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hazelira · 6 days ago

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The smell of garlic and slow-cooked meat lingered in the dimly lit dining room, starkly contrasting the suffocating silence that always seemed to follow Heeseung wherever he went. He sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders tense as he cut into the meal you had prepared for him. His cold, hardened expression never wavered, even as he took careful bites of the food. You were always cooking for him, always waiting for him—even when he never asked you to.

You stood behind him, unsteady on your feet, the warmth of the wine from your friend’s suite still buzzing in your veins. It made you bold—bolder than you usually were around him. Heeseung wasn’t the kind of man who liked to be touched unless it was out of necessity. But tonight, you couldn’t help yourself.

Your arms wrapped around his strong frame from behind, and he immediately stiffened under your touch. His fork clattered against the porcelain plate as you nuzzled into him, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

“You’re so warm,” you murmured, your voice laced with affection and drunken haze. You toyed with the strands of his dark hair, twirling them around your fingers like you had all the time in the world. “I love you so much, Hee… more than anything.”

His entire body locked up at your words. You could feel his muscles coiling like he was preparing to snap like he always did when you got too close. Heeseung was cruel and distant—he never let you in, never gave you more than silence and sharp glares.

You braced for his usual cold dismissal and the venom in his words when he told you to go to bed and stop acting like a fool. But it never came.

Heeseung didn’t say a word.

Maybe it was because you were drunk. Perhaps it was because he knew you wouldn’t even remember this moment by morning. Or maybe, just perhaps, he was too tired to fight tonight.

So he let you stay.

You pressed your lips against his jaw again, whispering between kisses, “Even if you’re always mean to me… even if you never say it back… I still love you, Heeseung. No matter what.”

He let out a slow, measured breath but didn’t push you away. Your grip around him tightened, and that’s when he felt it—the faint tremor in your body, the wetness of your tears staining his skin.

His hands curled into fists on the table.

He knew what this was about.

Tomorrow, he’d be gone. Off on another mission, off to do the things he never let you see that kept his hands permanently stained with blood.

You wouldn’t get to see him after tonight.

And that was killing you.

Your lips brushed against his temple this time, softer than anything he deserved. “I’ll miss you,” you whispered brokenly. “I always do.”

His throat tightened. Heeseung was a lot of things—ruthless, detached, unfeeling. But at this moment, as he felt your love spilling over him like a wound that refused to close, he wasn’t sure if he could handle this.

Because deep down, even if he’d never admit it, he knew he’d miss you too.

Your body grew heavier, the weight of exhaustion and alcohol pressing into you as you slumped against Heeseung. Your arms went slack around his waist, but before you could slip away, his large hands caught you—strong, firm, steady.

Then, in a moment that neither of you could fully grasp, you lifted your head, your half-lidded eyes searching for something in his face. Something that had never been there before.

And then you kissed him.

Soft. Warm. Desperate.

Your lips moulded against his like it was second nature, like you’d done this a million times before—even though you hadn’t. Because Heeseung never let you.

You expected him to recoil, shove you away, and remind you of the invisible line he had drawn between you long ago. But he didn’t.

Instead, Heeseung kissed you back.

His lips moved against yours—hesitant at first, testing, unsure. But when you whimpered against him, pressing closer as if trying to memorize the shape of him before he disappeared again, something inside him snapped.

His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you in place against him. You tasted of wine and something bittersweet, something that made his chest ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for.

You clung to him, your breath mingling with his, your body moulding against his as though you were made to fit there.

“Hee…” you murmured between kisses, your words slurred but full of raw emotion. “I don’t care what you do… or where you go… just come back to me. Please.”

His fingers curled into your waist, tightening at your plea.

You didn’t ask him where he went at night. You didn’t ask why his hands were always bruised, why his shirts smelled faintly of gunpowder and something darker. You didn’t ask why he never looked at you the way a husband should look at his wife.

You only asked him to come back.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

You let out a soft sigh against his lips, and then, just like that, your body gave out ultimately.

Heeseung caught you before you could fall, his grip firm but careful as he cradled you against his chest. Your breathing slowed, your face relaxed, and he realized—you were asleep.

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he studied your tear-streaked face. His thumb instinctively brushed your cheekbone, wiping away your sorrow's remnants.

He should’ve stopped you earlier. He should’ve never let you get this close.

But now that he had…

Now that your warmth was imprinted on him, now that your taste lingered on his lips…

He wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

Heeseung sat at the edge of the bed, staring at your sleeping form. You looked so small, curled up against the pillows, your face still damp from the tears you had shed against him. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles over the back of your hand, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.

He needed to leave soon. His men were waiting, and the mission was set. It wasn’t the first time he had left in the dead of night, slipping away before you could wake up and beg him to stay. But tonight felt different.

Tonight, you kissed him.

Tonight, you had told him—drunkenly, but no less sincerely—that you loved him, no matter what.

And tonight, for the first time, Heeseung felt afraid to leave you behind.

You had always been strong, or at least, you pretended to be. You never questioned him, never pried into the things he did. But he saw how your hands trembled when he came home late, and you always checked the locks twice when he wasn’t around.

You never told him, but he knew.

You didn’t feel safe when he wasn’t here.

And now, as you slept, your fingers were still curled loosely around his, as if even in unconsciousness, you were trying to hold onto him just a little longer.

Heeseung clenched his jaw.

He was a monster. A man who had long since abandoned the luxury of love and warmth. He didn’t deserve the way you held onto him, didn’t deserve the way you still looked at him with hope.

And yet, something deep inside him, something he had buried long ago, made him squeeze your hand in return.

“I’ll come back,” he murmured so quietly that you might not have heard it even if you were awake.

A promise.

A vow.

Heeseung wasn’t a good man but for you… maybe, just maybe, he could try.

Heeseung sat in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the world outside quiet except for the occasional hum of passing cars. His hand was still wrapped around yours, your grip weak from exhaustion, but you were still holding on—even in sleep.

His chest ached.

How could someone like you—soft, warm—still want to hold onto someone like him?

His gaze traced the delicate curve of your face, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. Without thinking or stopping, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing the softest kiss to your palm. His lips lingered there, breathing in your faint scent, memorizing how your fingers twitched slightly under his touch.

He wasn’t supposed to do this.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But here he was, leaning over you, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there for a moment, longer than necessary, as if he could transfer everything he could never say into that single touch.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear that had dried against your skin. You sighed softly, instinctively leaning into his warmth, and Heeseung swallowed the lump in his throat.

He needed to go.

His life was built on blood and violence, and no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much you begged him to come home each time, he knew—one day, he might not.

But for now, you were still here. Reaching for him in your sleep, still waiting for him to return.

And for now, that was enough to make him stay a little longer.

Heeseung stepped into the hallway, his boots quiet against the polished floor. The weight of his steps felt heavier than usual, each one dragging him further from you. The hallway stretched ahead, cold and uninviting, but it was the door at the end of it—the door leading to the life he had built, to the dark, dangerous world he couldn’t escape—that he had to face.

His men stood in the foyer, all dressed in their usual black, eyes sharp, expressions unreadable. They weren’t surprised to see him, but when their gazes met, they froze.

Heeseung’s shoulders slumped under the weight of it all, his chest tightening as he saw the understanding in their eyes. They knew.

They knew what it was like to leave home—knowing they were going into the unknown, unsure if they’d ever return. They knew the sting of a wife’s kiss on the forehead, a child’s cry for their father. The bitter silence followed when the door shut behind them, leaving loved ones to fend for themselves.

But none of them had ever seen Heeseung like this.

His eyes were bloodshot, tears brimming at the edges, the kind of tears he’d never allowed himself to shed in front of anyone, let alone in front of his men. His hands shook as he placed them against the cold wall to steady himself, fighting against the sobs that clawed at his throat.

He was supposed to be strong.

He was supposed to be the one who never faltered and led with ruthless precision. But tonight, leaving you felt like the most challenging thing he had ever done.

He turned his face away, but it was too late.

His men had already seen. They turned around, their backs to him as they gave him space—understanding the depth of the pain that was welling up inside him. Each of them had their own stories and reasons for leaving behind the ones they loved, but seeing Heeseung like this… they couldn’t ignore it.

The sound of his sobs echoed through the empty foyer.

It was raw and vulnerable—a sound that should never have escaped him. Heeseung didn’t cry. He never had, not since he was a child, not since the world had shaped him into something else. But tonight, as he stood there, the distance between him and you growing with every passing second, his resolve cracked.

He didn’t care that his men heard.

He didn’t care that he was supposed to be in control.

All that mattered was you—alone in the house, waiting for him, loving him in a way he never thought possible. And as much as he wanted to stay, to hold you, to tell you that everything would be alright, he knew he couldn’t.

Not tonight.

He wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath and steadying himself, but his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart,” he said, barely above a whisper.

But even he didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

The sound of his men moving behind him was faint. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need to. They had all left home like this, torn between duty and the people they loved. And for a moment, they understood each other without a single word.

The door clicked shut, and the only thing left in the empty foyer was the lingering echo of a man who didn’t know if he could bear to leave the love he had spent so long pushing away.

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voidpacifist · 2 months ago

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viktor headcanons

[modern-ish edition + meljayvik because I cannot resist, also I'm desperate to see more unhinged little ideas about him outside of being everyone's favorite blorbo. we should fear that man and this is my thesis]

learned a weird amalgamation of martial arts and self defense as a kid due to growing up in zaun. despite being in what was considered the "safer" part of the underground, his mother worried he wouldn't be safe on his own. his core strength and arm strength are absolutely ridiculous

in fact, one time he was hooking up with a fellow academy student, and by the time the whole affair was over with, he was hardly breaking a sweat while the other person was trying to catch their breath. he became somewhat of a local legend at frat parties because not only can he wear someone out for hours but, allegedly, he's real freaky with it too

knows the exact monetary value of different human body organs on the black market. whether or not this is from experience is something jayce and mel are unable to determine. vi is also knowledgeable of this and has traded tragic backstories with him in detail

has had to kill a man before, and tells this to jayce frequently to win petty arguments (jayce never actually believes him, even though it is fully and one hundred percent true). it doesn't work on mel

jayce and mel have a secret chart written of how many substances viktor has tried and with how much frequency. weed is at the top of the list, with alcohol being shockingly low. in spite of coming from a slavic background, viktor didn't learn how to hold very much liquor without feeling ill, but for some reason is fine with the illicit psychedelics that grow naturally in the undercity near the runoff tunnels. so far the list is nearly half a page long

will not hit anyone with his mobility aids but will ABSOLUTELY find ways to blackmail and hustle his way out of embarrassment. he learned the blackmailing skill from mel, and frequently looks to her for information since she somehow knows the most about the student body

extremely morbid sense of humor. jokes about being fatherless/motherless behavior and then hits you with, "I would know :]." mel is an honorary member of the motherless behavior banter, considering her own mother disowned her shortly before she came to piltover

taking care of one another is equal parts give and take with him, jayce, and mel, but it's never in a way that demeans each other or exploits each other's weaknesses. for example, viktor hates being carried or manhandled without consent and finds it incredibly patronizing if someone assumes he needs help without just asking him (common sense, but the student body is full of ableist sharks). if he's having a bad pain day or is finding it hard to move, he and jayce (or he and mel, depending on time and place) have a system for getting him to or from somewhere without drawing much attention and even have specific "I need help but don't want to be stared at about it" phrases

father's half of the family is slavic and mother's half of the family is romani. cannot follow a recipe unless it has specific measurements, but can improvise ANY stew or potato based dish with little more than his nose and a few kitchen tools. jayce can improvise any dish, but will always somehow overdo the spice if it calls for spice. mel is happy to try any and everything they make (on her birthday, she's spoiled with their attempts at making the ethnic food from her family, and she'll never tell them but she's very touched by their efforts)

owned ONE pet in his life and it was a hamster. instead of freaking out over it's death, he studied it's body post mortem until his father declared it a biohazard and forced him to dispose of it

learned most of his chemists knowledge from a disgraced former academy professor, but taught himself everything else he knows (if he couldn't get access to it in school). including, for fun, how to preserve and analyze body parts. he initially wanted to be a surgeon or biomedical engineer, but then stuck with chemistry (specifically regarding infectious diseases) to try and find a cure for the grey

shows up randomly at jayces or mels dorms at strange hours in the evening/morning. the first time he showed up at mel's, she thought a burglary was being attempted. he made it out with a bad knock to the head, but she did make him tea in the aftermath as an apology (he hated it but drank the whole thing anyway)

gets stoned with jinx on the weekends, since she's the only one who can find him good, ethically sourced weed. he pays her back by teaching her things he's learning and researching at the academy

meljayvik + caitvi + timebomb dates but they have to find a way to rent out the whole place because each and every one of them has Some Kind of History with the other academy students even though jinx and ekko are still a couple years shy of college age

viktor threw up at the distinguished innovators competition because jayce did first. it was a whole disaster. they spent hours after the ordeal hyping each other up on gatorade and pure adrenaline. it was the physically worst jayce has ever felt around viktor but far from the worst viktor has ever felt around jayce. this was just days after the two of them met mel, and she spent the rest of the evening forcing them to sleep or eat something that wasn't "pure chemicals." somehow, this ended in a heated debate between herself and viktor about the validity of gatorade as a substantial meal. he still refuses to admit he lost

I've said this before and I'll say it again: he has a closet full of ramen. mel takes from his stash often

can run on caffeine and very little sleep to the point where he is physically incapable of resting like a normal human being without feeling drained. flu season is absolute hell

showed up to one of his lectures shirtless once because he was in a hurry. fed everyone who looked at him funny the most outrageous sob story about how "weak" he was, then laughed about it with mel and jayce like an absolute sociopath for days about it. jayce did not find it altogether very funny. mel and him still joke about it

beat vi in an arm wrestling contest before he got sick. still almost beat her after his diagnosis too, but still took the betting money anyway. she'll never admit she's slightly terrified of him, but it shows

can wield many different kinds of knives but is terribly clumsy when it comes to other weapons like clubs and swords and staffs. tapped out of adaptive sports within his first week because it was "boring him." spent the next month teaching martial arts to his fellow disabled peers until the board made it an official extracurricular

turned sky down in the nicest but most insane way possible. nobody knows what happened or how, just that they ended up spending MORE time together after the fact and that it involved illicit activities. the rumors were insufferable for weeks. and wildly funny

(please feel free to add more, I'm gonna start a collection)

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #jayvik #melvik #meljayvik #mel x jayce x viktor #arcane headcanon #arcane headcanons #arcane lol #viktor headcanons #jayvik headcanons #meljayvik headcanons #cannot believe that wasn't a tag to begin with wtf ??

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nemo-writes · 1 month ago

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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; leah rests as you confront laswell over her clear interference. later, a heartfelt plea for the pack’s forgiveness stirs conflicted emotions, forcing you to grapple with resentment and the weight of leadership.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Leah stayed the rest of the day and night. After finishing her tea and sandwiches, she’d curled up in your room, exhaustion pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sybil stayed by her side by your instruction, her large form pressed protectively against Leah as though sensing the fragility of her state.

You watched her for a moment before stepping out, closing the door quietly behind you. When you found Fiona in the main hall, you stopped her with a firm look. “Leah is resting in my room. No one goes in—no one—unless I say so. That includes my Mother.”

Her eyes widened briefly, but she recovered quickly, her expression smoothing into the composed professionalism you’d come to expect from her. “Understood,” she said with a small nod.

As you walked back to your studio, the weight of everything pressed down on you—your thoughts swirled, torn between the boundaries of what you could do now and what you could risk for later. You needed clarity, or at least a good understanding of how things had turned out this way.

The decision solidified as you reached the door to your studio. Pausing briefly, you raised a hand and muttered an incantation under your breath, weaving a ward around the door. The faint shimmer of magic settled over the frame, ensuring no one would disturb you inside.

Once satisfied, you stepped in, closing the door behind you and locking it for good measure. You crossed the room to your desk, the weight of the moment settling heavily in your chest as you reached for your phone.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, the weight of everything unspoken pressing heavily against your chest. The hesitation was brief. With a sharp breath, you tapped the call button.

The line rang twice before her voice came through, tinged with an edge of surprise she couldn’t fully conceal.

“This is unexpected,” Laswell said, her words crisp but laced with curiosity. There was a brief pause, and then she added, more composed now, “How can I help you?”

The neutrality in her tone grated against you, stirring the embers of frustration you’d been holding back for far too long.

“I don’t need your help,” you said firmly, each word clipped.

The silence on her end stretched just long enough to let you know she was regrouping, processing your tone.

“You helped her, didn’t you?” you continued, not giving her a chance to deflect. “You helped Leah get to the coven.”

She exhaled softly, though whether it was in resignation or something else, you couldn’t tell. “She needed closure—”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you interrupted sharply. “I was clear with the pack, and I was clear with you. You don’t get to meddle in my business, Laswell. Not anymore.”

There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, more guarded. “She was desperate. I made a judgment call.”

You closed your eyes, willing the anger simmering beneath your skin to stay in check. “A judgment call,” you repeated bitterly. “Just like the last time? When you brushed off my concerns? When you refused to see what was happening until it was too late?”

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence on the line louder than anything else.

“I made mistakes,” Laswell said finally, her tone softer but still holding that iron edge. “And I’ve spent every day since trying to fix them.”

You shook your head, though she couldn’t see it. “This is the last time, Laswell. The last time you get involved. I’ll take care of Leah for now because it’s the right thing to do. After this, I’ll see to it personally that she gets back home—safely, where she belongs.”

Laswell didn’t respond immediately, and you imagined her pinching the bridge of her nose in that way she always did when she was trying to decide whether to push back or let it go.

“In a way,” you added after a beat, your tone cooling slightly, “you respected my wishes by not coming to the celebrations. For that, thank you.”

Another pause. Then, finally, her voice came through, subdued but steady. “You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say. With a sharp flick of your thumb, you ended the call, the screen going dark as the weight in your chest shifted—not lighter, not heavier. Just there.

For a moment, you stood in the silence of your studio, the faint hum of the warded door the only sound. You set the phone down on the desk with a quiet sigh, the conversation leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

. . .

Laswell stood outside your former apothecary, her phone still in hand as she let out a slow, steady breath. The conversation with you had left her more rattled than she cared to admit. Even though she’d managed to hold her composure, your words still lingered, sharp and cutting.

Around her, the scene was bustling. Farah and Alex were inside, sorting through what remained of your belongings. They had accepted her offer of the space—not happily, but only because they respected your wishes. Their sadness was palpable, laced with a quiet anger that neither of them had voiced directly.

Whatever you had left behind, Farah and Alex treated it with care. They tucked away your tools and keepsakes for safekeeping, their movements precise and deliberate. The pack lingered around, their gazes lingering a little too long on certain items, and it wasn’t long before Soap and Gaz tried to sneak something.

Soap, ever the opportunist, had spotted a small trinket—a small wolf charm you’d crafted long ago—and pocketed it with a practiced ease. Gaz, less subtle, had picked up one of your old notebooks, flipping through it with a wistful look before tucking it under his arm.

Farah, already on edge, caught them both in the act. She turned sharply, her glare cutting through the room like a blade.

“Put it back,” she snapped, her voice firm and unwavering.

Soap gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, the kind that usually got him out of trouble. “C’mon, lass,” he said, his voice soft and pleading. “It’s just a wee thing—something to remember her by.”

Farah’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, her glare deepened, her hand resting protectively over the small swell of her belly. “I said, put it back,” she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Gaz hesitated, glancing between Soap and Farah, but the weight of her stare was too much. With a sheepish nod, he placed the notebook back where he’d found it.

Soap lingered for a moment longer, his fingers brushing the charm in his pocket. Farah stepped closer, her presence towering despite her smaller stature.

“Soap,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulled the charm from his pocket and set it down with exaggerated care. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, backing away with his hands raised. “No need to get cranky.”

Her glare didn’t waver, and Soap quickly retreated to the other side of the room, muttering something under his breath about “pregnancy hormones.” Alex, who had been silently watching from the corner, hid a smirk behind his hand. Farah shot him a look, and he quickly busied himself with organizing another box.

Satisfied, Farah returned to her work, tucking your belongings away with even greater care.

Back outside, Laswell turned toward the door just as Ghost emerged, a large box balanced effortlessly in his arms. He moved with his usual precision, quiet and efficient, his gaze fixed ahead as though nothing else existed but the task at hand. He didn’t linger, carrying the box to Alex’s truck without a word before heading back inside.

Price followed a few moments later, stepping out with a smaller box tucked under one arm. He set it down near the doorway, dusting off his hands as his sharp gaze settled on Laswell.

“That was her on the phone, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice low but laced with a pointed edge.

Laswell hesitated, her grip tightening slightly on the phone in her pocket. For a moment, she considered deflecting, brushing him off. But Price’s eyes told her that wouldn’t work.

“Yes,” she admitted finally, tucking the phone away as though trying to put the weight of the conversation out of reach.

Price exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening as he looked toward the apothecary. His fingers brushed over the edge of the box he’d just set down, the movement almost absentminded. “And?”

Laswell squared her shoulders. “And nothing,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “She doesn’t want me—or any of us—involved any further.”

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening as he nodded slowly. “Yes, I figured as much,” he muttered, glancing toward the doorway where Soap had lingered earlier, his usual energy dampened into something far more subdued. “And yet here we are.”

Laswell folded her arms, her gaze flicking toward the truck where Ghost had disappeared moments ago. “She made her wishes clear,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “We’re doing this because it’s what she wanted—for Farah and Alex to have this place, for them to have help.”

Her eyes drifted back toward the apothecary’s open door. “Whether we like it or not.”

Price studied her in silence, his sharp blue eyes as unreadable as ever. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, his posture easing slightly. “Fair enough,” he said gruffly, turning toward the doorway as though considering whether to follow Ghost back inside.

Laswell stayed where she was, her hands slipping into her coat pockets as she stared at the apothecary, her thoughts churning. Ghost had returned to his task with his usual quiet intensity, and Soap had retreated to lean against the wall, his troubled expression a stark contrast to his usual demeanor.

The pack was subdued, their energy tempered by the weight of your absence and the silence of things left unsaid. But as Laswell observed them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they wouldn’t back down anytime soon.

Something about the way they carried themselves, the way their gazes lingered on your shop, told her this wasn’t the end for them. They’d find a way to keep trying.

Whatever. That was their business now.

Laswell exhaled softly, brushing off the thought. She had done the best she could, made the decisions she thought were right at the time. Hopefully, with time, the strain between you and her might heal. But for now, she wouldn’t hold her breath.

Her gaze drifted back to the apothecary’s weathered sign hanging above the door. The carved wooden depiction of Sybil stared back at her, elegant and protective.

Laswell hesitated, her hand hovering near the sign, before she finally reached up and carefully unhooked it from its place. The wood was smoother than she expected, its edges worn from time and weather. She brushed off the faint layer of dust that had settled on it, her fingers lingering on the carved lines of Sybil’s regal form.

For a moment, she simply stood there, the sign in her hands, her thoughts tangled between regret and resolution.

This, at least, she could keep safe.

Tucking the sign under her arm, Laswell turned away from the apothecary, her steps steady as she moved toward the truck. She didn’t look back.

. . .

The soft crackle of the fire filled the room as you sat on the sofa, a stack of letters balanced on your lap. Each envelope bore the mark of a coven leader or an influential figure, their words congratulating you on your confirmation and, in some cases, making subtle overtures for future alliances.

You worked methodically, reading through each one and making notes on who deserved a reply, a gift, or a polite dismissal. This was just the beginning, one of many responsibilities you’d have as your Mother’s heir, and though it felt overwhelming, you tackled it with quiet determination.

Sybil lay curled at your feet, her coat gleaming in the firelight, her slow, even breaths a comforting rhythm.

A stir from the bed caught your attention, and you glanced over to see Leah shifting, her eyes fluttering open. She sat up slowly, her movements more assured than they had been earlier. Her cheeks, once pale and hollow, held a hint of color now. It wasn’t surprising—the food, tea, and subtle spells you had cast were meant to revitalize her, to help her heal from the inside out.

Now, as she stretched and blinked at the firelight, she looked better—if a little hesitant. Her gaze shifted to you, her head tilting curiously as she noticed the stack of letters.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice soft but steadier now, carrying a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

“Replying to letters,” you said absently, flipping to the next one.

Leah swung her legs over the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. The silence stretched, but you let it. You were too absorbed in the task at hand to press her further.

To your surprise, she broke the quiet with an abrupt question, one that made your pen still over the paper.

“Do you think you can forgive the pack?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting hers in the flickering firelight. For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

“Excuse me?”

Leah shifted uncomfortably but didn’t back down. Her light brown gaze held yours, steady despite the tension that suddenly filled the room. “I said… do you think you can forgive them? The pack. For what happened.”

Your expression hardened instinctively, the calm you had been cultivating unraveling in an instant.

She bit her lip, glancing toward the fire before looking back at you. “It wasn’t their fault. Not entirely.”

You sighed softly, setting the letters aside as you straightened in your seat. “Not entirely,” you echoed, your tone sharper now. “That doesn’t change the damage they caused. To me. To themselves. To you.”

Leah hesitated, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression as she pressed on. “I’m not saying what happened was okay. It wasn’t. But they’re… broken. And I think—no, I know—they’d do anything to fix it if you’d let them.”

You stared at her, your thoughts churning. It wasn’t an easy thing to consider, not after everything.

Leah’s voice softened, her earlier confidence faltering just slightly. “I’m asking because… if you don’t forgive them, I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive themselves.”

The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the fire’s crackle and Sybil’s soft breathing.

You took a long, measured look at Leah. For the first time, you saw her clearly—not the broken, haunted version she had been when she arrived, but the person she truly was beneath it all. Her beauty wasn’t just in her features, though those were striking; it was in her kindness, the quiet determination in her voice as she spoke on behalf of others.

She wasn’t pleading for herself, not really. She was pleading for them—for the pack that had been as much victims as they were perpetrators. It was selfless, genuine, and painfully earnest.

It made the weight of your resentment feel… pitiful.

You glanced toward the fire, your thoughts swirling as you turned her words over in your mind. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps forgiveness could give them something they couldn’t find on their own.

But even as you considered it, a familiar truth settled heavily in your chest. Forgiveness was one thing. Forgetting was another entirely.

Your gaze returned to Leah, and you let out a quiet sigh, your voice softer now as you finally spoke. “I may forgive them one day, Leah. But I won’t forget. I can’t.”

Leah’s expression shifted, her lips parting slightly as though to protest, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she seemed to accept your words.

“That’s fair,” she said quietly, her hands resting in her lap. “I just… I hope, for their sake, that forgiveness will be enough.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you leaned back against the sofa, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the room. Sybil shifted at your feet, her dark eyes watching you intently.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your tone carrying more weight than you intended. “That’s all I can promise for now.”

Leah nodded again, her gaze dropping briefly to Sybil before returning to you. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

The room fell quiet again, the crackle of the fire filling the space as Leah settled back onto the bed. You returned to your letters, but your thoughts lingered on her words—and the truth of what they might mean for you, the pack, and everything that lay ahead.

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innerfare · 3 months ago

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Teasing or Overstimulating - Part 5

Summary: Do they tease you or overstimulate you?

Characters: Ichiji, Niji, Yonji

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, sex toys, control freak Ichiji, Yonji might have mommy issues

———

Ichiji:

He’s the eldest son of Germa, a famous prince and warrior, genetically engineered to be as indifferent and aloof as possible. He’s also the most measured of his brothers, the least likely to allow his desperation to turn him into a wild animal. But you get under his skin like no girl ever has, and when you’re behind closed doors, he has to work at remaining in control. And that pisses him of. But he loves your pussy more than he hates you, and he especially loves the taste of your pussy more than he wants to be rid of you. He usually copes with this perceived power imbalance by acting aloof and telling you how much you need him to fuck you, far more than he needs it.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know, by letting you have my cock. I could be fucking any other girl in the world right now. You’d better not make me regret my decision with your pathetic whining.” Of course, if you do stop with your pathetic whining, he’ll experience an existential crisis. He may appear calm and collected, but it’s a veneer- please don’t call his bluff.

He often asserts control over the situation by putting you in the most vulnerable position he can manage, stripping you naked while remaining clothed himself. You almost always end up bent over something with your exposed cunt high in the air. But his favorite way to assert power over you is to tease you, bringing you to the brink two or three times and then sending you on your way without satisfaction, sometimes not even cumming himself to drag it out for as long as possible. It’s a game he plays to feel in control, knowing you’ll feel that slickness between your legs until he personally takes care of it. He never lets you put panties on afterward, will often dangle them in front of your face and even laugh a little when you try to take them.

“What do you want these for, huh? To hide the evidence of how slutty you’ve been for me? It’s your fault you’re all wet, not mine.”

Of course, he can really only manage to achieve this with his fingers or cock. If he dips his tongue into your tight hole and gets a taste of your juices, or even just catches the scent when he takes your panties off, he’ll end up juicing you for as many orgasms as possible, spanking you and spitting on you to punish you for making him so pathetic.

Niji:

Niji is cold and aloof yet greedy and lecherous, which culminates in whirlwind sexual encounters that leave your body sore and twitching in the aftermath. Sure, he feels the urge to withhold pleasure from you, but he rarely ever does because that would require him to withhold pleasure from himself, and he certainly won’t be doing that, not when he’s at home in his castle and painfully erect. He finds his deeply selfish desire to feel your tight little hole clench extra tight around his throbbing cock as he fucks you into the mattress far outweighs his other deeply selfish desire to see your bottom lip quiver because he alone has the power to make you orgasm and refuses to do so with a cruel laugh the way Ichiji would.

He knows he’s spoiling you and has no genuine desire to indulge you as much as he does, but when the door closes and he pulls your panties down, the desire to see your eyes roll into the back over your head overtakes him, and he ends up thumbing your swollen clit while his hips snap against yours, lewd sounds spilling from your lips. It’s gotten to the point that he can’t cum unless he feels you clenching around him, but he’s certainly not going to hurry things along and cum before he’s good and ready, meaning you’re just going to have to cum again and again and again until he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and ready to pump you full of cum.

"Give me one more. Just one more, and I'll cum inside you. Fuck, just like that."

He feels entitled to your orgasms, so much so that he doesn’t allow you to make yourself orgasm and would probably start a literal war if someone else did. He and he alone deserves the privilege of feeling you clench and tasting you after, and he’ll do anything to keep that privilege, even going so far as to lock you up in your room when he’s away.

Yonji:

The first few times he fucked you, he didn’t even try to make you cum. Of course, you were so desperate for his cock you almost did anyway, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. But what did weigh on his mind was how good your little pussy felt, the best he’d ever fucked. And so he kept coming back for more, slowly starting to realize you felt the same about his cock and came quite easily, embarrassingly easily, around it.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re cumming. You’ve probably never been fucked like this in your entire life.”

He’s stingy and has no qualms about taking without giving anything in return, but he’s also cruel and enjoys seeing you begging for relief. Thus, he won’t allow you to cum without properly humiliating you- or, more specifically, making you humiliate yourself. He wants to strip you down and have you crawl on your hands and knees toward him, wants to sit back and laugh at you while you get yourself off by grinding into his thigh, wants to see tears fall down your flushed cheeks because you need to cum so badly but he keeps pulling back as soon as you reach the edge.

As an aside, what he wants more than anything else (though he’s loathe to admit it) is to be humiliated by you. If you catch him off guard, tie him up, make him call you mommy or mistress, and ride his face until you’re overstimulated, he’ll most definitely be the one crawling back. He might even be a little nicer the next time he falls into your bed late at night and pulls your panties down, though the chances of an improved attitude are quite slim, especially if he thinks being a jerk will cause you to dominate him once more.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece smut #ichiji x reader #ichiiji smut #vinsmoke ichiji #niji x reader #niji smut #vinsmoke niji #Yonji x reader #Yonji smut #vinsmoke yonji #germa 66

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d0llcuries · 5 months ago

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LYING HAS TO STOP PT.2

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: grief stricken, you learn to cope with neteyam's absence. after five years it is finally time for the family to return to the forest, will you still be waiting for him?

author's note: my period came today and my womb feels like it's on fire please send help

it’s been days since neteyam left. since he tore your heart from your chest, as easily as you might pluck a flower, and carried it away with him across the sea, to a place you’ve never seen, to a people you don’t know. days, but it feels like an eternity—each minute dragging its feet, stretching thin with the ache of his absence.

your world has shrunk, contracted into the suffocating space of your marui, the woven walls pressing in on you, tight and unrelenting. the forest feels distant, untouchable, as though the trees themselves have pulled away from you, retreating into a haze of memory. you haven’t eaten, haven’t gathered, haven’t done anything at all, really. the thought of food turns your stomach, the very notion of sustaining yourself without him here feels obscene. your body is weak, fragile, a hollow shell that threatens to shatter under the weight of your grief.

and the clan knows. of course they do. your absence is like a gaping wound in the fabric of the village, noticed by all, pitied by many. sympathetic eyes follow your mother wherever she moves, people murmuring soft words in passing, their concern trickling down like droplets of rain on the dry earth. but those words, those glances—they feel empty, like they’re echoing down a dark, endless tunnel. they pity you, yes, but none of them understand the depth of what you’ve lost. how could they? how could anyone, unless they too had given their soul to someone and watched as it slipped away?

they whisper when they think you can’t hear: she misses him so much. the poor girl. how long can she go on like this? as if your heartbreak were something measurable, something that could be weighed, dissected, and then tucked neatly away. but the truth is so much messier than that, so much darker. the pain is a beast, coiled around your chest, claws digging in with every breath you take, and no amount of words or gestures can tame it. you miss him with a desperation that borders on madness, a longing that gnaws at your insides like a festering wound. it is not the gentle, poetic sadness that they imagine; it is a raw, tearing agony that consumes you day and night, leaving no space for anything else.

sometimes, the elders send food to your family’s marui, a silent offering. but the food sits untouched. you can’t bring yourself to take more than a few bites—everything tastes like ash in your mouth. it’s unbearable to think of him not here, unbearable to imagine life without him by your side. you had never considered a future where he wasn’t there. now, all you can see is the emptiness.

you lie curled in the corner of the marui, knees drawn up tight to your chest, fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the woven mat beneath you. the once-familiar texture feels strange now, foreign, as if your senses are dulled, disconnected from the world around you. your face is streaked with tear stains, eyes swollen and raw from crying until there is nothing left. you have become a ghost, a mere echo of the person you were when he was still here.

“ma’ite.”

your mother’s voice is soft, but you don’t need to look up to know she’s standing there, watching you with that mix of concern and helplessness she’s worn for days. you manage to turn your head slightly, just enough to acknowledge her presence, though your neck feels too heavy to lift fully. she kneels beside you, her hands cool and gentle as they brush back the strands of hair that stick to your tear-damp skin. there’s no pity in her eyes—only a quiet, unspoken understanding. she knows this kind of loss, though maybe not in the same way, not with the same fierce, bone-deep ache that claws at you every waking moment.

she’s tried to coax you from your hiding place before, urged you to eat, to breathe in the fresh air, to let the forest heal you the way it always has. but the idea of stepping outside, of facing the world without neteyam, feels insurmountable, like your grief will crush you the moment you so much as stand.

“you cannot live like this,” she murmurs, her voice steady but tinged with a sadness she tries to hide. “he would not want this for you.”

her words hit you like stones, sharp and cutting, and your heart lurches painfully at the mere mention of him. you shake your head, pulling your knees tighter against your chest, like you can somehow protect yourself from the truth. “i cannot,” you whisper, your voice a dry rasp, barely more than a breath. “i don’t know how to go on without him.”

she cups your face gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet hers. there is a strength in her gaze, a fierceness that mirrors your own, though you have none of it left now. “i know your heart is heavy,” she says softly, her thumbs brushing away the new tears that spill over your cheeks. “but you cannot let your grief swallow you whole. you are needed here. your people need you.”

her lips press against your forehead, a kiss meant to soothe, but it only deepens the ache in your chest. you close your eyes, willing yourself to feel comfort, to let her words in.

“come,” she says gently, taking your hand in hers. “just for a moment. step outside. feel the wind, the sun on your skin. it will help.”

and so, you do. at first, only for a few brief moments. you force yourself out of the marui, blinking against the harsh brightness of the sun, your legs unsteady beneath you from the days spent curled in the dark. the light blinding after so long in darkness. the village bustled around you, the sounds of life—laughter, voices, the chatter of children—grating against your raw nerves.

it felt wrong. everything felt wrong.

the village watches you as you move, their eyes filled with quiet hope, but no one approaches. they give you space, knowing that grief is a private thing, a burden that cannot be shared.

your throat burned, tight with the effort of keeping the tears at bay. nature calls to you, as it always has, but even that feels dim now. the beauty of the forest, the rustle of the leaves, the hum of life—it used to bring you peace, used to ground you. but now it’s just a reminder of what’s missing.

the spirit tree becomes your refuge, a place where you can sit and breathe without the weight of the clan’s pity pressing in on you. you sit beneath its glowing tendrils, your knees pulled to your chest, your voice barely more than a whisper as you speak to eywa, the words tumbling out in a rush of desperate hope. you beg her to watch over him, to keep him safe, to bring him back to you. you ask her why, over and over again. why did he have to leave? why did you take him from me?

but there are no answers. just the soft hum of the tree, the gentle glow of the seeds floating around you. they are beautiful, but their beauty feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that the world goes on, even when your heart is breaking.

as the months turned into years, the whispers in the village changed. they no longer spoke of your grief, but of your beauty, of your strength. you had grown in those years—your body, once soft and youthful, had become strong, your muscles lean from hours spent in the forest, gathering and tending to the needs of your people. your hair had grown long, flowing down your back in thick waves, often adorned with wildflowers you picked during your walks. your attire shifted too, more flowing, more ethereal, as if you were slowly becoming part of the forest itself. you were no longer the girl you had been when neteyam left; you had become a woman, beautiful and ethereal, with an air of quiet grace that made you stand out among your peers.

many sought your hand, asking to court you, to make you their mate, but you refused them all. you had promised yourself to neteyam, and though the years had passed, though your prime had come and gone, you remained steadfast in your love for him. the village elders spoke of you often, saying you had grown too spiritual, too distant, that you would never find happiness if you continued to wait for a man who might never return. but you paid them no mind. your heart belonged to neteyam, and no one else could ever take his place.

neteyam had grown restless. five long years had passed since his family fled to awa’atlu, and though he had adapted to life among the reef people, his heart had never left the forest. he missed you—eywa, how he missed you. he still wore your bracelet, the delicate beads now worn and faded from years of saltwater, but it was his most prized possession. it was all he had left of you.

after five long years, his father had finally declared it safe for them to return to the forest. quaritch had been silent for too long, and jake was confident that the threat had passed, that they could go home. neteyam had been elated at the news. he would finally see you again. he had spent years dreaming of this moment, imagining your reunion in a thousand different ways. he would hold you, kiss you, tell you how much he had missed you. his tail flicked back and forth excitedly—this was the happiest his family had seen him in ages.

but then lo’ak had to ruin everything with his big mouth.

“what if she’s already found someone else? i mean, five years is a long time.”

neteyam had laughed it off at first, but the thought lingered, festering like a wound. what if lo’ak was right? what if you had moved on? what if, after all this time, you had found someone else—someone who could be there for you in ways he couldn’t? the thought was unbearable, and yet, he couldn’t shake it. it gnawed at him, turning his excitement into a bitter cocktail of hope and fear.

when they finally arrived back in the forest, neteyam’s heart was in his throat. the village greeted them with open arms, their joy palpable, but neteyam could barely hear the celebrations around him. his mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only.

you.

“where is she?” he asked, his voice tight with the weight of five years of longing.

mo’at frowned slightly, her eyes scanning the crowd. “she was here earlier. she may have gone to gather, or to pray.”

his heart sank. what if you didn’t want to see him? what if you had known he was coming and chosen to avoid him? panic fluttered in his chest, but he tamped it down, refusing to let the fear take hold. he had to find you.

he searched the village first, asking those who knew you, but no one had seen you. frustration clawed at him, the weight of those five years pressing down on him, making every breath feel like a struggle. he needed to see you, to touch you, to know that you were real, that you were still his.

he pushed through the underbrush, his senses heightened, eyes scanning the landscape for any trace of you. he followed the paths you used to walk, the places you had once shared, hoping for some kind of sign. his chest felt tight, his breath shallow with anticipation. and then, as he rounded a bend, your scent hit him—a faint but unmistakable blend of earth and flowers, of home, almost overpowered by the salt of the sea that clung to him.

you were sitting by the stream, your back to him, your hair cascading down your back in thick waves, adorned with the wildflowers you had always loved. for a moment, neteyam couldn’t breathe. his heart clenched at the sight of you, a wave of emotion crashing over him so powerfully that it nearly brought him to his knees. you looked different, older, more serene, but still so unmistakably you. time had changed you, had carved beauty into every inch of you, shaping you into something ethereal, something he could barely comprehend.

eywa, you were beautiful.

he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to approach you. five years had passed—what if you didn’t recognize him? under normal circumstances you would've already detected his scent and turned around to acknowledge him. what if you didn’t want him anymore?

slowly, he stepped forward, careful not to make a sound, but the wind betrayed him, carrying the scent of saltwater to your nose. you stiffened slightly, your hand pausing in its absent tracing of the water’s edge. it was an unfamiliar scent, foreign in its sharpness, but something about it made your heart skip a beat. you turned slowly, your eyes wide and searching, and then you saw him.

for a moment, the world stopped. your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. neteyam stood before you, older, stronger, but still so achingly familiar. his hair was longer, his skin sun-kissed from years spent under a different sky, but his eyes—his eyes hadn’t changed. they were the same deep, golden brown that had always made your heart flutter.

the air thickened, time itself grinding to a halt as you stared at each other, drinking in the sight of one another for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“neteyam?” you whispered, your voice trembling, as if afraid that speaking his name would shatter the fragile reality of the moment. “is this… a dream?”

his lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes warm as they locked onto yours. “no, i am home. i have come back to you.”

you stood slowly, your legs shaky beneath you, as if the earth itself had shifted. you took a step toward him, and then another, but you stopped just out of reach, your eyes searching his face as if trying to convince yourself that he was really there. you wanted to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms, but something held you back. five years of distance, five years of longing, five years of doubt.

you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence between you thick with unsaid words, with questions that neither of you knew how to ask. and then, neteyam broke the silence, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“do you… have a mate?”

the question hung in the air, heavy and painful, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the fear that lingered in his eyes. you shook your head slowly, your voice barely a whisper. “no. i waited for you... just as i promised, remember?”

his breath left him in a rush, his shoulders sagging with relief. “and you?” you asked, your voice trembling. “have you… found someone else?”

he shook his head quickly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “no. i could never.”

the silence stretched between you, fragile and electric, before you both moved. it wasn’t planned, wasn’t thought out, but suddenly your arms were around each other, holding on as if the world itself might crumble if you let go. his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you buried your face in his chest, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the solid, steady presence of him.

you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the weight of five years of longing and heartache melting away in the warmth of his embrace. there were no words for what you felt, for the relief, the love, the overwhelming joy that coursed through you like wildfire. he was here. he was real. and he was yours.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail. his eyes were soft, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache, and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe that everything might just be okay.

bonus:

the poor boy couldn’t tear himself away from you.

it wasn’t enough to sit close or brush shoulders—no, neteyam had to practically bury himself in your skin. his arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer than necessary, while his face stayed tucked against your neck, like he couldn’t stand the idea of even a breath of space between you.

the night air was thick with the smell of roasted fruit, fish, and the soft crackle of the fire at the center of the gathering. drums echoed across the clearing, pulsing with the rhythm of celebration.

you could feel his breath on your skin, warm and steady. he wasn’t confident tonight, though. not like usual. no, tonight he was clingy. dare you say... pathetic even, the way he couldn’t let go, like you’d vanish if he blinked.

you sighed, letting your arms drape lazily around his shoulders, the weight of them pulling him closer still, and though you were happy to be in his arms again after all this time, there was something off about it. his scent—salty, sharp, almost acrid in the way it hit your nose—wasn’t the same as it used to be. you don’t quite like it, the way his scent stings your nose, it clung to him, to you now, but you didn't bother to complain. you persevered, pushing through the discomfort, because he needed this, needed you.

“missed you,” he murmurs, voice cracking somewhere between the words, too low, too broken for anyone else to hear. the kind of confession that never leaves the mouth of someone as proud as neteyam. “i was scared you had moved on.”

you frowned slightly, not because the thought was ridiculous (it wasn’t, not entirely), but because of how broken he sounded admitting it. this was neteyam, the strong, steady boy you’d known your whole life. the boy who’d never shown fear, never let his emotions get the better of him. and now here he was, wrapped around you like a lost child, his breath trembling against your neck. his tail curls, wrapping lazily around your leg.

“lo'ak made me think you were already mated.”

“lo'ak is stupid,” you muttered, though your voice was gentler than the words themselves. “you know i would not do that.”

he nodded, but it felt half-hearted, like he wanted to believe you, but some part of him couldn’t.

you shifted slightly, pulling him closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “i am not going anywhere.”

he shuddered, his grip on your waist almost bruising now, and for a moment, you thought he might break down right there in front of the entire clan.

and maybe, in some small way, you understood. maybe he wasn’t wrong to be scared. five years was a long time, and you had changed. you weren’t the same girl who had watched him leave all those years ago, and he wasn’t the same boy who had made you promise to wait for him.

“you smell like the ocean,” you finally whisper, teasing, a half-hearted protest. his body tenses, the ghost of a laugh shaking his shoulders. still, he doesn’t pull away. can’t.

“it will wash off,” he promises, lips ghosting over your temple. but he doesn’t move to let go. doesn’t think he can. five years apart, and neteyam’s convinced he could spend the rest of his life breathing you in and still not get enough.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam oneshot #neteyam x you #neteyam drabble #neteyam sully imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam imagine #avatar way of water #atwow #d0llcuries stuff ꫂ ၴႅၴ

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jeonscatalyst · 4 months ago

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Over the years, we have gotten tons and tons of information which have proven beyond measure that Jikook are incredibly close to each other and spend a lot of time together but it felt a little different watching AYS and seeing more aspects of their closeness manifest.

During the solo era, we had people saying that Jikook weren’t close at all and had never been close and that everything from the past that made it seem like they were close was because the company wanted people to believe they were and that the solo era had exposed the fact that Jikook were really not close but I really do wonder how the following things could have been possible at all if Jikook were infact not close in real life.

1:Their Inside Jokes:

I feel like so many things are debatable but one thing which isn’t is the fact that Jimin and Jungkook have so many inside jokes or meme references which only the two of them seem to understand and AYS once again proved this. There is no way two people who aren’t incredibly close and who don’t spend a lot of time together get to have as many inside jokes as Jimin and Jungkook. We have compilations of their jokes from years ago but just from AYS alone, we got this much!

What is interesting here is that other people or members around them do not seem to get their jokes or references. I mean we all saw Tae sitting there with them looking lost as hell while Jikook just came up with meme references after the other or with Jokes after jokes so before someone tries to bring up the argument that they are bandmates and have lived together for years so of course they know the same jokes, then why didn’t Tae get all these jokes or meme references?

The way Jimin immediately understood the “apologize to me” meme references the moment he saw Jk making the face without Jk even saying a word, was very telling. The way Jk immediately got the “goood” meme reference while they were at the restaurant in Sapporo, the way Jimin and Jungkook started going “who is going to feed the cows” with the hand and body movements while Tae just sat there looking kinda lost was so telling. It makes you question when, where and how did they even learn all those things to just completely get each other with little or no words if they weren’t close and spend no time together as some people so desperately want to believe?

It’s not rocket science. People only have this many inside jokes if they spend a lot of time together watching the same stuff and repeating them over and over to themselves as jokes or for fun. Notice how neither Jimin nor Jungkook ever had to ask the other, “do you know this meme” but instead just went along with the other as soon as one of them started it? Yea you cannot fake this and once again if this only happened because they are bandmates and have lived together for years, Tae would have gotten those references too but he clearly didn’t the same way in older bangtan content, we have seen Jikook make reference to other memes or jokes that only them two understood while the rest of the members around them looked confused as hell.

2: Tae seeing JK doing a soju bottle trick and immediately assuming he learnt it from Jimin was also very telling. Just like the first point, this too was another very subtle proof of how close Jikook are and how much time they spend together. Tae wouldn’t have immediately assumed that it was Jimin whom Jk learnt that trick from unless he knew about how much time they spend together, what they do when they are together and how close they are. Jimin and Jungkook have mentioned spending time drinking together (amidst other things) and Tae clearly knows this. This also kinda goes hand in hand with the little comment he made: “they are like twins” while Jikook were snorkelling. The phrase often highlights how inseparable two people are. It suggests that they are so close emotionally and spend so much time together that they seem to function as a unit, much like actual twins. If Tae didn’t think or know how close those two are and how much time they spend together, there is no way in hell he would have seen Jk doing something and immediately thought he learnt it from Jimin especially because Jk might have learnt that bottle trick from anywhere else and the kicker is, Jimin said Jk actually didn’t learn that from him because he doesn’t do that when he drinks but it’s interesting how Tae immediately assumed he did.

The other members don’t have to explicitly say “Jimin and Jungkook are close” for one to understand that they are because statements like this tell us how the members see Jikook. This goes hand in hand with the members constantly mixing up Jimin and Jungkook’s names, or the members instinctively mentioning their names after each other’s. These are things you cannot fake.

3: Jimin and Jungkook maintaining certain patterns of their behaviour throughout the years is another thing that was interesting to see play out on AYS. Throughout the years, we have heard from members and Jikook themselves just how much they enjoy spending alone time together in their down time and at nights and it was interesting to see that this habit of theirs just didn’t die. In AYS, we saw how Jikook made decisions to do things together which included staying up late together, deciding to go to bed together etc even when Tae always went to bed earlier than they did. These are things we have heard that they did for years and we were able to see glimpses of this but it was interesting to really see this play out on AYS. It was beautiful to see how they didn’t need much to keep themselves entertained as they could always come up with the smallest things to giggle about or play with. People just don’t get each other like this unless they are incredibly close and have a deep connection. It was important for them to do things together and they did them so naturally that you could easily tell they were so used to this.

4: Both of them knowing exactly what the other person likes was another example. Jimin knowing the kind of activities that Jk would love and choosing them. Jk knowing exactly how Jimin likes his food (spicy) and also knowing that Jimin was going to love the beef stew.

Sometimes too it was the way they understood each other without words. Jungkook realizing that Jimin felt sad about their trip coming to an end and doing everything in his power to cheer him up. Another thing which made me so soft and which I didn’t even know until someone pointed it out, was the fact that Jungkook knew that letting cold air get into the car by keeping the windows open would be a sure way to get Jimin to cheer up because Jimin had once mentioned that when he feels sad, he goes to a cold place. This was something Jimin said back in 2018 so it was really beautiful to see that Jungkook still remembered it.

5: Jk saying that “if we had met as friends of the same age, we would have been copies of each other”. I feel like this one is pretty self explanatory. This isn’t something you say to someone you aren’t incredibly close to.

The idea of being “same age friends” suggests that meeting as two people who were of the same age (while taking into consideration the cultural context) might have shaped their personalities in a way that made them even more alike than they already are. It implies that age or circumstances have caused some differences, but the core of who they are is so similar that, under different conditions, they would have been almost indistinguishable. The statement also conveys a strong connection or bond. It implies that the Jk sees a lot of himself in Jimin and vice versa and feels a sense of kindred spirit, as if they are mirror images of each other in many ways and this isn’t something you say to a person unless you feel really close to them.

These were a few things from AYS that once again proved how close Jikook are and these are things that cannot be faked because they come very naturally. Habits, instinctive statements and phrases etc.

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #are you sure #jikook blog #vminkook #Taekook

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velveteenprayers · 5 months ago

Text

11:11

pairing: percy jackson x gn!demigod!reader

summary: percy stumbles into your apartment at 11:11

word count: 1k+

a/n: none! first fic pls be kind 😔

The neon green casts an eerie glow over your room. Frustration grows within you as you realise how late it is. Beneath him, you shuffle, clearly trying to make an escape from his hold, to soothe him, to no avail. You grumble and sigh. And again. And once more, for good measure. Until a weak groan of “Percy….” finally escapes you. The sound of your voice seemingly breaks the spell cast on him by your Hello Kitty digital clock.

“What are you doing up so late?” you ask, exhaustion laced in your voice.

“Nothing Bug,” he responds, burning holes into a dark corner of your room. His index finger is tapping against your arm in a way he knows makes you drowsy. “Go back to sleep.”

It’s not been that long ago since he walked into your bare downtown apartment, nothing with him but his skateboard. He provided no explanation, and you didn’t ask.

You groan again, and look up at your ceiling. Your ceiling creaks under the steps of your upstairs neighbours, going about their evening.

“Well, I can’t sleep unless I know you’re sleeping, so…”

A few minutes pass, nothing to be heard except the sound of your fan whirring and a few hoots outside. New York, the city that never sleeps. His city. Sometimes you wonder how you used to think of it in any other way.

Finally, he relents, and collapses next to you, quite a feat for your small mattress, disturbing your toothpaste green sheets, but you find a way to make it work. You always do, for him. A few beats of silence. You reach for his forehead, and he leans into your touch instinctively. Finally, he relieves himself from his ever-busy mind, “Where did you get that clock from?”

An innocent question, truly, but you know better

“Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer to.”

He sniggers, and rolls his eyes, and warmth fills your chest, golden and all-consuming. He’s back, your boy, and at this moment that’s all that matters to you.

“And the saying is “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer too.””

You frown, mentally cursing yourself for growing up in a pagan military camp as though you had a choice. Your fingers delicately run through his locs, through those cursed grey strands. (Maybe you would despise them less if you had the other matching half.)

“What difference does it make?” You ask, trying to hide the soft desperation in your voice. To no avail, as it always seems to be with him. Your ugly heart pulled from your chest and displayed for him, always.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, and stares at the ceiling. Irritation gnaws at you, but most of all, a sense of hopelessness, one that stirs within you more often than you’d like to admit. You want to swallow him whole, encase him in your ribs, and never let any monster or God get to him ever again. You want to know him inside out, for it to be indistinguishable without you. But most of all, you want him, in any way he’ll let you have him. You want to be to him all that he is to you. Everything. But you’re only half a god, and you will have to live with whatever you can get. (You think of all you don’t know of him. Bile rises in your throat)

He glances at you, sharp eyes softening. You’ve always thought Pecry had the prettiest eyes you’ve ever known, like waves meeting the sun, the forest marbles you used to play with the Hermes cabin. When camp was different, and you were too. He reaches for your hand, and you let him. He squeezes it.

“I’m sorry, that was mean. I guess, I just get paranoid sometimes.”

And you understand, because you’ve seen time and time again how he gives himself to the world and is met with cruelty in return.

“Of what?”

He shrugs, a distance between the two of you reached instantly. “Of, I don’t know, you. You’re just kinda a mystery to me sometimes.” (You wanna laugh at the irony. But you’ve never been as cruel as the world.)

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Your eyes meet his for the first time this evening. You're grateful you’ve always had this in-syncness that seems to be innate. Why did you even worry in the first place ?

“I mean,” he begins, “why did you and your sister stop talking?” The question hits you like a knife to the stomach, conjuring the enraged face of your half-sibling in your mind.

“You see what I mean?” His voice is gentle, like the sea dying down to meet the shore

“Oh.” Is all you manage to say, burying your face in his neck. He smells like generic lotion and the cologne you got him for his birthday, peppermint and lavender. “I see.”

“Why do you steal so much?”

“How else am I supposed to get the things that I need ?”

“Name, no-one on Gaia’s Earth needs that many porcelain statues.”

You frown at that, but with a newfound myrth. “Don’t talk about my collection like that. It’s very impressive.”

“Whatever Grandma.” he says, grinning, shaking his head in disbelief

You gasp “Grandma. Really. That’s the best that you, Perseus Jackson, saviour of Olympus, could come up with?

You continue, “But it’s the same with you, What was your life like before camp? You never tell me.”

He frowns, before he laughs softly, a sound like rain on pavement.

“Wow, I guess we’re both bad at this.”

You nod, face still hidden within him.

He just grins, shark teeth on full display, a sight so lovely you have to turn around to fight the feeling in your stomach. You can feel his arms snake around you from behind.

“Let’s make a deal? To be more…open with each other.”

You look up at him, fingers gently contouring his face, (The world is cruel to him, so therefore you won’t be.)

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

With that, the tension in your body gives, the knots in your stomach untie and you lay next to him. His hand finds your back, rubbing soothing patterns.

“But stop robbing aunties in Chinatown of their antiques.” “Screw you.”

His laugh is the last thing you hear before you doze off again, a sound you hope you can hear until the end of your short, cursed life.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy x reader #percy x you #percy x y/n #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo x y/n #hoo x you #hoo x y/n

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nana-au · 10 months ago

Note

not sure if your taking requests but if you are may I request nanami x freader who fakes being sick just so kento takes time off work to take care of her and have him all to herself. he catches onto it and makes his day off worth while by having her 🍆 drunk the whole day 😉

Absolutely! 🫶🫶

I love how sweet Bf! Kento is hehee... I hope this lived up to your expectations. Thank you so much for sending in a request! I’m a little nervous because I’m not sure I can write him right but I hope this is on par enough :cry:

Feeling Sick? I'll take care of you...

Kento Nanami ♡

MDNI

₊˚ପ⊹ Summary: Your doting boyfriend Kento doesn’t want to call your bluff about being sick. He’d rather tease the truth out of you!

₊˚ପ⊹ Warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, nipple play, orgasm denial, light spanking, cumming in your mouth, somnophilia, fingering, f! receiving oral, creampie, slight breeding kink (who is surprised i’m obsessed), not proofread </3

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 3.2k

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

BF! Kento who never answers personal calls at work unless it is your name on his phone. “Hey sweet girl, everything okay?” he answers, keeping his volume low causing his deep voice to go even deeper. You could get dizzy off of his voice alone, it only solidified what needed to be done. If you didn’t miss him so much you would feel guilty for the lie you were about to spin – but you hadn’t seen your boyfriend all week because of the overtime he was putting in at his job. It was a desperate move – but if hamming up a cold was what it took; You would do anything to spend time with him. “Kento.. I don’t feel so good. Could you come home…” you made sure your throat was dry to sound raspy and even threw in a pathetic cough at the end.

BF! Kento who asks his boss for the rest of the day off without a second thought. You were his everything and he knew just how big of a baby you were when it came to getting sick. He would do anything to make sure you were taken care of – both physically and mentally.

BF! Kento who comes home to find you in your shared bed under a mountain of covers. He pulls them back and plants a kiss to your exposed forehead, rubbing your hair soothingly. “What doesn’t feel good?” he coos at you. It almost hurts how concerned he looks. “My throat hurts,” you tell him, making sure to frown and scrunch your brows. “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s go take your temperature,” he begins to pull back the covers. “I-I already took it. It’s 101,” you tell him – a little too quickly. You can see his face go blank as he thinks over what you said. He knew you well… too well. You would never take your own temperature – always too scared to know the answer. It wasn’t hard for you to admit you feel sick but having it confirmed was another thing entirely. It would sour your mood. You always let Nanami take care of you. Always. He wordlessly touches your forehead with the back of his hand and you swallow thickly trying to read his face. You hoped trying to overheat yourself with all the blankets you brought into bed would work in making your forehead hot. All it did now was make you sweat as your boyfriend studies your figure over. If he has anything to say he keeps it to himself.

BF! Kento who diligently cuts up the carrots for your soup. The anxiety you felt over how silent he became was bad enough you really did think you needed Nanami – you hadn’t felt this sick in a while! You kept sneaking peeks from the couch as you watched him prepare your lunch. His face was expressionless except for the focus he put into sauteeing the vegetables and measuring out the seasonings. While you swallowed down your nerves you had to appreciate how delicious your boyfriend looked. He had a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder that he used to wipe his hands on while he cooked – his button down shirt missing his work tie and exposing his upper chest. “Feeling okay, sweet girl?” he asks you when he catches you looking. You meekly nod, trying to put on a show.

BF! Kento who rubs your feet as you eat the lunch he made you. It was torture being under his diligent touch. He watched you intently – preferring to study you in silence as you ate. His strong thumbs massaged deeply into the arch of your right foot, releasing all the tension. “I know how sore you feel when you get sick,” his eyes lock onto yours, “Do your legs or arms hurt more, baby?” You choke out something that you hoped sounded like legs and he gets to work. It’s nothing short of professional the way his hands turn you into putty. You always tease him about how he must have been a masseuse in his past life – but it didn’t feel right to crack a joke at this moment. His gaze on you was intense as he studied the pleasure written on your face. The bowl of soup was abandoned on the end table as you embraced his powerful fingers. He slowly worked his way up your lower extremities, taking his time with the tight muscles in your calves. You felt yourself melt into the couch under his touch, too relaxed to open your eyes. He rubs the pit of your knee in slow circles before reaching up to your thighs, digging his thumbs in deep. You’re blissed out as you feel him shift closer, moving up even further. He turns your right leg out, tickling the inside of your thigh with a feather light touch before applying more pressure. You open your eyes and he’s still watching your face. “Feel good?” he asks you. Nodding, you bite your lip at the dangerous tingle in your tummy at the feeling of him touching your sensitive inner thigh. If he noticed you biting your bottom lip – and Kento is observant he definitely noticed – he pretends not to and continues on to the other side. He is almost at the point where your thighs and torso meet and you have to use all your strength not to wriggle around at the intense pleasure building. Kento loved watching you pretend like he wasn’t turning you on and he loved pretending he wasn’t aware of how sensitive your thighs were. He rubbed his thumb dangerously close to your pussy lips covered by your pajama shorts multiple times, humming to himself as he worked your ‘sore’ body. Trying to keep still was becoming impossible, jolting every time his digits almost went right where you needed them. “You okay?” he asks you, his knuckle ‘accidentally’ rubbing up against your heat as he squeezed the fat of your inner thigh. When you don’t respond because the only thing that would surely come out is a moan, he chirps up, “I think it’s time to run your bath.”

BF! Kento who never planned to have you soak alone. You were leaned up against him in the tub, keeping still as he ran his hands over your thighs – making sure the soaking salts made your body nice and smooth. They came up to your stomach, rubbing your skin lightly and he kissed the side of your head. “I know just how to take care of you... Hmm?” he questioned and you nodded. “Thank you,” you told him and he smiled into your hair. His good little girl always used her manners. His big hands came up to your chest, massaging your breast unexpectedly. “Something wrong?” he asks when you jump from his touch. “N-no,” you spit out.

BF! Kento who knows your body so well. He rubs one hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand still squeezing the fat of your other breast. He’s unabashedly groaning into your ear, “So plump. Fits just right in my hand,” his lips are smiling against your ear lobe. You’re really wiggling under his touch but he still doesn’t comment on it.

BF! Kento who isn’t even hiding the fact that his massage has turned into groping. He’s pinching your nipple and running his hot tongue against your ear. The wet sounds of his mouth are overwhelmingly loud and incredibly sexy. His other hand is pulling apart your thighs so he can slip his knee in between yours – keeping your legs wide open. “Maybe if I play with your clit you’ll feel a little better,” he ponders out loud and you’re agreeing with him. “I don’t know though… might be a little too intense for my sick girl,” you were going to explode if he did not touch you. “No I’ll be okay,” you promise and he clicks his tongue. “I don’t know… I’m not convinced it won’t be too much,” your knuckles must be white from how hard you’re gripping the tub. “I’ll be fine,” you plead and it comes out desperate and needy and definitely from a girl who is feeling perfectly fine.

BF! Kento who makes you admit you lied about being sick just to spend time with him. He’s not mad. He could never be mad at you. Not when you’re making those pretty noises for him. Your clit is so sensitive against the rough pad of his finger. Your moans are just whines and he goes just the right speed for you. “You’re gonna have to make my time off worthwhile,” he sternly informs you.

BF! Kento who makes you take him for the rest of the day. If he was going to tend so diligently to you for your little lie, it was only fair you treated him just as well. That’s why after you came on his fingers in the bath, you had to ride him with no assistance. It was easy at first – you eased yourself onto his long cock while he laid back with his arms crossed behind his head. Your hands leaned against his toned stomach for support as you guided yourself up and down his length. It wasn’t long before you found a good pace, dragging him against your walls and reaching the spot in you that made you dizzy. You were getting so wet watching him watch you take him all by yourself, fucking yourself with his dick. “Lean back baby, wanna see it better,” he mumbled. If you weren’t already blissed out it would be shocking how composed he was. You did as he asked, using your hands to prop yourself against his thighs. You pulled slowly out before sinking back down onto him, feeling his tip hit the spot inside you that could make you cry. You shook as you continued, trying hard not to cum from how good the angle felt. “Nanami… feels…t’good like this,” you mewled. You were pouting, begging for him to be satisfied with what he saw. “Just a few more times,” he promised, “Just love to watch my cock disappear in you.”

BF! Kento who scolds you when you cum again – but he’s not actually mad. He could never be mad at you. Your cunt fluttered around his cock as you came, still fucking yourself onto him to make sure you held up your end of the bargain. “K-kentooo,” you were breathless and feeling weak from your second orgasm. “I need help,” you plead. It was hard to keep up the pace he liked. “You’re doing just fine, sweet girl,” he assured you – still not tired of watching your slick coat his cock with each drag of your hips. You continued to take him shakily, building up the same pleasure as fast as it went. His long cock hit the perfect spot in your gummy walls, tip kissing it each time you sunk down onto him. You were slowing down, allowing him to watch you take every inch of him before pulling back up for his length to reappear all shiny with your juices. You didn’t want to come again but the slow pace was driving Nanami mad with want.

BF! Kento who decides it's time for a new position. He’s got you trapped underneath him while you’re laid down on your stomach – back arched so he reaches right where you need him to. If he didn’t remind you with every squeeze of your cunt that you were meant to make him cum – you would have completely lost yourself again. You already came twice and you were supposed to be making it up to him! You needed to be a good girl and wait your turn. “Hold it,” he told you, almost like a warning. It was evil the way he pounded into you. Him and you both knew he could go for hours like this, too satisfied with the way you were squeezing him to ever want it to end. The pillow your face was in was wet with tears. “Na-Na-Mi” you said each syllable as his hips slapped into you, his body trapping yours underneath it. Your cute little cunt squeezed again at a particularly hard thrust and he pulled out to deliver a firm smack to your cheek. You cried an apology into the pillow. “I cum next,” he tells you and you’re promising him you understand. He pulls your hips off the bed and aligns himself back up with your empty pussy. “You’re doing this for me. You’re taking me so well because you lied,” he reminds you before easing back in. “You don’t cum again until I cum, okay? No matter how good it feels.” You hiccup, telling him you’ll hold it. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to be commanding in the bedroom but he was always so gentle with you – treating you like a princess. It was a little shocking (and incredibly hot) how dominant he was. His pace quickly matched his previous one and once again you were hyper aware of how difficult it was becoming to ignore the building pleasure. “You were so naughty – calling me out of work,” he scolds you, relentlessly pounding your poor pussy. “Gotta let your tight pussy make it up to me,” you’re apologizing into the pillow, getting drowned out by the vulgar sounds coming from your wet cunt as your bodies meet. “She’s such a good little girl,” he coos, referring to the way your pussy is hugging his cock like a perfect little cock sleeve. You’re sweating from the effort it’s taking you to focus on not coming undone. Especially with the way he’s talking to you.

BF! Kento who decides he wants needs to cum in your mouth. You’re grinding your teeth trying to keep it inside while he’s fucking deliciously into you – and thankfully he’s starting to lose control. In between his moans he’s chastising your pretty lips for lying with such ease. “Gonna have to teach that lying mouth a lesson,” he warns you, “Gonna cum in your mouth.” He grabs at your face, squeezing your cheeks and turning you towards him. He pumps in your cunt a few more times before pulling out and releasing messily into your mouth and face. You don’t fight it, swallowing any part that reaches your mouth.

BF! Kento who kisses you all over, thanking you for being so good. He checks that you’re okay and to make sure you know he’s not actually upset with you. “You can always tell me when you need me, baby. I’m sorry for taking so much overtime. This weekend you have me all to yourself. I promise.” You don’t get to cum again but you’re okay with it. You were extremely worn out and after he cleaned you up you didn’t stand a chance – falling right to sleep.

BF! Kento who knows you deserve one more orgasm. You didn’t think he’d forget, did you? This time he was going to be nice and sweet. Take his time playing with your pretty little pussy. A couple hours had passed and you were still sound asleep, laying all pliant and ready for him. You were still naked from earlier so all he had to do was pull the covers back to expose your puffy lips. You looked so peaceful while you slept, your beautiful figure perfectly on display for him. He slid his finger down your slit – unsurprisingly you were not wet. He went to work just ghosting your clit, not wanting to wake you yet. He rubbed slow circles, studying your sleeping face. Your eyebrows scrunched and your nose twitched – but you were still asleep. He tested his tongue on you, taking one small kitten lick on your clit. When you didn’t wake he continued his ministrations, slowly licking your nub. He was swirling his tongue, growing less hesitant as time passed. He teased his finger at your entrance, tracing along the sides before sucking lightly on your clit. You stirred a little, but you weren’t quite awake yet. He pushed his forefinger in only to the first joint, continuing to suck and kiss your clit. You were whimpering, still asleep but aware of the pleasure. Your hips moved a little and your hand came up to rub your face. By the time you woke up his finger was curled deep inside you and lips attached to your nub, sucking feverously. Your hands grabbed ahold of his blonde locks, pushing his face down into you. “Kento… f-fuck,” you cried out. He was slurping up all the arousal leaking out of you, flicking his tongue on your bud. You definitely got the orgasm you deserved.

BF! Kento who needs to feel your pussy one more time – and you’re too drunk on his cock to ever deny him. He’s fucking you slowly in missionary, his eyes full of love as he watches you drool at the feeling of his long cock drag against your walls. You look so good, completely entranced and sickly in love with the way his dick stretches you perfectly. You wouldn’t need any convincing in this moment to stay like this for life, trapped in by his strong body and taking his cock in any way he gives it to you. “You’re so beautiful,” he reaches up to squeeze the fat of your rosy cheek. He’s telling the truth when he swears he has never seen a woman so stunning. “Taking my cock like you were made for it,” you can only nod at his words. “You were made for me? Hmm?” he asks you and you’re nodding again. He knows you’re barely all there but that only makes him more turned on. “Made to take my cum.. Fuck,” his pace is still awfully slow but you’re just happy he’s inside of you. He’s feeling so in love with you – and stupidly pussy whipped. “Can’t imagine anyone else as perfect as you,” he’s reaching down to slowly toy with your clit and you’re leaking onto the sheets. “‘This what you needed, sweet girl?” You’re nodding. It’s all you ever need. “Gonna need my cum too?” Again you’re nodding and he’s picking up the pace little by little. You’re arching your back, pressing your chest against his and grabbing his shoulders. Trying anything to feel close to him while he rocks back and forth into you. Your whimpers and moans only make him go faster and he’s grunting in your ear at each thrust that reaches deep inside you. “Gotta make sure I get as deep as I can, baby,” he says, taking your legs and hooking them over his shoulders. Now you’re begging him to fuck you harder, the new angle reaching dangerously deep inside you. “Think this will work? This deep ‘nuff? ‘This gonna give me a baby, hmm?” He reaches down to your clit and you’re coming at his confession. You can’t think of a man more worthy of you carrying his children than Kento.

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hivemuthur · 2 months ago

Text

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 3.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5,7K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: I don't even know. Just... read it. Trigger warning for this chapter: Hamilton, The Musical.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“How come you’re in the science department and doing a theatre gig during Open Days?” Sue asked, lying sideways on her bed, her legs resting on the wall and crinkling up her Blur poster. Her hair was splayed across the floor as she ate a lollipop, following your pacing with nothing but the movement of her eyes.

“Apparently, Theodor is violently ill, and Hale volunteered my flesh in a ritual,” you scoffed. Ridiculous. You’d told Hale there was no way in hell, but he had thrown himself at your feet, weeping theatrically in front of his entire group, while they chanted, “Do it, do it!” like some cult.

You picked up the pieces of costume Hale had brought you after the fitting. They were supposed to be tailored to your size, yet everything was still slightly too big. “There’s no one else in this world who knows Hamilton by heart,” you muttered bitterly. At that moment, you cursed your good memory and your love of musicals more than ever.

“And it’s like… fine that you’re going to play… a Black guy?” Sue whispered the last part, as if it were illegal to even say it. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sue… he wasn’t Black, Jesus. It’s just the actor... ah, whatever. Will you come?” you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation. It was clear you wouldn’t go through with it unless Sue promised to cheer you on and then make fun of you for the rest of your days together.

“Y/N. Look at me,” Sue said, attempting to make a serious face as the lollipop left her mouth with a quiet pop. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you said, crouching down to kiss Sue’s forehead before licking her face for good measure.

“Ugh, you’re so gross. Break a leg!” Sue shouted after you as you ran out, as though you were, well, running out of time.

You tore down the corridor like a madwoman, half-dressed in 18th-century men’s attire because you’d promised Hale you’d make it to rehearsal. Taking a sharp turn around the corner, your forehead collided violently with something hard, and the sound of metal clattering on the tiled floor filled your ears.

Groaning, you rubbed your head and looked up to see that you’d knocked Viktor clean off his feet. What hit your forehead was a hardback version of Bioengineering Fundamentals. Jayce, standing beside him, had to prop himself against the wall to keep from falling over with laughter.

“Jesus, Viktor, I’m so fucking sorry,” you blurted, scrambling to your feet and grabbing him by the waist to help him up. He was so shocked he didn’t say a word. Finally, once you’d managed to gather his scattered notes and hand them back to him, he started laughing.

“Is there a burning need to found a country somewhere?” he asked with a grin, sending Jayce into another round of hysterical laughter.

You tried to regain your composure but failed, laughing along with them. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” you asked, shooting Viktor a glance and frowning in a friendly way.

The moment felt strange. You hadn’t addressed the A- you’d received on your infamous paper, and you’d been meaning to ask him about it. But he’d fled the classroom before you could ambush him, and it had been like that for the past two weeks.

“Well, for your information, I am helping a friend in need,” you said, patting Jayce’s shoulder as he wheezed with laughter, wiping tears from his face.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Jayce barely managed to ask through his hysterical fit.

“Aaron Burr, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Before you could think, you took Jayce’s hand in yours, bowed, and placed an introductory peck on it. Thankfully, Jayce thought nothing of it, and the gesture sent him reeling with laughter again. You just rolled your eyes and added, “No time to explain. Come see, the show is in the main courtyard in… shit, in thirty minutes.”

You were about to run off again, but Viktor’s questioning look stopped you. Over your shoulder, you hastily called, “I’ll tell you over a beer!” and fled.

Wait. Had you just invited both Jayce and Viktor to witness your ridiculous performance? And invited Viktor to have a beer with you? That was it—you had completely lost your mind.

Bursting through the backstage doors, you were half out of breath, clutching your costume hat in one hand and your scarf in the other. Hale spun around dramatically, his hands thrown up as though he’d been about to make a grand declaration to the heavens.

“Y/N! My saving grace, my knight in shining breeches—you’re here!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you as if your delay had shaved years off his life. “I was moments away from throwing myself upon the mercy of the audience and telling them the show must not go on. But you’ve come to save us!”

“Cut the theatrics, Hale. I’m here, aren’t I?” you huffed, pulling on the hat and shaking out the rest of your costume. You hadn’t even had time to finish dressing properly.

“Barely,” Hale teased, though his expression softened as he rested his hands on your shoulders. “Really, Y/N. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

You waved him off, pretending to be nonchalant despite the flush creeping into your cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me your firstborn or something.”

The rest of the theatre group began to gather around, buzzing with pre-performance energy. Hale snapped into action, leading them into what you could only describe as the most bizarre pre-show ritual you’d ever witnessed. It involved everyone joining hands in a circle, chanting what sounded like a mix of inspirational quotes and nonsense phrases, all while Hale stood in the centre, waving his arms like some kind of benevolent priest.

Trying not to laugh, you leaned in and whispered to him, “You know you’re definitely going to start a cult one day, right?”

Hale turned to you with a mock-offended expression. “How dare you, Mr. Burr? This is high art.” He extended his hand toward you, palm up, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Now, are you ready?”

You smirked, placing your hand in his with exaggerated formality. “No time like the present, Mr. Hamilton.”

Hale grinned wide, squeezing your hand once before leading the group toward the stage.

When you stepped out into the courtyard, the cold evening air hit you, but the sight of the assembled crowd gave you no time to focus on it. The makeshift stage was set with a minimalist backdrop, and the audience sat on scattered benches and blankets in the open space. As Hale began his introduction, your eyes scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot Sue. Your friend stood right at the front, waving frantically and holding up crossed fingers. “Go, Y/N!” Sue yelled, loud enough for the whole audience to hear.

You groaned, covering your face in mock embarrassment, but you couldn’t help smiling. Your gaze drifted to the opposite side of the crowd, where you caught sight of Jayce and Viktor. Jayce, as expected, gave you an enthusiastic thumbs-up, grinning ear to ear. Viktor, standing beside him, met your gaze and offered a subtle nod. His smile was small but unmistakably amused, his golden eyes sparkling in the glow of the stage lights.

A flutter of nerves ran through you, but you straightened your posture and took a deep breath.

Hale’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful creatures, friends, and foes, tonight you are in for a treat! Our school prides itself on breaking all boundaries, and tonight is no exception. I’m honoured to announce that we have a very special guest joining our cast—a true star from the science department!”

The audience chuckled, and you found yourself bowing awkwardly as Hale gestured toward you with a flourish. You waved sheepishly, suppressing your own laughter at the absurdity of it all. It didn’t help that the audience seemed doubly amused by the fact that you were playing a male role. Boundaries broken, big time.

“Now,” Hale continued, his dramatic flair still in full force, “let us take you back to the revolution!”

You held back a laugh, planted your feet firmly on the stage, and braced yourself for what was sure to be the most ridiculous evening of your academic career. Closing your eyes, you waited for your cue. It was just a couple of songs, and you really knew them by heart. You decided to sink into your role completely, just as you had during those boring summers in the Sheffield suburbs when you and Hale acted out the entire Hamilton soundtrack in your backyard. You had been training to be Aaron Burr for at least five years.

When you performed the first song, you were timid. Alexander Hamilton started with a gentle recitation, balancing on the verge of rap and poetry. Thankfully, you weren’t the main singer in this number, but you did catch the crowd’s surprised expressions as they locked onto the stage chemistry between you and Hale. As you felt the voices of the group swelling behind you, your courage kicked in, and you let yourself sink into the experience. You sang bravely with the choir, hit your cues, and couldn’t help but smile when you saw Sue clutching her chest in awe and Jayce swaying to the music. Viktor, of course, didn’t move an inch.

The next part was far harder. Wait for It was entirely Aaron Burr’s song, and you had no time to transition from the comfort of performing with the group to the isolation of a soloist. As you walked up and down the stage, singing your lines, you closed your eyes and let the music carry you once again. But as you sang the verse I’m willing to wait for it, it struck you that the words felt far removed from the American Revolution. You weren’t singing about history anymore—you were singing about something personal, something closer to your own life. And so, you poured your heart into it.

The crowd was enraptured, and as the song came to an end, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. Not for any particular reason—just the release of tension, the rush of it all.

They finished the set with Non Stop, and it was brilliant. This was what Hale was born for: an artistic, half-sung, half-rapped banter that he got to perform with his best friend while wearing ridiculous, fluffy shirts and oversized hats. You watched him, pride swelling in your chest.

It wasn’t perfect—and yet, it was. The crowd laughed at your mid-song mock conversation, and you had to stifle your own giggles at how absurd it must have looked. Hale was over a full head taller than you, and yet here you were, sparring and singing like equals.

The applause was deafening. You and Hale exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance before stepping forward to bow. The crowd’s enthusiasm only grew louder, forcing you both to retreat backstage before being called out again, not once but three times. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, your cheeks flushed as you waved to the audience. You had no idea how you’d gotten roped into this, but somehow, it felt worth it.

On your third return to the stage, the crowd’s energy reached a new level. Sue stood in the front row, pumping her fists in the air and yelling, “Aaron Burr! Aaron Burr!” The chant caught on like wildfire, spreading through the audience until it echoed off the courtyard walls. Your face turned an even deeper shade of red as you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment.

Hale, ever the showman, raised his hands dramatically, silencing the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen, and all beautiful creatures,” he declared, striding toward you with the exaggerated flair of a Shakespearean actor. “Clearly, the world is not ready for her!” He paused for effect, then bowed deeply before you, extending the microphone as though it were Excalibur. “I give you... Aaron Burr.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself, and took the microphone with mock solemnity. “Thank you, Sir Hamilton,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated formality. You turned to the audience, gesturing toward Hale with the mic. “First of all, I’d like to clarify that I am, in fact, his hostage. This whole performance? His idea. I’m just a humble victim of his orchestrated chaos.”

The audience laughed, and you spotted Sue in the front, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“And as you can see,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “the science department at this fine university has so much to offer. I mean, we clearly do everything around here.” Your words were met with more laughter and applause, and as you glanced out into the crowd, your gaze landed on Viktor.

To your surprise, he was laughing. Not just smiling politely but laughing—his shoulders shaking slightly as his lips curled into a grin. For a moment, you froze. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but the sight warmed you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Hale leaned into the microphone, snapping you out of your thoughts. “All right, all right, that’s enough of a spotlight for Mr. Burr here,” he teased, taking back the mic. “Now give it up one more time for the entire cast!”

The crowd erupted again, and you took another bow, trying not to stare too long in Viktor’s direction as you exited the stage. As soon as you stepped off, Sue threw her arms around you in a tight hug.

“You didn’t tell me you’re a fucking genius!” Sue practically screamed.

“Ah, not much to do around Sheffield,” you laughed, happy but relieved it was over. There really wasn’t much for them to do around Sheffield, so you all knew your musicals better than your own mothers.

“I too bow to your genius, Mr. Burr,” Jayce’s voice startled you as he dramatically bowed before pulling you into a tight hug. “What the hell, Y/N? What are you even doing in the science department?”

“I… wanna be in the room where it happens,” you quipped, your grin widening as Hale laughed loudly—the only one to catch the reference.

“I had no idea you had it in you,” Viktor said, his tone carefully measured. He looked like he was trying not to meet your gaze, but there was something in his expression—a faint flicker of admiration he was trying to hide. You, caught up in your post-performance high, mistook it for mockery.

“Oh, you have no idea. I have so much in me, Viktor. You’re not ready for me,” you fired back, your inhibitions long gone as you basked in the adrenaline and laughter around you.

Hale’s arm slid around your shoulders from behind, pulling you close as he grinned mischievously. “Pub, pub, pub,” he chanted, looking expectantly at the group.

The others exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. Hale pumped his fist in victory, letting out a triumphant “Yes!” as they began gathering their things.

“Wait, I can’t go dressed as Aaron Burr!” you exclaimed, tugging at the ridiculous fluffy shirt you were still wearing.

“You are Aaron Burr, my love,” Hale declared with dramatic flair, spinning you toward the door as though you were about to take the stage again.

“That would mean one day I’m going to kill you, Hale,” you retorted, crossing your arms in mock indignation.

“Darlin’, dying by your hand would be a blessing,” Hale shot back with a flourish, clasping his hands to his chest as if you’d already delivered the fatal blow.

The group erupted into laughter, but Viktor’s voice cut through, calm and measured as always. “It suits you,” he said, his gaze lingering on you, his lips quirked in that rare, faint smile that always seemed to unnerve you.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What does?”

“The outfit,” Viktor clarified, gesturing subtly to your absurd costume. “It is bold and... untraditional. Very much like you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but the warmth in his tone made your cheeks flush, nonetheless. “Well, I’m glad someone appreciates my theatrical side,” you said, quickly looking away to avoid overthinking the exchange.

“Let’s go already!” Jayce called, clapping his hands to corral the group.

“Fine, but if anyone recognizes me in public, I’m blaming all of you,” you muttered, pulling the coat Hale handed you over your costume.

“And if they don’t recognize you,” Hale added with a wink, “we’ll just have to start singing again.”

“Oh god, no.” You groaned, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

The group headed out into the crisp night air, your laughter echoing through the hallways as you made your way to the pub—you, still dressed as Aaron Burr, walking just a little taller with the glow of the performance still lingering in your chest.

You arrived at the pub late, yet it was still packed with current and future students seeking refuge after the Camden Open Days. Hale insisted on getting you drunk at his own expense, so when everyone finally had a drink in hand, the group settled by the fireplace, next to a pair of freshers too occupied with devouring each other’s faces to notice.

“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be having an even better time than us tonight,” Hale said in an exaggerated whisper, clearly hoping the couple would flinch. They, of course, didn’t.

Jayce and Viktor sat on the couch; Sue crouched on her heels by Hale’s head, while you propped yourself against Hale’s hips as he sprawled with his back to the fire, propping his head on his elbow. His eyes lit up as he spotted Mel approaching the group.

“Thank you for adopting me; my bitches ditched me,” she said with an apologetic smile, planting a loud kiss on Jayce’s cheek before settling on his lap. “I hear we have a new rising star?” she added, bowing her head in recognition toward you.

“Please, I don’t think I can handle so much fame,” you groaned theatrically, palming your face. “But I’m honoured to finally meet you,” you added with a warm smile.

“Honey, I wouldn’t miss this opportunity—Hale doesn’t shut up about you,” Mel teased, grinning at Hale, who accepted the jab with stoic calmness.

“I don’t see why I’d ever have to shut up about her,” he replied, deadpan. “She’s the love of my life.” You only smiled knowingly. He meant every word of it.

Mel raised an eyebrow at Hale’s declaration, then turned her attention to Viktor and Jayce, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Speaking of friends for life—when are you two finally going to accept my invitation to hang out with my girls?”

“I thought you said they just abandoned you?” Jayce asked, faking concern as he patted Mel’s head with exaggerated pity. “I’ll have to have a word with them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, a realization dawning on you—had Viktor lied to you? You watched as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly searching for a clever response. Yes, he was definitely busted.

He was saved by Sue, who hadn’t looked up from her phone the entire time. She raised her hand, as if trying to answer a question in class. “Guys, do you mind if I… well, ditch you?”

Five pairs of questioning eyes turned to her, and she sighed before adding, “I might or might not have a date.”

“Sue! Spill the tea, or we’re not letting you go!” Hale exclaimed, bouncing upright and causing you—who were still leaning against him—to jolt and spill a little of your beer.

Sue played coy for a moment, but then she decided to own it. “Alice. She’s from your group. She… approached me after your show.”

Hale clapped his hands together dramatically. “In that case, I sense the rise of another power couple! Sue, you have my blessing.” He placed a hand over the crown of her head with mock benediction, earning a round of laughter.

You leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Will you be coming back tonight, or should I plan to sleep with one eye open in case Alice kidnaps you?”

Sue simply flashed a mischievous smile. “No promises.”

Mel smirked, resting her head on Jayce’s shoulder. “Well, in that case, Jayce, my room will also be free tonight. Don’t go breaking anything, though. My deposit’s on the line.”

Jayce groaned in exasperation, but his ears flushed red, which only made Mel laugh harder.

Your gaze drifted to Viktor, catching the subtle shift in his posture. It seemed the conversation was circling back to him, and he looked like he was already bracing for it. Before anyone could call him out, he cleared his throat. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave the royal couple to their moment of glory. You’ve earned it after such a successful evening.” He offered a polite smile and rose from his seat.

Hale straightened and turned to you, offering you an exaggeratedly regal nod. “What do you say, my love? Do you want to hang with your old man a little longer?”

You grinned, raising your drink in mock solemnity. “Always.”

With that, the group exchanged goodbyes, Sue leaving with a conspiratorial wink, Mel tugging Jayce toward the door, and Viktor giving a brief nod before slipping into the night.

Once you were alone, Hale sighed contentedly and stretched out in his seat. “Well, Mr. Burr, looks like it’s just us. Let’s reminisce about how we conquered the stage, shall we?”

You laughed, leaning back against him. “You mean how you carried me through the whole thing? Sure, I’m in.”

“You were amazing. But you’re no Aaron Burr, I hope you know that,” Hale said seriously as he leaned you against himself, pulled you closer to his chest, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders as was his habit. When you didn’t respond, he added, “If anything, you’re Hamilton.”

“I think I’ve been all of them at different points in my life... but thank you.” You squeezed his hand and smiled to yourself, the high of the performance slowly fading, leaving you tired but content.

“And how’s it going with Mr. Grumpy? Still making your life hard? Do I need to have a word with him?” Hale mused, gently rocking you back and forth in his arms. He listened through enough rants about Viktor to see where this was going.

You sighed, leaning your head against Hale's shoulder. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “One moment, I want to gouge his eyes out. The next, he secretly fixes my test and then avoids me for two weeks, just to make it impossible to say thank you.”

Hale chuckled softly. “Why do you think he does that?” He’d seen enough clumsy advances in his lifetime to spot one from a mile away. This one was a piece of cake.

You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Probably bored out of his mind. All I ever see him doing outside of class is working on his PhD thesis with Jayce.”

Hale tilted his head, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Or…?”

You scoffed and straightened up. “Please, don’t be ridiculous.” The thought was absurd. If anything, you had the potential for a competitive friendship—food for the brain and all that.

Hale’s grin softened, and he shifted, turning you to face him. He placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, his gaze suddenly serious. The theatrical Hale disappeared, replaced by the steadfast best friend you rarely got to see. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “I don’t care how many times I have to do this, but I’ll keep doing it until you understand what you are.”

You averted your eyes, your face heating up. You let your head hang slightly as you muttered, “Yeeees, I know—I’m a queen.”

Hale shook his head and tilted your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “No,” he said firmly. “You are a king. And you bow to no one.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment, your chest tightened with emotion, but you managed a small, lopsided smile. “I really fucking love you, you know?” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

***

Hale gave you a long hug by the fountain before you both went your separate ways to your designated dorm buildings. He kissed your forehead and tucked a cigarette behind your ear, for when you’d inevitably want to brood with a smoke and a cup of coffee.

You took a quick shower, slid into your pyjamas, and decided to make use of the cigarette. You wandered to one of the secluded corners of the dorm, where you could lean out of the window and contemplate life with a fag and a cup of tea instead.

You were deep in thought, analysing everything Hale had said to you that evening when a quiet, deliberate grunt startled you.

“I don’t think such behaviour is legal here, Mr. Burr,” came a dry voice. Viktor appeared out of nowhere, leaning casually against the windowsill where you were curled up.

You let out a sharp breath, your hand instinctively going to your chest. "Jesus, you made my soul leave my body for a moment."

Viktor's lips curved into a small, amused smirk. "Ah, it means you know exactly that you are doing a bad thing." His hand extended, reaching out to steal a huff of your smoke.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the window. "Please give me a break, I’ve been a good girl all this time." You couldn’t help yourself and gave him an exaggerated eyelash bat as you passed the cigarette to him.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, then he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "Have you?" he asked, making sure your eyes were fixed on his lips curling around the cigarette filter.

He paused to inhale, his voice lowering slightly. "Been a good girl?" And exhaled the smoke into your face.

You felt a weird lump forming in your throat, your fingers tightening around your cup of tea. You knew Viktor was pushing your buttons, but part of you couldn’t help but enjoy it—though you weren’t about to admit that out loud.

"I mean, I try," you replied, your voice casual, even though your pulse had quickened slightly.

Viktor remained silent for a moment, studying you carefully, the playful smirk still lingering at the edges of his lips. "Hmm," he said finally, a thoughtful tone in his voice, as he passed the cigarette back to you, your fingers brushing. "Trying doesn’t always mean succeeding."

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling your defences rise. "And who’s to say what’s a success or not?" The implication made you uneasy. Or excited, all the same. Your chest tightened, and you straightened up a little, leaning slightly away from him, as if the tiny bit of distance between you could somehow shield you.

"Someone who’s been paying attention," Viktor replied softly, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice was smooth, almost coaxing, and his posture remained relaxed, leaning casually against the windowsill. His eyes glinted, knowing he was starting to get under your skin—just as you were getting under his. Especially after today, when he had seen you in a completely different light.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter if I am a good girl or not, as now you have joined me in my crime, and we can share a cell when they come for us.” You let out a quiet laugh to cover the discomfort taking over you.

"Oh, I will deny everything." Viktor's lips curled into a smirk, the playful gleam in his eyes not quite hiding the challenge behind them. He took a drag from the cigarette that was being passed between you, exhaling slowly, the smoke swirling between you like a silent declaration of intent.

"You’re good at that, aren’t you?" You raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing, but there was an edge to it now—more biting than before. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"And what are you getting at now?" Viktor's voice lowered just a touch, as he studied you with an expression that bordered on amusement and curiosity. His eyes never left your face, as though waiting for you to reveal something you didn’t even realise you were giving away.

"Ah, nothing, Viktor. Thank you for that test." You waved a hand dismissively, sliding off the window ledge, ready to flee. Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t just the words—they were playing a game, and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it. Your stomach fluttered at the thought.

"I see. You have looked through me and now you can read me like an open book?" Viktor's expression shifted slightly—there was a challenge in his voice, but also something else, almost a hint of fear that he quickly masked with another drag of the cigarette.

"Precisely," you replied, your voice smooth, but a little more breathless than you meant. Your fingers tightened around your cup of tea, the warmth of it grounding you, even as Viktor’s presence seemed to fill the space around you. You wanted to stand your ground, but his proximity was starting to unsettle you in ways you didn’t expect.

There was a beat of silence between you. Viktor took a step closer, watching you cautiously, his body language suddenly more intense. The playful edge in his voice was gone, replaced by something more serious.

You felt your heart rate spike. "What’s that look for?" you asked, half-expecting him to keep pushing, to keep testing you.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, lowering his gaze as if studying your every movement. "You think you have me figured out, don’t you?" His tone was a bit quieter now, almost thoughtful. You knew nothing.

"Maybe," you said, your voice faltering for a brief moment as you tried to regain control of the conversation. Your eyes flickered to the ground, then back up to him, a challenge sparking in your gaze. "But I’m starting to think that’s part of your charm. Always keeping people guessing. It’s exhausting, though." You tried to sound nonchalant, but even you could hear the tension in your voice.

Viktor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction closer, the tension between you growing thicker. He took a long drag from the cigarette before exhaling toward you, the smoke swirling lazily around you both.

"Maybe you’re starting to enjoy the challenge," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, a subtle yet deliberate provocation laced into his tone. “I didn’t fix your paper. That was Heimerdinger’s decision,” he added, lying without a flicker of hesitation. At this point, it felt necessary.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, your breath catching as you felt the weight of his gaze on you—sharp, unrelenting, and entirely too perceptive. "Maybe I am," you replied to his tease, your voice quieter than you intended. It trembled just slightly, betraying your unease. You weren’t sure when it had become so difficult to breathe. “And… um… that’s good to know.”

Viktor studied you for a long moment, his lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible smile. He didn’t say anything at first. Then, slowly, he took a step back, handing you the cigarette again. His fingers brushed lightly against yours as he passed it to you, the touch lingering for a split second longer than necessary. Your breath hitched, and your pulse quickened.

"I think you’re more like me than you care to admit, Y/N," Viktor said, his tone low and measured, his gaze steady and unyielding.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your heart thudding in your chest. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His words felt like a dare, a challenge you couldn’t ignore, even though part of you wanted to. "Don’t flatter yourself," you managed, your voice steadier now as you tried to recover your footing.

He chuckled softly, the sound laced with something serious rather than mocking. “I wasn’t trying to. But I think you might be right. We’ll see.” He turned, starting to walk away, only to pause and glance back over his shoulder. “Were you to decide there’s something you don’t know yet and need help—my office door is always open to you.”

You lingered for a moment, watching Viktor as he walked away, his steps steady and calm. You took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling into the cool night air.

“Hey, Viktor?” you called out, your voice softer now, almost teasing.

He turned his head slightly, his profile outlined by the faint light from the hallway. “Yes?”

“Say hi to Mel’s friends from me next time you see them,” you said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable for a moment, his eyes narrowing just enough to signal he understood your jab. Then, without missing a beat, he replied, “Go to sleep, Y/N,” his voice low and quiet, but with enough bite to draw a small laugh from you. You shook your head, flicking the ash from the cigarette as you watched him leave.

Your thoughts lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. Viktor, with his sharp words, his unreadable smirks, and the maddening way he seemed to see right through you. You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling one last trail of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. “Go to sleep, Y/N,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his accent. Your lips curved into a faint smile despite yourself. But sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, you knew that much.

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