.

“You smell so sweet,” Jungkook whispered and you whimpered softly as he licked outside of your panties. You were practically shaking and he hadn’t even taken them off yet. He sampled the very last part of your wetness and seemed to lose patience.

Removing your underwear, he kissed along your lower stomach, separating your legs and holding them apart. Satisfied you’d keep them open, he spread your pussy and gave it sloppy kisses.

You moaned as Jungkook started incorporating his tongue. He kitten licked your clit, sucking it between his lips and gripped your thighs. Swirling his tongue, he moved it to thrust inside you and you grasped his hair.

“Fuck-“ You squeaked as he moved his head, getting every drop and his nose hit the perfect spot.

“Good girl, being so sweet for me.” He grunted and you shuddered as the band in your stomach was close to snapping already. Jungkook then pulled back a little, spit directly on your cunt and returned to making out with it. He wasn’t shy at all. You peeked down and saw him lazily stroking his cock inside his pants as he tasted you. As if it pleasured him just as much as you.

“I’m gonna cum-“ You tried to breathe and hurdled over the edge. You clawed the blanket, back arching and your eyes squeezed shut. But he kept going, even more passionately and he didn’t show any sign of slowing down.

You truly expected him like other guys to just get you to cum and stop but Jungkook only seemed more into it. He groaned as you trembled, thighs shaking around his head and he pushed two fingers in knuckle deep.

Your eyes rolled back and a second orgasm exploded inside you. You made louder noises, your belly tightening as you chased your eye. Your pussy ached as he continued even after that.

“Please-“ You rasped and he shook his head.

“Let me enjoy it, let me have you. Need to keep tasting this pretty pussy, baby doll.”

@hauntedfawnn @songbirdmunson @loserboysandlithium

#jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook bts #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader #Kitty writes #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #jeon bts

817 notes · View notes

i-love-ptv · 19 days ago

Text

Give You The World ❀ᮬ

Boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend!Reader

Day 1 on your period is never easy, good thing your lovely boyfriend is here to help….right?

Wc: 1,394

Pure fluff! Rafe doesn’t know all that well abt period care, but he’s trying!! :(

An: hey chatttttt…I wrote this on day 1, it’s now day 6..gulp! but i had to keep up w the fluff streak so ya! also i feel like this would totally happen (not proof read cause i don’t feel like it girl)

Feedback is always appreciated and definitely welcomed!

Zombie-like groans filtered through the room faintly, resulting in Rafe waking up groggily. He stretches his muscles and inhales deeply, before sluggishly moving towards your side of the bed; awaiting the warmth you usually provide. Rafe is left confused at the fact that you’re nowhere to be found—at first.

But then the pained groans get louder, and Rafe finally takes the light shining beneath the connected bathroom’s door into account.

Rafe then checks his phone and looks at his calendar, the one that shows that today is the start of your period.

Your relationship with Rafe is fairly new, and he was utterly enamored with you; after all, you’re the only one that got him to settle for longer than a week. You’re unlike anyone he’s ever been with, and he wants to be the perfect boyfriend for you.

Hence why when you’d gotten your last period, he may or may not have saved a video he saw of a girl on Tiktok talking about how her boyfriend tracks her cycle.

Now this doesn’t mean Rafe knows what he’s doing, not by a long shot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

He gets up and heads to the door, before knocking lightly, but enough for you to hear it. “Baby?” He murmurs, a little apprehensively.

“Hu-urgm.” You groan even louder; Rafe winces.

“Can I uh—come in, maybe?” His brows are furrowed, and he’s trying to approach the situation gently. Knowing you: one wrong word and you’ll be in some sort of “mood” all day.

Whether that’s sad or mad depends on the severity of his stupidity.

Instead of a groan there’s an aggravated huff, but the lock jingles. Rafe waits a beat, wondering if you’ll open the door, but in reality he gets silence.

—At least, it’s as silent as it gets with your labored breathing.

Rafe lightly pushes on the door, and his eyes cast down to your form: curled up in a fetal position on the bare pearly tile, coddling your stomach tightly.

“Oh baby.” He whispers, before crouching down to your level. His touch is gentle, almost feather-like, as he wipes the hairs that stick to your forehead with sweat.

“Stop. It’s hot,” you glare at the boy, making him shrivel up to himself.

“Well…”Rafe begins softly, “If you don’t want me to touch you, what do you need?”

You huff yet again, “Pads, with wings,” you murmur, your voice barely the sound of a peep.

“Okay—okay, yeah, I can do that baby.” He offers a sweet, half smile, to which you return with a matching one. Although it’s more of a grimace than anything, Rafe still accepts it. “Can I put you on the bed though, sweetheart? Don’t want you laying on the floor..”

You nod your head with a hum, and allow your boyfriend to pick you up and carry you to your shared bed bridal-style. He carefully places you down on the plush comforter, and allows you to tangle yourself up between the sheets and several blankets you force him to keep on the bed. You let out a satisfactory groan, before turning your back to him and gripping the pillow.

“Do you want any Advil? Tylenol, maybe?” Rafe asks, his digits switching from circling your skin lightly to rubbing your side up and down.

“Already took some…Jus’ waiting for it to kick in,” you mumble. At least, that’s what you heard; Rafe heard mainly gibberish. He’s not surprised, though, and he’s definitely not blaming you. He bets the feeling of his fingers dancing delicately mixed with the sleepiness you tend to feel after taking the pain meds has you beat.

He hums in approval, and you can no longer feel his warm touch, meaning you have nothing else to focus on besides the ache in your back that’s slowly migrating to your stomach. You hear shuffling and assume he’s putting on his shoes, because after a few minutes, you feel the warmth of his body radiating near you.

Rafe leaves yet another kiss to your forehead as he caresses your cheek, before walking out of the room, but not before quietly shutting it. There’s a high probability of you getting a headache from Sarah’s insistent over-the-phone conversation with her husband and Rose’s alarmingly loud at home exercise video.

Rafe will do anything in his power to prevent any more pain inflicted on you, in every way possible—it’s a habit he’s picked up on.

Your eyes are bleary and resist sleep as Rafe’s footsteps sound further and further away. As you faintly hear his shoes hitting the stairs, you allow yourself to succumb to slumber.

Rafe opens the front door, he steps in and places his keys on the key hook. His hands are full as he walks, and there’s a slight ache in his legs from the constant walking from his impromptu shopping trip. It took the poor guy 20 minutes to even find the feminine care aisle, let alone actual menstrual products.

He notices his younger sisters on the couch watching one of those shitty rom-com movies. Speaking of sisters: Sarah perks up once she senses Rafe.

The blonde whips her head around, Rafe has no idea how the hell she hasn’t gotten whiplash. “I smell wings,” she squints her eyes at her brother.

Rafe can’t help but roll his eyes and say your name, almost as if he wishes he could summon you to save him from the onslaught of questions and comments he’s about to receive. “They’re for her.” He states firmly.

Sarah eyes the reusable bag in Rafe’s hand, and purses her lips. “Y’know, normally boyfriends get their girlfriends chocolate when they’re on their period, not wings.”

Rafe scrunches his face in annoyance, “She asked for pads with wings, so that’s what I got. Happy?” He smiles sarcastically at her, wanting nothing more than to go back to you.

Sarah furrows her brows at this, and Wheezie turns her head as well. Sarah gets up from her place on the couch and quickly snatches the bag from Rafe’s hand, making him sputter.

She pulls the pads out of the bag and scoffs, “Oh my god, you idiot!”

“Jesus! What now?” Rafe groans, and Sarah lets out a matching one.

“She wanted pads with wings, like—the ones that are attached, not fucking pads plus wings!”

“You’re lying, okay?! I know what I’m doin’ Sarah-“ and the bickering between the two siblings goes on for minutes.

The sound of your feet padding on the cold floor was soft, barely audibly compared to the two eldest Cameron siblings arguing.

You can hardly see through your squinting, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes due to the warm sunny rays beating through the windows. You place a hand on Rafe’s shoulder, and he slightly jumps at the interruption.

Both Sarah and Rafe turn to you, although Rafe’s smile isn’t even close to what Sarah’s expressing. She’s more flabbergasted if anything.

“Hey!—Hey, baby. I uh, got your stuff..” Rafe looks almost apprehensive. It’s now that you finally take in the scent of fresh chicken wings, as well as the unopened box of pads. The box clearly shows they’re wingless.

“..I—I got the right stuff, right? I got what you asked for?” He’s looking down at you promisingly, and you can’t find it in your heart to break his. So you don’t.

You go to speak, but your voice fails you for a second. You pause before answering, “Yeah, yeah you did good, baby.” Sarah picks up on your tone of uncertainty, but thankfully, Rafe does not.

You take the box of pads and the plastic takeout box of wings from his hands. You signal him to lean down, so you can press a kiss to his lips, which he reciprocates both eagerly and smugly.

You slowly walk back upstairs to your nest of a bed, the sleep still fogging up your senses faintly.

“Told you,” Rafe says to Sarah triumphantly; he's beyond cocky.

Sarah brings her hand up to her face, where she rubs her forehead in exasperation.

“Y’know what? Okay.” Sarah walks back over to the couch where Wheezie sits and moves her focus to the movie playing on the screen.

Rafe will give you the world if you ask, even if there’s a few hiccups along the way.

#lee’s writing! ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎#Spotify #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe imagine #outer banks #obx x you #obx x reader #outer banks imagine

434 notes · View notes

simpjaes · 9 months ago

Note

enha hyung line wet dreams :ccc

hyung line + wet dreams

warning: free use, somnophilia

mdni.

☆ jay:

the type to be embarrassed because during waking hours, he's a bit against letting people see him be weak. not saying he wouldn't care for you publicly or during waking hours, i think it's just more so the fact that he wouldn't let people know he needs attention or care too. so, ofc, waking up on the brink of an orgasm to seeing you already looking at him curiously, he'd feel embarrassed. ears red, blood rushing straight to his cock, which would only jump at sensitivity when he tries to shift and turn with a small "sorry, had a nightmare."

he knows better than anyone how bad of a liar he is. so, when you respond with a knowing laugh and a "oh? a nightmare huh? which horror had you moaning like that then?"

it would likely end with you being the one to make the move for him. with his back turned to you trying to wish away the embarrassment only to feel your hand reach around to help him out. he'd immediately sigh out with a sleepy moan and probably grab at your wrist to force a perfect pace :( turning slightly to kiss against you with small and embarrassed little breathy thank yous.

★ jake:

1000% humping against you in his sleep. probably dead asleep when you wake up to the damp spot against your leg that seeps through his sweat pants. you'd have to shake him awake, or jerk him off a little so he wakes up properly to take care of the problem.

absolutely happens a lot too. like even if you guys had sex the night before, he's ready to go mid fucking sleep and despite how exhausted you are, all it takes is a little bit of heavy petting and he'll usually do the rest. he's definitely not embarrassed either, though he'll probably wake up mid-orgasm time and time again and immediately cling to you just to prolong the feeling.

also mutters out apologies like jay would, but not because he's embarrassed. mostly because he knows you're sleepy and he knows he's gonna have to keep you awake ;-; you guys probably have some sort of free use agreement after a while though, where if he wakes up at 3:30 in the morning needing to get his dick wet, all he needs to do is roll over, spoon you a little, and play with you until he can slip it right in . gotta get the quickie out of the way so you both can return to peaceful sleep sdkjhfkjsdfds AAAAAAAAAAAAA

☆ sunghoon:

similar to jay but probably not sorry about it. he'll wake from his wet dream not giving a shit about anything but getting off. whether that includes him jerking off to your pretty, sleeping form, or him waking you up by shoving his cock between your thighs and fucking forward with a tight grip pulling you back against him. bro is desperate and insane when he's sleepy, probably even a bit annoyed at his own libido for waking him up if he needs to get up early.

at first, you're probably a little shocked waking up to such a harsh grip adjusting your near-limp body, maybe you even let out a little yelp followed by his deep groaning at the pleasure he uses you for. you'd get used to it though, and absolutely not be opposed to him using you if he needs it. after all, he can be quite vanilla at times, so this would be a welcome change even if it only happens once every few months.

also the type to be in a really good mood the next morning. breakfast in bed type shit, bringing you roses when he gets back home type shit.

★ heeseung:

gets pissy because he always wakes up at the best part, but always feels better knowing you're like...right there next to him. sometimes he just fists his cock himself if he's particularly tired, spilling out on you and letting you sleep through the mess lol, other times he's probably waking you up because he's hovering over you and flipping you over so he can start rubbing the head of his cock between your legs.

wouldn't apologize and instead would go straight to dirty talking and probably praise for you just so he can get what he wants. he does always make sure you get off too though, unlike some of the others here *coughjakecough*. he'd def soothe you through the dry penetration though. not saying he'd do it politely. SDKJHFKSDJ probably more just say shit like "yeah, you'll let me, right?" followed by a "knew you would, baby, knew it." with a lil kiss right under your jaw lmfao. [the evil heeseung agenda continues]

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #sunghoon smut #jake smut #jay smut

1K notes · View notes

siddyyyyyyyy · 1 month ago

Text

Friendly Neighbourhood

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 3.5 K summary: Befriending his neighbour gets out of hand. warnings: fluff, no y/n used, injuries from Gotham activities a/n: got this idea while doing my groceries. also decided to change up my theme a bit! enjoy! divider: @kodaswrld

You barely manage to lift out the two heavy grocery bags out of the back of your car, setting them down at your feet. With a heavy sigh, you fish out your keys and struggle to pick the bags up again, cursing under your breath.

»Need help with that?« You jump up at the deep voice behind you, looking to your right before you spot a similar man, close to your age.

»Uh...«

Jason can see the way your wheels are turning in your head, trying to figure out who he is while also thinking over his suggestion. Finally, he decides to help you out. »Jason… Todd. I live next door to you, if you noticed.«

He shrugs and fidgets with his hands inside his jacket pockets, already regretting it. But luckily, you simply light up and nod, glancing down at your bags again.

»Oh, right! No, I know, just needed a moment. Also, I‘d greatly appreciate your help.« Finally a normal person. No, finally a person that isn‘t actively trying to make your life worse. Without another word, the taller man picks the bags up and gets going to the front door of the apartment complex. You unlock the door and let him walk in first, taking notice of his broad back, still mesmerised, even when he‘s wearing a dark leather jacket. At the front of your door, you catch your breath after walking up four stories worth of stairs, needing a moment to compose yourself fully. Jason, however, doesn‘t seem to too exhausted and simply waits for you to open the door.

»Should I put them inside or just leave it here?« He feels rather awkward in this situation but refuses to show it or let himself cringe at his words, wanting to come off as friendly and nice.

»You can put it here, it‘s fine. Thanks, again.« Jason smiles lightly in return and steps back to his apartment door the opposite of yours, stepping in after unlocking it.

Inside, you stash away your groceries and take a small break, eventually slapping yourself for being so awkward with him. How did you not recognise him earlier, by your car? He is your neighbour! As a form of an apology, you settle into your kitchen and start making some baked goods, focusing on making the best cookies and bread you can muster.

After some hours, perfecting your cookies with sprinkles, and carefully wrapping the fresh loaf of bread into a pretty paper, his gift is ready. You put the sweet cookies into a tupperware, wrapping a light lace around it with a bow. Finally satisfied, you take your last wits and step out into the hallway, ringing his doorbell. To say that you‘re nervous puts it pretty well, your palms sweating lightly as you hold the baked good in yours arms. Jason answers his door, not having expected to see you again so soon again. Immediately, he straightens his posture and clears his throat, hoping he doesn‘t look like a mess right now.

»Hey, I just wanted to drop by some sweets after you helped me earlier… thanks again.«

You smile sweetly at him and hold out the loaf of bread with the box of cookies, overwhelming him. Although he doesn‘t see, surprised or shocked, he feels like his legs might give out under him.

»Oh— thanks. You didn‘t need to do all that, though.«

Jason takes the small box and craddles the lkoaf of bread into his arms, noticing how warm it is. You simply smile back, standing there for a moment longer before you awkardly say goodbye. From that moment on, Jason made sure to see you more often during the week and hopefully help you more with mundane stuff like getting your groceries into your apartment.

◐

In general, you didn‘t see Jason often. There were a few occasions you can remember seeing him, and it was extremly underwhelming. Once, you entered the basement with the on laundry day at the same time as him and he left immediately after you entered. You didn‘t think much of it, glad about the fact that you didn‘t have to worry about someone seeing your underwear. Another time was when you parked your car near the building and saw him getting off his bike before walking into the apartment complex before you. Thinking of it, that was approximately a week ago, if not less. Wait, he rides a bike? Maybe you should definitely try to see him more during the day, maybe he isn‘t that bad of a neighbour.

Even though you normally went into the laundry room in the mornnig to avoid people, you just couldn‘t bring it over yourself to get up a few minutes earlier than normally for that. But considering that it‘s rather late in the night, there‘s probably no one in there. Picking out the dirty clothes that need a wash, you walk downstairs into the shared basement and open the heavy door with your back, since your hands are busy with the heavy basket. Walking in, you didn‘t expect to see the same person you were thinking about earlier in the day. With an awkward smile, you pick a free mashine machine and mind your own business. Jason seems to be almost finished with his laundry, throwing in the last piece urgently. He nodded back at your smile, turning his broad back to you as he messes with the settings of the machine.

In the meantime, you throw in your clothes into the free machine, being composed, although you hope that he doesn‘t notice the light tremors in your hands. Why are you so nervous? It‘s not like you two talked more than three words together. Before you could overthink the situation, he leaves the room with a final glance over his shoulder until the room falls into yet another silence. The sounds of his washine machine going off is the only thing that keeps your mind in this reality. Finishing up your task, you can‘t help but be curious. With careful steps, you peer a little into the machine that washes his clothes, only noticing some flashes of red in between the black clothes. Without trying to be creepy, you casually make your way back into your apartment, forgetting about the previous interaction.

◐

Another week, another grocery haul. Exiting out of your car, you manage to put the two heavy bags onto the concrete before you fish out for your keys. This will probably take two trips, silently wishing that you magically grew a pair of biceps like your friendly neighbour has. Sadly, it doesn‘t happen, even after staring at the two grocery bags. With a final sigh, you pick up one of them and don‘t notice the man beside you until you lift your head up. From the surprise, you jump up and let go of your bag, a small gasp leaving you.

»Oh— so sorry, didn‘t mean it! You need help with that?« The black haired man seems just as surprised as you, seemingly guilty for scaring you.

But once again, your brain needs a second to catch up on the situation. Luckily, you nod and smile, rather amused. Either amused at the scare or his guilty expression.

»I was actually waiting for you to appear, so yes. Thanks.«

With a faint smile, Jason picks both bags into his hands and lets you lead the way to your apartment, as if he didn‘t know better. On the way up, he does his best to cover up the light sweat as he carries those groceries for you.

»Jeez, what do you have in there? A ton of bricks for a house?« He blurts out, his voice lightly out of breath. You can‘t help but chuckle at his comment, although you start to feel bad for him. »Stuff someone needs to survive during a week.«

You shrug in response and unlocks your door, not as exhausted as him. He sets the bags down by the door of your apartment, before he slips back into his own home, giving you a smile and a polite goodbye. After sorting through your ingredients, you can‘t help but think about the interaction for the rest of the day, hoping this will happen more often… without the scare.

Unlike last week, you simply bring him an easy recipe for cookies that he gladly takes and studies for the rest of the evening.

◐

Would it be weird for a neighbour to bring over cookies randomly? It was out of your recipe anyways, so you must like it, right? Judging from the last two times, it should be socially accepted to gift your neighbour something to show gratefulness.

Finally, Jason knocks at your door and tries not to fidget with the plastic bag in his hands, filled with cookies that he couldn‘t finish up. Unfortunately for him, the he made too many sweets, but now he has a good excuse to see you. The door opens after a few moments, revealing you in a fuzzy robe, draping over your body like a comfy blanket. Jason almost chokes on his spit and looks down, feeling like he just disturbed your privacy. You on the other hand, chuckle softly before greeting him.

»Good evening. Sorry about my outfit, got comfy.« You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms, ignoring the embarassment. At the same time, Jason composes himself and holds out the bag of cookies and your tupperware from the earlier cookies.

»It‘s fine, I tried your recipe and made too much. Hope you like them.« You take the gift with a grateful smile and look back up at him. You nod, trying to say something to keep the short interaction going.

»Thanks. So, you also like baking? I was hoping I didn‘t make you confused with it.«

Jason shakes his head with a faint smile, fidgeting with his hands briefly, before stuffing them into his pockets. »No, I like baking. Used to make cupcakes when I was younger, it‘s the time that keeps getting lesser these days.«

You get the struggle of having not enough time for yourself. Now that you think of it, you realise that he probably sacrficised time for these cookies. You smile back at him, keeping the cookies in your hands.

◐

It was like any other night shift for you, returning back inside your apartment complex early in the morning, with an aching body. The keys jingle in your hands as you go up the last few stairs into your story. As another yawn escapes you, you don‘t notice the other person in the hallway at the door opposite of yours.

Jason pauses and glances to his side of the sound of footsteps, staying frozen on his spot for another moment. Finally, your eyes focus on him and you give him a brief nod. He nods back, albeit slightly confused.

»Nightshift?« Judging by your rather formal clothes that remind him of work uniform, that‘s the only conclusion he comes up with. You nod in response, standing by your door. His leather jacket is in his arm, seemingly hiding something underneath it, or maybe your brain just makes things look weird after staying up for so long.

»You too?« Jason nods after a brief pause, glancing back down at his hand with his house key.

»Yeah… gonna rest up now.«

After saying goodbye, you return to your flat and pass out on your bed in a matter of seconds.

Moments like these happened more often where you both came back home at the same time or did your laundry in each other‘s company. Your conversations consisted of some small talk, sharing recipes together, and Jason made sure to bring your groceries up every week. It was fun and refreshing to have a helpful and nice neighbour like that. Especially if he has a few extra muscles that seem totally unecessary on him. Either way, you admire his workout routine, whatever it is, that he does.

Another night shift, another exhausted mind and insane craving for your bed. What you didn‘t expect to see was a vigilante by your door. Well, opposite of your door.

You both pause, a light gasp of shock escaping you as you stand there, frozen. Red Hood doesn‘t move as well, staring back at you silently until he finally clears his throat.

»Uh… do you know where Jason Todd is?«

His voice is rough and more raspy due to the modulator of the helmet, making you tense further. You process his words and shake you head quickly, glancing at Jason‘s door briefly.

»What? I- no, I didn‘t see him lately at all. Don‘t know where he went last month.«

A silence follows in the corridor, hoping that he believes you. Unexpectetly, he nods and makes his way past you, although with some distance.

»Good night, miss.« He mumbles, although the voice changer makes it sounds rather sinister. It seems like he doesn‘t notice, leaving you be and walks down the stairs in a hurry. You release a heavy sigh and watch his back until you hurry inside your apartment and lock your door, just in case.

You manage to fall asleep after pacing in your room, overthinking the situation. Is Jason in danger? Should you check up on him now? Considering that it‘s past four in the morning, that‘s a bad idea. Exhaling, you take a shower and eventually fall asleep afterwards.

You don‘t see Jason the next day in the laundry room, making you even more concerned. Luckily, you catch him next week as you walk out of your place to leave for the store.

»Jason! I need to talk to you for a moment.« You urge him lightly, stepping closer to him in the hallway. He stops and stares down at you, already tense. He doesn‘t know what to expect, ready to pull you inside his apartment and blackmailing you, so you won‘t reveal his identity to someone else… or worse, the media. But to his surprise, you feel concerned and look concerned.

»Listen, I get it if it‘s uncomfortable for you, but are you in danger? Because...« you hesitate, trying not to scare him, »Because I saw Red Hood at your door a week ago and he— he asked for you. Obviously I lied and told him you were gone since last month, but… do you need help?«

He listens to your small rant, seeing the worry on your face as clear as day. After thinking and contemplating in his mind, he pretends to be two people.

»I… you know, no one can know about this, but… he‘s actually a nice guy, just seems intimidating. He checks up on me a few times a year, but trust me, he isn‘t bad.«

He explains calmly, hoping to reassure you. The elder lady that lives above you comes down the stairs, seemingly noisy about the whispering in the stairwell. Jason notices and gently guides you inside, hand on your shoulder. Finally, inside and without any prying eyes, he goes on.

»Did he scare you?« This time, he seems worried as his eyes meet yours again. You shake your head, then nod, wanting to be honest.

»A bit… his voice just scared me.« He nods in understanding and lets go of your shoulder, glancing around his flat briefly.

»Want tea? It‘s the least I can do.«

That‘s how you settle onto his couch and drink tea together, taking your mind off the worrying topic with more mundane things.

◐

After getting to know more about Jason and why he knows Red Hoood, you feel calmer but also slightly more alert. Whenever you walk back home, you make sure to watch the rooftops, wanting to catch a glimpse of Red Hood, in case he patrols or goes to visit Jason again. Sadly, you don‘t see him, and find yourself wishing that he would appear someday again. Preferably at Jason‘s door, so you can escape into your apartment in case of an emergency.

Luckily, you catch him as you come back home after another long nightshift. You narrow your eyes at him, stopping in front of him as you take him in. The red guy seemingly stares back at you, exhaling lightly.

»Not scared this time, miss?« He sees you shake your head before untensing. He hums lightly under his breath, leaning up against the wall by Jason‘s door.

»Nightshift? Jason told me about your hard work.« He tries his best to pretend being another person as he stays casually leaned against the wall, arms crossed. You seemingly perk up shortly as he mentions your neighbour, eventually composing yourself afterwards.

»Did he? Well...you better take good care of him, I need him to carry my groceries.« Little did you know that Jason feels way more confident under his helmet, taking a few steps closer.

»Yeah? Such a big girl and you still need help with such things?«

You watch as he steps closer to you, but you don‘t get easily swoon over with his confident cockiness.

»Well, some girls like getting help with that. You should know that yourself, aren‘t you a vigilante?«

Jason explained the duties of Red Hood to you on the same evening when you had tea together. Now you‘re using his words against him, in a way he didn‘t expect. Red Hood pauses and blinks, coming off as stunned with his blank helmet. Finally, he steps back, raising his hands up in the air.

»Don‘t need to get cheeky there. Just wanted to tease ya.« He tries to save it, but once again, it falls on deaf ears as you walk past him to your door.

»Just do your job.« Is the last thing you say before you walk into your place, leaving him specheless in the hallway. Seems like you actually buy his act of being two seperate people. With a final nod, he enters his own apartment and wonders how long he can keep the act going.

◐

You visit Jason the day after, sitting on his couch as you talk his ears off about anything.

»Yeah— and then he stepped closer and just straight up insulted me. He thinks I‘m weak!« You complain to him as he prepares two cups of tea in his kitchen, smiling to himself as you talk.

»I‘m sure he didn‘t mean it like that.« He shrugs as he carefully walks over and hands you the sweet tea you seem to love.

»Still… he‘s a bit weird.« You mumble against the rim of the mug, making Jason grin more amused to himself. He leans further back against the couch, warming his hands up against his own cup of tea. A comfortable silence stretches between you as you simply sit beside each other, occaisonally sipping on your hot tea.

You sit up straighter, focusing on the flash of bright red underneath a pile of clothes at the armchair. Without trying to assume much, you glance subtly at Jason before you speak up.

»Is that his helmet?« He perks up beside you and looks up to where your eyes are focused on. Instead of immediately agreeing and covering it up, he watches you and stays calm, trying to predict how you‘ll react.

»Huh… yeah.«

You quirk an eyebrow at his response, finally looking back at him beside you. Your eyes narrow and you lean back into the couch, trying to say something to find out more.

»And.. he just left? Without his mask?«

»Mhmm.« Jason hums back in agreement, although he doesn‘t seem too convinced of himself. In reality, he feels extremly bad for lying right into your face the entire time. So, he stopped trying. It feels like you won‘t react too dramatic anyway, he hacked your phone and find out that you didn‘t tell anyone about any of this in the first place. In short, he thinks you are trustworthy, after doing his usual researching. Besides, it‘s hard to get rid of you anyway, considering you live right next door to him.

»Right...« You sigh out, finally putting two and two together, but won‘t voice it yet, being too nervous. Until he finally speaks up, leaning up this time.

»You know, I‘m surprised you believed me for this long.«

The tension finally snapped, making you relax but also grow excited.

»I knew you were the same guy all along! You both speak the same way.« You exclaim with a relieved smile, making him tilt his head in light disagreement.

»If you only saw me talking to muggers...« Jason mutters before he takes a sip of his tea.

It feels refreshing to trust someone with his identity outside of the whole vigilante and work area. Especially with someone so pretty.

←MASTERLIST

#dc comics #x reader #fanfic #batfam #batfamily #jason todd #drabble #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #jason todd drabble #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfic #fluff drabble #one shot #fluff #masterlist

493 notes · View notes

littlelamy · 3 months ago

Note

omggg more trophy wife reader and dad rafe!!!!!

hope you like it! ⭐️As you sipped your morning coffee in the sunlit kitchen, you felt Rafe’s arms slip around your waist. You leaned into his embrace, a warm smile already forming as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth against your ear, “you’ve been working so damn hard at looking this good. I think it’s time I gave my gorgeous wife a little break.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, raising a brow in playful suspicion. “A break?”

He nodded, that familiar spark lighting up his eyes. “Yeah, baby. Just you and me, on a little escape. Thought we could take the jet and get the hell out of here for the weekend. Maybe somewhere with beaches, crystal-clear water… Bora Bora sound good?”

Your heart skipped a beat. A spontaneous trip to Bora Bora with your loving, impossibly charming husband? Rafe had a knack for sweeping you off your feet just when you needed it most.

“What about the kids?” you asked, though the excitement was already building.

“Sarah said she’d take care of them for us,” he replied with a grin. “And, well, John B too. But don’t worry—Sarah’s got it handled.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing Sarah’s responsible nature meant you could leave without a worry in the world, even if John B tagged along.

Within hours, you were on the jet, Rafe sitting close enough to reach for your hand whenever he wanted, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered. The flight was long, but with Rafe, every second felt exciting, like the anticipation was part of the fun. When you finally landed in Bora Bora, the warm, tropical breeze welcomed you, along with Rafe’s arm slung around your waist.

After checking into a luxurious overwater bungalow with panoramic views of turquoise water and Mount Otemanu in the distance, Rafe guided you to the finest boutiques in Vaitape, his arm resting possessively around your waist as he led you through each store, his attention unwavering. He watched you try on outfits, his gaze lingering just a little too long, his words low and flirtatious.

“That dress,” he said, leaning close, his fingers brushing your arm as you showed him the deep, fitted silk gown, “fits you like it was fucking made for you. But then again, everything looks incredible on you.” He tilted his head, a playful smirk forming. “Or off you. Either way, it’s perfect.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you turned back to the mirror, pretending to study the dress while you caught him watching you through the reflection, admiration practically radiating from him.

The afternoon continued with him indulging your every whim. Shoes, dresses, jewelry—Rafe insisted on all of it. As you browsed, he found excuses to pull you close, whispering little compliments, his voice laced with that confident charm that never failed to make you feel like the only woman in the world.

Later, as the day faded into a golden evening, Rafe arranged for a private dinner with a view over the lagoon, where the soft waves lapped beneath you and the sky turned pink and orange above. You sat across from him, candles flickering softly between you, casting warm light across his face.

“I love seeing you like this,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes tracing over your features. “Spoiled, relaxed. You fucking deserve it, you know.”

You smirked, raising a brow. “You’re spoiling me, Rafe. What did I ever do to deserve a husband who takes me halfway across the world just to treat me?”

He chuckled, his hand reaching across the table to catch yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, reassuring rhythm. “Just by being you, sweetheart. You’re stunning, charming, and somehow, all mine. I’m the lucky bastard.”

As the night went on, Rafe didn’t let a moment go by without reminding you how much he adored you. His flirting was relentless, with just enough edge to keep you smiling and blushing.

By the time you returned to your bungalow, the soft sound of water below and a starlit sky above, you felt completely cherished and at ease, like there was no place you’d rather be. And as Rafe pulled you close, murmuring one last promise to keep making days like this for you, you knew you’d never doubt just how damn much this man adored you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #dad!rafe cameron #dad!rafe au #dad!rafe x trophywife #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron blurb

587 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 7 months ago

Text

forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k

read on ao3

════════════════════

Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless.

Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy.

There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure.

Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light.

The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone.

What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time.

He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully.

It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him.

This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again.

What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you.

No, he indulges you.

"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it."

The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you.

Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling.

Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours.

The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring.

Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it.

He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is.

You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program.

Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you.

Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together?

By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories.

Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want.

"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik."

And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in.

He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same.

Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone.

Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine.

"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit."

Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch.

"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment.

"And now look at you. Wet and desperate."

He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping.

"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always."

"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen."

You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you."

Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts.

He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing.

"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness."

Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you.

You are frustratingly beautiful.

Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery.

"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-"

"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it."

You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form.

"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me."

Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval.

"There. Very good. You're alright."

"Your fingers," You pant, "Please."

Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again."

Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward.

"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?"

"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself."

You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy."

Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then."

You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat.

But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours.

Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred.

You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact.

With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing.

"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?"

If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be.

In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome.

"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?"

"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close.

"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please."

Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating.

"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone."

"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking."

Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?"

Oh, he knows you far too well.

"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place.

You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me."

"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable."

"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-"

"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling.

Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his.

"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent."

He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening.

"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering.

"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer.

Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name.

Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will.

You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are.

But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan.

He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware.

Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos.

You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious.

"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-"

"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?"

"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me."

It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend.

Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter.

Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight.

"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate."

"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this."

"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise."

"Bullshit."

"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection."

"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?"

Did he?

Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate.

He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel —

Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome.

If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love.

You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty.

He murmurs, "Look at me."

It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention.

You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side.

He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table.

You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own.

"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me."

Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments.

"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."

Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl.

"Defiant again. As expected."

"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite."

"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use."

With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes.

"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to."

Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp.

"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't."

"I'm not-"

Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours.

Finally.

The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe.

You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important.

When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed.

You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik."

And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again.

All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly.

He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense?

He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin.

It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love?

Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts.

He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear.

Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue.

"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight."

"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?"

"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself."

"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach.

You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?"

"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision."

"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty."

Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess.

Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies.

If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down.

Would that be so bad?

Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me."

Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be.

But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you."

Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart.

You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes.

Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart.

You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should.

He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended.

But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse.

Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars.

Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver.

He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you.

"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again."

Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul.

Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable.

You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does.

Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need.

It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close.

Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself.

Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you.

"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it."

You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name."

Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob.

"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly.

"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus."

You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?"

Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded.

Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites.

It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you.

Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty.

His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate.

"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name."

Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting.

"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need."

"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future.

You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…"

With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear.

"You want me to fuck you?"

And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear.

"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me."

It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure.

You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words.

You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you.

For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave.

How would he take you? No, how would you want him?

He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this.

You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender.

Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way.

Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured.

Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again.

Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost.

Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak.

He isn't supposed to be weak.

"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…"

Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile.

You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static.

Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it.

No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this.

He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist.

Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting.

You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential —

Something snaps.

"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?"

He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating.

The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold.

There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself.

"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick?

You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more."

There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust?

You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words.

"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you."

Pulling you apart would be delightful.

Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to.

Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you.

Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you.

Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion.

You shouldn't feel for him either, right?

Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too?

You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving.

You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to.

And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours."

All his.

Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already.

The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer?

Oh, he is going to unravel you.

Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable.

All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing.

When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent.

And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything.

"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More."

Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course."

Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe.

Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart.

Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open.

"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within.

"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet."

"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…"

The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his.

Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer.

Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice.

"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit."

Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting.

Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths.

You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive.

Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes.

"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm.

"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless."

Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely.

It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it.

"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-"

"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate."

You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one."

"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me."

"You were once- Oh-"

Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more.

He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure.

You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck.

Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing.

Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off.

Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster.

Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more.

"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love."

Love.

"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…"

You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands.

You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love.

He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks.

Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world."

He would give it all to you.

The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness.

His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it.

"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…"

Is that what you're imagining?

So he doesn't stop.

As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to."

Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-"

His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars.

He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high.

Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become.

There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be.

You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality.

Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed.

He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much.

You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat.

He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered.

Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…"

He is going to regret this.

Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this.

Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything.

He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned.

The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud.

Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame.

You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it.

You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him?

You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment.

The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back.

As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last.

It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents.

Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt.

Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting.

Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright?

"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop."

So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel.

Your mind and heart are racing.

"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do."

His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both.

Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him.

He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name —

"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…"

Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please."

You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you?

The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel.

He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down.

When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and —

And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else.

"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you."

If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding.

Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water.

How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget.

How long has he needed to hear you say them?

Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain.

Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed.

With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop?

You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake.

"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-"

Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it.

Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea.

If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip?

"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you."

Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You.

Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal.

Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one.

It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time.

You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan.

You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you.

Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent.

You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you.

There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself.

Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure.

"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes."

Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine.

Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human.

"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to."

Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these."

Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises.

Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?"

"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me."

When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds.

Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance.

"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here."

A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek.

At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes.

Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this.

You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow.

It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot.

You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating."

"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning."

His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable.

"Ah. That sounds concerning."

"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most."

Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though."

"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually."

"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me."

He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone.

The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break.

"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless."

Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow."

You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya."

Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough.

You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs.

Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different.

Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove.

There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames.

You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter.

For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost.

In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them.

It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew?

Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate.

He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it.

Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #viktor smut #machine herald x reader #don't. perceive me #runs away so fast

4K notes · View notes

borathae · 1 month ago

Text

Pink Ribbons

“Pink ribbons around his dainty wrists, his pretty hair a mess and drool covering his puffy lips. Your husband has never looked cuter.”

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Slice of Life Fluff, Smut

Warnings: sub!Jungkook, Mommy Dom!Reader, cozy BDSM, safe power play, a cute chicken & movie date, he is very snuggly and clingy <3, he is also very obedient and the goodest boy, praise, good boy kink, loving dirty talk, bondage with pink silk ribbons, she takes videos of him because he is the cutest, handjob as he sits on her lap, gentle movements with lots of love, lots of kisses and touches all over his pretty body, a lil bit of edging, he is in such a cozy & safe subspace, he cums all over himself, did i mention that this is incredibly soft & cozy?, did you know that this is cozy?

Wordcount: 4.9k

a/n: i love him so much!!!!! omfg i'm sobbing :( he is the cutest pookie ever 😭 this story made me feel very cozy as i was writing it, i hope you guys can feel cozy as well hehe 💗 did you know that this is cozy?

“Jungkook, Jungkook, Bunny, Bunny, Bunny”, you come running around the corner calling his name repeatedly.

Jungkook, who is in the middle of a relaxing yoga session next to the windows, lifts his head.

“Yes?”

You plop down in front of him, holding your phone.

“I saw something.”

“Okay?” Jungkook sits back, knowing that he won’t be able to continue his exercises until you showed him whatever you saw.

“Do you have time? Is it okay?” you ask.

“Yes, show me”, he assures you, scooting closer to you so he can see better.

You recently downloaded some famous video app because your college friends all talk about it and you wanted to feel included. You told him that you are only doing it to be trendy and to actually know what the young people talk about, but Jungkook has a gist that you are finding a liking in the app yourself. Sometimes he catches you literally cackling at your phone because of something funny you saw on the app. Other times, like today, you come running to show him whatever delighted you.

“I just saw this and it’s so cute. Look.”

You flip the phone and show him the video. It is a video of a generally perceived as attractive man filmed in pink light. Jungkook’s heart tightens in jealousy, his stomach sinks.

“Isn’t it cute?” you ask him.

“Why do you think that other men are cute?” Jungkook throws back with a huge, massive, immense pout, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “hmpf.”

“What? No you stupid noodle, it’s about the ribbons. Look.” You repeat the video. “His girlfriend tied ribbons around his arms and his torso and his wrists. Isn’t that so cute? We could do that too.”

“Ooooooh” Jungkook’s lips form the perfect O-shape and his eyes widen, arms relaxing, “ooooh you mean thaaat.”

You slap his chest gently.

“Stupid noodle. Of course I do. He is not cute. You are.”

Jungkook grins, “course I am.”

You roll your eyes. He is such a jealous baby sometimes.

“Whatever, silly. What do you think of the idea? Should we play with ribbons?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to think for long.

“Yes, I love the idea”, he agrees, nodding his head.

“Coolio as fuck.”

Jungkook laughs, “you don’t sound trendy when you talk like this. Just saying.”

“Whatever.” You stand up. “I’ll be going ribbon shopping. Should I get takeout?”

“Yes, god. I want chicken.”

“Alrighty right. I’m going now. See you later alligator.”

“My love, please stop talking like this”, Jungkook laughs.

You merely grin at him and then leave, telling him that you won’t take long and that you love him.

Jungkook returns to his yoga session, finding great relaxation this way. His week was very stressful and yoga always calms him down.

He already finished his session, now getting tomorrow’s outfit ready, when you come back home. It is not a work outfit, but a date outfit because tomorrow is date day. Jungkook has been looking forward to date day the entire week. It is your turn to plan the activities and you hinted at bowling. Jungkook really loves bowling.

“My love, I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs!”

You appear in the dressing room soon, carrying the bags of your shopping tour.

“I got the stuff”, you tell him, grinning proudly.

“Yeah? That’s so cool, my love.”

“Wanna eat the chicken on the sofa?”

“Wanna watch a movie as we do?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, let’s do that then. I’m picking out an outfit for tomorrow.”

You smile at him, “very good. Make sure that you can move in it well.”

Jungkook giggles and nods his head obediently. He loves date day!

“Good boy. Come downstairs once you’re done. I’m setting up the chicken.”

“I understand. Thank you, Mommy.”

You sit on the floor, switching through your movie choices, when Jungkook joins you. He does so rather vigorously, plopping down next to you to wrap his limbs around you and pull you into the biggest cheek smooch ever.

“Mmmmmmwuah” he lets out, following the smooch with a nose nuzzle against your cheek.

You chuckle fondly, caressing his lower arms, “you’re a cutie. Did you pick out a nice outfit?”

“Yes, you’ll like it a lot”, he says, resting his chin on your shoulder to gaze at you, “Mommy, you’re so pretty.”

You look at him, smile and kiss his forehead.

“You’re feeling clingy tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, really clingy.” Jungkook gives you a big squeeze and nuzzle. “It’s because tomorrow is date day. I love date days so much.”

“I love them too.” You say fondly. “Should we watch a horror movie or something romantic?”

“I want romantic. I feel too soft for horror tonight. Is that okay for you?”

“Sure. Anything my soft Bunny wants. Should we watch this one?”

Jungkook, still snuggled against you, turns his head so he can look at the TV. A movie you both haven’t seen yet. You talked about watching it together.

“Yes, let’s do that. We haven’t seen that one yet.”

“I heard it’s great”, you say and press play.

The movie starts, but you shift your attention to Jungkook. You put some distance so you could grab his sleeves and roll them up for him.

Jungkook lets you with a fluttering heart. His heart flutters even more when you put a paper bib around his neck so he wouldn’t get dirty. It came with the chicken and carries the restaurant’s logo. You finish the sweet gesture by pinching both his cheeks softly.

“There we go, now you’re proper”, you say, making him lift his shoulders shyly.

You turn to the front, rolling up your own sleeves and putting on a bib as well. You hand Jungkook a pair of plastic gloves, putting on your own.

“I can’t wait to dig in”, you say, picking up the first chicken piece of many.

Jungkook needs a few moments before he can start eating. Moments like these are no big deal to you, but they are huge deals to him. Taking care of him comes so natural to you that he should already be used to it, but he truly isn’t. It always feels so special when you coddle him.

He needs to hug you, even if you are already eating.

“Hm?” you let out, eyes glued to the TV and mouth stuffed with delicious chicken.

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, Bunny. Now eat baby, before it gets cold.”

“Yes, okay”, Jungkook listens well, putting on his gloves to finally dig in.

“Good boy. Do you like it? I went to your favourite place.”

“I love it so much. It’s so yummy”, Jungkook gushes, stuffing his mouth full of chicken.

“That’s good to hear. Eat as much as you want.”

You and he are silent as you eat, enjoying the movie fully. The chicken tastes delicious. You went for three different flavours. Natural in a crispy, crunchy breading. Honey soy garlic which tastes so rich and savoury. Spicy sweet chilly which is Jungkook’s favourite because he likes spicy food. You like it as well, but Jungkook seems to be truly obsessed with it tonight, so you let him have most of it while you stick to the other flavors. They are delicious as well and you want to see Jungkook happy. He is so adorable when he is happy from good food that you could never ever take this away from him, even if it meant missing out on your favourite chicken flavour.

You clean up after finishing. Jungkook wanted to do it because you already did everything else but you told him to stay put. He listened very well.

Tonight is a certain energy present between you and him. A sort of silent understanding that your roles are more prominent even in the mundane, domestic things. Granted, stuff like taking care of him and praising him, are your daily tasks, but tonight there is energy in them. Electric, warm energy. Jungkook gives you the same kind of energy back, letting you know that he is in a mild subspace just from the way he moves and talks around you.

You return with chocolate cookies and cocoa as dessert. Jungkook is waiting for you on his knees and sitting on his crossed feet, hands folded on his lap. He stayed put. The position, he decided to do it in, is the last proof you needed to know that he feels the same energies you are feeling. This is a domestic, relaxing moment as much as it is also casual, soft power play.

“I hope that you like cookies and cocoa for dessert. I was feeling cozy. Careful, the cup is hot.”

“Yes, this sounds yummy. Thank you for preparing it”, Jungkook says, accepting the cocoa with sweater paws. He blows on it to cool it down.

“Of course, anything for you.”

You sit down on the sofa and press play on the movie. There is still half an hour left. You bend forward and rake Jungkook’s hair gently. He shivers, tilting his head back and gazing at you. He sets the cup down on the table.

“Who’s my good boy?” you ask him.

“I am.” He lets out and exhales shakily, leaving his position so he could hug your legs and nuzzle his face into your lap. “I'm your good boy.”

“That’s right, my good boy”, you say, leaning back comfortably. You begin combing his hair with your fingers, scratching his scalp soothingly.

Jungkook stays seated by your feet, resting his cheek on your thigh. He watches the movie with heavy lids, tingling each time you scratch him behind his ear. Only when he takes a sip of the cocoa, he sits up for a vast moment.

After around ten minutes you bend down again, kissing the side of his neck. Jungkook shivers, letting out a surprised gasp.

“My good boy”, you says softly and straighten up, scratching his undercut gently. From the corners of your eyes, you watch how he is squirming.

Another ten minutes pass and you both have finished the cocoa and cookies. Jungkook stays seated after setting his empty cup down, shimmying in discomfort.

“What’s the matter?”

“My butt hurts.”

“What? No way, come up here immediately.”

Jungkook leaves the floor, climbing onto the sofa with you. He lies down on his side, resting his head on your lap. Then he sighs, melting in relaxation.

“Is that better?” you ask him, rubbing his hip gently.

“Yeah, it’s so comfy.”

“That’s good.”

You slide your hand to his butt, eliciting a gasp from him.

“Relax. I’m just gonna get rid of the ache, okay?” you assure him.

He giggles, wiggling his butt against your hand.

The rest of the movie is spent like this. By the end of it, Jungkook can barely keep his eyes open. He is so relaxed in your presence that the word stress doesn’t even exist in his mind anymore. Like most romance movies, it makes him cry when the couple is falling into each other’s arms happily.

You watch it happen fondly, providing him comfort by scratching his back slowly while he sniffles and whimpers in happy tears. You are so immensely in love with him. He brought out the real you, the you who is so happy to be soft and who loves to watch cheesy romance movies.

Jungkook lets out an especially loud sniffle, shoulders shaking.

“Gosh Bunny, are you alright?”

“Yes”, he is talking in a pout, “they’re so in love. I’m so happy”, he whines and sobs, hugging your legs to hide away in them.

“You’re the cutest”, you coo, ruffling his hair.

“They’re so in love. I love this movie so much.”

“Me too, Bunny. It’s a very cute ending.”

“Yes. So cute.” He flips over, looking up at you sniffly and teary eyed. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bunny”, you say softly, wiping his tears. He always gets like this after a romantic movie. He cries in happiness, then needs to look at you and tell you his feelings. It is as if the love in the movie filled his heart with too many feelings of its own and the only remedy is the view of you.

“I love you so much that, that if we were both bunnies and we were cuddling, I’d put one ear over you to keep you warm.”

Your heart flutters, bursting in giddiness. You let out a squeal of too much cuteness and drag him into a kiss by squishing both his cheeks.

He stumbles to his knees, ending up on your lap soon after with his hands on the nape of your neck and his flushed cheeks under your fingertips.

You always get like this after a romantic movie. He tells you cute things and you get so overwhelmed by them that you need to kiss him until his head is foggy and his lips are tender. You are starving and the only taste you crave is his kiss.

The hunger was especially unbearable tonight. The silent understanding of the power dynamic added craving to the starvation. Oh, you cannot get enough of him.

Your fingers, once tasked with cradling his face, fall to his dainty waist. Jungkook gasps, breaking the kiss with parted lips.

“You’re mine”, you lull the words, eyes still closed. He is wearing an oversized jumper but when you hold him like this, it exposes the real size of his waist. It makes you a little crazy.

“Yes, Mommy. I am”, he whimpers, squirming in your possessive touch.

“I’ll make you mine even more with the ribbons.”

He giggles, nodding his head.

“Yes, Mommy. You can do whatever you want to.”

“What if I wanna keep going until you made a mess?”

Jungkook exhales shakily, nodding his head.

“Please…”

“Yes? You’d want that?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Fuck, Bunny. I don’t know if I can control myself any longer.”

Jungkook rolls his hips on your lap, sighing his words, “don’t control yourself please.”

“But I have to. You’re so soft, I’d only break you.”

Jungkook exhales shakily, falling around your neck. Your words are so strong. Your voice does the rest. Jungkook with his obvious and immense voice kink is broken.

“Please Mommy, please don’t hold back please”, he begs.

“You’re lucky that you’re so cute”, you say and stand up with him in your arms. Jungkook wraps his legs around, moaning happily because he thinks that you will carry him to bed.

You, however, set him down on the sofa, keeping his eyes on you by guiding his head.

“Can you stay put for me?”

“Yes, Mommy. I can”, Jungkook promises, nodding his head obediently.

“Good boy. Be patient, I’ll be back soon”, you tell him, giving him one last forehead kiss before you leave him to prepare everything.

You clean the coffee table of the dessert and disappear upstairs to get the ribbons, jogging down with them.

Jungkook stayed put the entire time, sitting up straight and with his eyes focused on the wall before him. He turned the television off.

“Look at you.”

His eyes are instantly on you.

“You’re such a good boy. You stayed put.”

He exhales shakily, following you with his eyes as you return to him. You stand in front of him, combing your fingers through his hair. His eyes fall closed, his lips part. He lets out a quiet moan, sounding so sweet.

“You’re so handsome”, you speak softly and will continue to do so for the rest of this moment. It feels right to do. It is such a comfortable and healing moment, which can only be enjoyed when whispered.

Jungkook is in heaven because of it. There is nothing more comforting to him than being spoken to softly. He feels so safe in your presence. So incredibly safe.

“Keep your head like this”, you order him and because Jungkook has no ounce of brattiness in his bones, he listens well.

“Good boy.”

Your praise makes his entire body tingle. It is the main reason why he could never disobey you. Why would he, if the reward for being good is your praise in your voice?

His eyes are still closed which means that the sudden soft ribbon around his neck surprises him. He opens his eyes, coming face to face with your features as you tie a loose bow around his neck. His heart flutters.

You give the ribbon a gentle tug once tied, making him sigh in bliss and tilt his head back to reveal more of his adorned neck.

“What a pretty little present you are”, you say, caressing his chin before you move on to another part of his body.

Jungkook feels so warm in his chest. He swears that he could touch the stars right now. He is yours and he is it gladly.

The next ribbon you wrap around his chest, ending it with a surprise kiss on his lips because the position allows it. Jungkook scrunches his entire face in giddiness, gazing at you as he giggles.

You giggle with him, caressing his cheeks because he deserves it.

“It’s funny. I’m calling you a present but I’m wrapping you up instead of unwrapping you.”

“It’s so nice”, he sighs, kicking his feet.

“Yeah, it’s pretty epic. Now next. Arms.”

Jungkook shifts them into the correct position all on his own, earning himself yet another praise. And yet again, it leaves him tingly.

You decorate his left arm first, then his right, ending it by giving his arms gentle rub downs. Jungkook shivers, flexing his muscles for you.

“So strong. Have you been increasing the weights?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“I can really tell. What a strong Bunny you are.”

“Thanks, Mommy”, Jungkook croaks, voice trembling. Is it possible to orgasm from too much praise? Because if he gets praised any more, he might actually cum.

“Now, wrists.”

He presents them proudly, palms facing up and next to each other. It is a given that you have to kiss each of them. It would be a crime if you didn’t.

Afterwards, you guide them together, tying a ribbon around them. You make sure that they wouldn’t pinch or cut off blood flow but still keep him in place, finishing it with a pretty bow.

“Wow, look at you”, you have to squeak because the view of him makes you so giddy.

Jungkook giggles and shimmies on the couch, kicking his feet.

“You are so fucking adorable. Gosh”, you cradle his face. “I could eat you.”

He smiles dreamily, leaning into your touch. He gets kissed on his forehead and feels eternal. He loves you so very much.

“Now stay like this. I need to take a video like she did”, you say and pick up your phone. You scroll on it with two hands, scrunching your brows.

Jungkook has to giggle, gazing up at you.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, when you’re using your phone like this, you’re really channeling your Mommy energy. You look like you never used a phone before.”

“Wow, rude”, you laugh, nudging his cheek, “it’s not my fault that new technology uses such tiny fonts. Oh here, found you camera app.”

Jungkook snickers and shifts back into position. His heart is racing so much. You make him so happy.

“Now look the prettiest for me”, you say and press record.

Jungkook does his very, very best to pose for you. He keeps his back straight, his wrist presented, he gives you puppy eyes and even does a little lip bite. If you want him looking the prettiest for the cameras, then he will look the prettiest.

“Wow, look at you”, you gush, replaying the video, “you’re so handsome.”

“Can I see too, please?”

“Of course. Look.”

You show him the video. Jungkook watches intently, having to squirm on the sofa. The ribbons look so good on his body, he looks so owned.

“Aren’t you adorable?”

“Yeah”, he gets out shakily, biting his lower lip afterwards.

You watch it happening, feeling tingly. You put the phone aside and sit down next to him, patting your lap.

“Come here. I’ve got one more ribbon I want to put on you.”

Jungkook gladly obeys, climbing on your lap in a way so that he was facing you. He squirms at the feeling of your touch on his body, trying his hardest not to moan. It would be so embarrassing if he already moaned before you even as much as played with his cock.

Judging by the hungry glimmer in your eyes, this is exactly what you are planning to do. And Jungkook can barely breathe because of it. He misses your touch so much.

“Lift your butt.”

He obeys. You hook your fingers in his sweats and tug them over his perky butt.

“Wait. I can help.”

“Do it.”

Jungkook stands up for the time being, letting you undress him. He steps out of his sweats and later his briefs, then climbs back on your lap. His oversized jumper still adorns his torso, looking so pretty.

You tug it from his cock, letting it pool behind it. He is already hard, throbbing when the fabric brushes his tip.

"Aw, look at you. Is someone really needy for my touch?”

“Yes, so needy. Please.”

“Mhm, soon. Just gotta get you pretty for me.”

Jungkook giggles. You are wrapping the last ribbon around the base of his cock. You snicker because hearing him laugh makes you want to join him.

“How’s that for a last place?”

“Sexy…oh god, I can feel it aahmm.”

You give it a gentle tug, then finish it off with a bow. Jungkook definitely feels the pressure, but it isn’t as intense as a cockring would be. He likes it so much that he is biting his lower lip again, furrowing his brows.

“How’s the pressure?”

“Good. Gentle.”

“That’s good. Let me know if it gets uncomfortable.”

“I will.” He squirms. “Please. Can you touch me?”

“How can I refuse you when you’re so polite?”

You close your hand around his adorned base and dance it up to his tip.

“Ah, Mommy”, Jungkook moans loudly, arching his back and throwing his head back.

You watch his reaction with a tingling stomach, having to chuckle. Jungkook hears it, rolling his head to the front to look at you nervously. Your hand is around his tip, motionless and driving him insane.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks quietly.

“It’s just that I literally only put my hand around your cock and you’re already moaning so much. It’s adorable.”

“Mommy, don’t tease me please. I can’t help it”, he whines, pouting.

“Aw, I’m sorry Bunny. Here, let me make it up to you”, you say and finally pick up a rhythm.

“Woah”, Jungkook gasps, eyes widening and cock twitching between your fingers. Next he bites his lower lip - again - and mewls, furrowing his brows. Lastly, he arches his back and drops his head. His mouth opens, his high-pitched moans escape.

“So good. Such a good boy”, you rasp, hand moving around his cock in a constant rhythm. Slow and dragged out because you want him aware of every single movement. “You sound so sweet for me.”

“Feels….so….good….aaahmmm.”

“It does, Bunny. I love touching your cock. You’re so pretty and perfect.”

He twitches each time you praise him, tip glistening between your fingertips and shaft pulsating needily. You want to be everywhere at the same time. It is so addicting to touch his cock.

“Oh god, it feels so good”, he croaks and throws his head back, dropping his tied up hands against your chest. He is clutching whatever small amount of fabric his constricted hands can grasp, moaning your nickname like it is all that he can do.

“There we go, hold onto me. Good boy.”

“Please, seriously, please don’t stop”, he begs, legs tightened around your thighs.

“Mhm, you must feel so good right now”, you whisper mindlessly.

He nods his head vigorously, hips shaking on your lap. He moans just for you, delighting you even more. He does. He feels so good right now. So, so good. Nobody, not even himself, could touch him like you are able to.

“Of course you do. It would be a shame if I just…” you trail off, removing your hand from his cock.

“No please”, he whines, rolling his head to the front. He gives you the most lethal puppy eyes, pouting. “Please, Mommy. I-I was a good boy.”

“Yeah, that’s true. You were.”

“Please?”

He is so adorable. Pink ribbons around his dainty wrists, his pretty hair a mess and drool covering his puffy lips. Your husband has never looked cuter before. You can’t say no to him. You just can’t.

“Put your arms behind my head.”

He obeys.

“Good boy, now let me taste your moans.”

Jungkook moans, leaning in to kiss you. He instantly uses tongue, moaning louder when you wrap your hand around his cock again to pump it. He throbs between your fingers, leaking all over them.

You pick it up and use it to increase the speed of your touch. He was such a good boy tonight and you want to make him feel good. No more teasing, he is supposed to feel in heaven from now on.

And you know that he does. He moans and whimpers, breaking the kiss every now and then when he needs to gasp for air or be a little louder. You talk sweet words to him whenever he has to, playing with his hair or rubbing circles into his neck.

It isn’t long after that Jungkook can’t kiss you back anymore, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mommy please”, he sobs, convulsing on your lap. His entire weight is on you right now, also pressing on your chest because he is currently squeezing himself against you.

His arms are restless, tensing and flexing as his shaky hands try to break free from their constraints. He could easily break free, but you ruined him enough that his muscles feel weak.

“Do you like this?”

“Like it. Ah” he sobs, “ahmmmm Mommy…”

“My sweet Bunny. Lean into me, that’s good.”

“I have to…soon… please can I?”

“Yes, my baby, you can. Just let me do it for you. Make a mess for me, baby”, you encourage him, pumping his weeping tip.

His veins are bulging by now, his base is stretching the ribbon. He is so restless on your lap that he constantly rubs his balls on you as well. It feels so good. Jungkook is entirely and utterly in your hands.

Quite literally.

And it only takes him three mores strokes to make a total mess of them.

He squeaks, tenses up and then you feel it. Warm, messy cum shoots from his cock covering your hand and parts of your bodies. He sobs your name when the shakes finally set in, holding you close as best as possible.

“Good boy. Cum for me. Fuck, you’re such a good boy”, you talk him through it, keeping your touches focused on his tip because he is most sensitive there.

Jungkook is able to handle nine pumps and then overstimulation sets in, instantly making him beg and whine.

“Stop please. No more, please.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Thank you, Mommy. Thank you!”

“There we go, good boy.”

Now satisfied, you release him of his pleasurable hell. You keep the messy hand between his legs for now, hugging him with your other arm.

And Jungkook falls into a trance of gratefulness, afterglow and adoration. He sighs and whimpers, gasps and sighs some more as his body recovers from the intense high.

“Thank you Mommy. I love you.” The two sentences repeat themselves, growing quieter and quieter the deeper he falls into the relaxing afterglow.

“You’re welcome, Bunny. I love you too”, you answer him every single time, feeling entirely content. Honestly, you could play with him for hours. Being with him like this, makes you so happy.

It is Jungkook who breaks the cozy hug, running his eyes over your features. He is smiling with them, cheeks flushed and bangs sticking to his forehead.

“I made a mess”, he confesses and snickers.

“You made a mess. A pretty big one actually. You really needed that orgasm, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I think I did. I feel so submissive tonight and so soft and then you dressed me up in the ribbons and praised me and yeah…” he grins goofily. “I love being your sub, Mommy.”

“And I love being your Domme, Bunnybaby.”

“Can we do this again one day? Please? Oh, I feel so cozy right now”, he says and snuggles into you. “I don’t want to leave this space.”

“Of course we can do this again. Maybe I’ll tie you to something when we do.”

“Yes please. Please do this”, he sighs and melts into a total weak mess of limbs on your lap.

His heart is racing. You hold him close, snuggling your nose into the crook of his neck. He smells like a good orgasm and his floral shower gel. You love his scent.

“My Bunny”, you whisper, melting into him as well.

Date day is going to be extra romantic tomorrow. After such a night, it will be difficult not to stick to him at all times.

438 notes · View notes