#until it somehow clicks in my brain

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Jerry the Turkey gets some more friends :D

Obligatory click for better quality

You do NOT have permission to repost my art.

Sonic T-shirt requested by my sister. She's absolutely thrilled that Damian's a canonical weeb.

[red-hibiscus]

It's ok Yoh, I too am so oblivious I go on dates without knowing

[marciliedonato]

so my phone turns 1 today and i was checking it now and it totally glitched like 2 things overlapping out of nowhere so I closed the screen and when I tried to reopen it it only lets me either enter the code or scan my finger and unlock it anyway I can and the the screen is either blurred or there's nothing on it and I cant open anything the buttons don't respond and I cant even turn it off what the actual fuck I'm losing my mind fr

edit: i was able to force turn it off somehow bc it wasn't working and we're back random indian guys on youtube save the day once again

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[m0r1bund]

Night Parade of a Hundred Ghosts

My comic for “Queer Compassion in 15 Comics,” a collaborative anthology that blends social science and art to illustrate LGBTQ+ experiences of compassion. You can read it online for free, or purchase a physical copy at that link :)

I was asked to write a statement about this piece, which I will share here:

There are some difficult feelings in the comic about estrangement, belonging, and cultural longing. The story didn’t click for me, though, until I started reading the stories of others in the community from the research. There’s a lot of beauty in there, but there’s also a lot of hurt. I wanted to squeeze everyone’s hands and somehow find the perfect words of comfort— and isn’t that all that anyone wants to do when they see family going through it? So I started thinking of it as a call-and-response between you, at your lowest point, and the ghosts of your ancestors. If they could talk to you, what would they say? “Look—you’re safe and fed.” “You’re alive.” “How magnificent!” “You can cry, but wouldn’t it feel better if you did it in the shower?” “Now hold my hand and walk with me.” “Take care of yourself.” “Brush your teeth.” “Text her back.” “We love you.”

It’s surreal to share this. I began working with the anthology crew in 2021, towards the beginning of my undergrad. In just under a week, I’ll be graduating. This project has been living in the back of my brain for the past three years, a source of comfort and catharsis. Now we get to inflict it on all of you, hahahaha…!! Sincerely, I feel so lucky to have been able to participate in it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who leaves their touch on this anthology— scientists, artists, interviewees, readers, and beyond.

[txrully]

I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.

he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"

or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )

"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"

"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”

he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.

"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"

"because i love you. duh."

"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"

"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.

he also sends you texts at random times:

"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."

"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."

you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”

"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"

"shut up and eat it."

"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."

"i said shut up."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.

once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"

"sei, this playlist is amazing!"

"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"

"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."

"exactly. so tiring.."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.

but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"reo, this is too much—"

"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."

"you’re literally insane."

"only for you, babe."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.

he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.

"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"

"maybe."

"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."

"and yet you’re still here."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.

he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.

"yo, were you writing about me again?"

"no... maybe. okay, yes."

"you’re adorable."

"please don’t look."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.

one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"

"got you this flower. cool, huh?"

"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"

"worth it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”

he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.

"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"

"it’s just clothes."

"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"

"and you look better than rent."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."

but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.

"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"

"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you, yes."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.

he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.

"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"

"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"

"why?"

"because it’s romantic!"

© txrully

do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶‍🌫️ )

likes + reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹

[ozzgin]

OZZ OMG OMG OMG THAT YANDERE PRISON THING OMG OMG OMG

*jitters with excitement*

I NEED MORE AHHHHH IT TICKLED MY BRAIN THE RIGHT AND WRONG WAY AT THE SAME TIME

Like if you're nice they'll just become your dogs and if you're not nice they'll give you a very rough foursome I'm down for either OMG OMG OMG help I have problems

To quote Markiplier: "I'm not a masochist, this is about power"

*drops dead*

*instantly revives*

Ahem, I saw you mention you might come up with small plots, so I'll do the logical thing to try to inspire you:

- clueless darling ask the leaders about their gangs and whatnot. Like nonchalantly. Because they're too nice darling thought it's no big deal lol

- darling subconsciously avoid blonde man (even tho he is my favourite hahah) after seeing him beat up the guy

- darling got drunk (somehow in a prison) and either gets horny (and try to let it out under the blankets forgetting they got roommates)or innocently touchy hugging all three of them and poking their unique features, sitting in their laps and so on. Or better yet, touches/approaches other inmates in front of the roommates...

content: gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, NSFW below the cut!

Inmates are creative. They will always find a way around the rules, and this time it happened to be a rather clumsy attempt at brewing alcohol. Had this been discovered by a guard, whoever concocted the beverage would've landed in detention.

Instead, it was you who found it, innocently assuming someone must've forgotten their water behind. You gulped down the clear liquid, thirsty after you walk, then promptly grimaced at its unexpected bitterness.

Safe to say you're now quite drunk.

That in itself would already be troublesome enough, but another thing is endangering yours and everyone else's peace: you're in a particularly flirty mood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The officer's smile drops instantly, and he turns towards the deep voice. One of your criminal roommates glares at the sight with hollow eyes. You were clinging to the officer's arm, a dumb grin plastered on your face. The man in uniform quickly shoves you aside, his features pale and drained.

"It wasn't me who started it," he pleads.

You're quickly picked up by your bunkie, who is still staring at the guard. He won't be leaving this prison alive, that's for sure. Now, however, his priorities lie somewhere else.

The hallway spins as you're being carried away, and you shamelessly cling to your ride, feeling and groping the muscles and tracing along his tattooed skin.

"My God, at least wait until we're back to our cell," he groans with flushed cheeks.

The blonde one is trying to play it cool. Come, now, you're obviously out of it. He needs to be mature and tuck you in, or something along the line.

Easier said than done, especially with a raging boner. You're quick to notice it, and you certainly don't hesitate to point it out, making lewd gestures with your hands as some sort of offer.

"Are you sure you won't regret it tomorrow?"

"Hey now, I'm drunk, not unconscious," you bark between hiccups.

He may have interrogated you further, but the thought of your pretty little mouth struggling to take him in is too much to bear. He's essentially drooling by the time he pats his knee for you to come over.

The pierced one drops you on your bed with a flat expression. Annoyance? A closer look at his pursed lips, and one can tell he's really just struggling to maintain his composure.

"Please, I really need to-"

You hold him back by the arm and bat your eyelashes. In return, he clicks his tongue. Is this some sort of test from above? His beloved Darling is essentially begging to be fingered. Yet, he shouldn't be taking advantage of your state. He shouldn't...

Too late. You gasp at his rough fingers making their way in.

"Alright, don't be too loud," he concludes with a faint smirk.

The masked one gently places you on your bed, then plants himself before you with crossed arms.

"Nonsense. You're drunk."

"I mean it", you repeat yourself.

He does his best to look imposing. Truth be told, his knees weakened from the moment "fuck me" slipped out of your mouth. He gladly would, but he has morals. Well, when it comes to you, anyways.

Your pout seems to suggest this would be a long standoff. He sighs, then pushes you back onto the mattress.

"How about this? I'll take care of it," he explains quietly, his cloth hovering above your groin. "I'll be awaiting your offer again once you're sober."

For now, his tongue will have to do.

[Yandere Prison] | [More Yandere Stories]

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[naomiarai]

— desperate !

╔. ■ .═══════╗

sex with your enemy

╚═══════. ■

➤ PAIRING — jake × fem! reader

➤ GENRE — pwop, slight fluff, (but literally no plot), kind of fwb? e2???

➤ WARNINGS — dom!jake, sub!reader, jake is kinda mean (?), manhandling, degradation, unprotected sex, backshots, kissing. lmk if i missed anything.

➤ WC — 1.3k

➤ AUTHOR — not proofread. i had a jake brain rot idk what happened but i put my SOUL into writing it even though it’s quite short. but again idk how i feel about it.

“I fucking hate you!” you shout, your voice shaking with anger as Jake drags you into an empty bedroom. The door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing in the small, dimly lit space.

Jake clicks his tongue in response, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah? You always seem to fucking forget that when you’re sitting on my dick” he retorts, venom dripping from his words. His grip tightens on your arm, and in one swift motion, he lifts your skirt, his touch rough and demanding.

Youyr breath catches in your throat, a mix of fury and desire swirling inside you. “You’re such a jerk” you spit out, your voice wavering despite your attempt to sound resolute.

Jake’s lips curl into a cruel smile. “Maybe. But you like it, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and taunting. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine despite your anger.

You struggle against him, but the resistance only seems to fuel his determination. “Let go of me” you demand, though even you can hear the faltering in your voice.

His hand moves from your skirt to your thigh, his fingers digging into your skin. “Say it again” he challenges, his tone daring you to defy him. “Tell me how much you hate me”

“I do!” you whisper, your voice barely audible as his touch ignites a fire within you that you can’t control. “I hate you”

JJake’s laugh is a dark, hollow sound. “Liar” he murmurs before his lips crash against yours, silencing any further protest.

Your hands come up to push him away, but they falter, instead grasping the fabric of his shirt. His kiss is punishing, demanding, and you respond with equal fervor, anger and desire intertwining until you can no longer differentiate them.

Jake chuckles when you pull him even closer, his tongue slipping into your mouth, intertwining with yours. Saliva starts to pool at the corners of your lips, creating a wet, heated mess between you. He pulls away, breathless, his calloused hands gripping your ass possessively. “Just like all the others, ready to spread her legs wide for dick” he rasps, his voice dripping with a mixture of disdain and lust.

His words ignite a flare of anger deep within you, your eyes narrowing as you retort, “And you’d stick your stupid dick inside any fucking hole that presents itself” The tension crackles between you, electric and charged. His gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pulls you even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Is that what you think?” he growls, his hands roaming your body with a roughness that leaves you breathless. ”That I’m just some mindless animal looking for a place to stick it? When you were practically fucking Heeseung out there? You have no idea what you do to me”. The intensity of his words sends a shiver down your spine, your body betraying you as heat pools low in your belly.

You struggle to maintain your composure, your own hands clawing at his back in a desperate bid to regain some semblance of control. “Don’t flatter yourself” you hiss, though your voice wavers. “You're nothing special”

His laugh is dark and humorless, his grip tightening on your flesh. “We’ll see about that” he murmurs, before capturing your lips in another bruising kiss, his tongue dominating yours with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air.

You melt into his touch again, cursing at yourself for doing it so easily. Jake’s hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, yet somehow the sensation of his touch makes your skin tingle. He pulls away from your lips, his breath hot and ragged, and you see the flicker of raw desire in his eyes. In one swift motion, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the cold, hard surface of the nearby table.

The unexpected pressure against your body sends a shiver down your spine, your pussy throbbing and pulsating with need. You can feel your arousal soaking through the delicate fabric of your white thong, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “So fucking wet already” he murmurs mockingly, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends waves of pleasure straight to your core. His hand lifts your skirt, exposing your soaked underwear to his hungry gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat as you decide to push his buttons, a dangerous game that excites you to no end. “Heeseung probably has a bigger dick” you whisper, your voice dripping with defiance and mischief. The words hang in the air, a clear provocation meant to stoke the flames of his jealousy and possessiveness.

Jake's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh almost painfully. You can feel the tension radiating off him, a mixture of anger and arousal that makes your heart race. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Is that so?” he growls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “Then let me know if he fucks you like this”. He zips down just enough for him his cock to spring out, tip red and angry, leaking precum

With a rough tug, he tears your thong away, the sound of ripping fabric mingling with your gasp. His hands spread your legs wider, positioning you perfectly for him. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

Jake thrusts into you without warning, filling you to the hilt in one hard, punishing stroke. The sudden invasion makes you cry out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless. He sets a relentless pace, each thrust deep and forceful, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he growls, his voice harsh and breathless. “You like being fucked like this? Like a slut?” His words send shivers through you, the degradation only heightening your arousal.

“Yes—god” you gasp, barely able to form the word as he continues to pound into you. “Jake p..please! —hnng”

His hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in quick, tight circles. The combined sensations are overwhelming, pushing you toward the brink of ecstasy. You can already feel your orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure ready to snap. One of Jake’s hand grabs at your asscheeks, spreading it open to sink how cock in deeper, causing you to let out a string of moans.

“Mmhm— right there! don’t stop” you moan out with a string of moans. Jake laughs at you meanly, “Stupid slut, look at you going clueless now” he says but you’re too out of it to give him an answer.

“Cum for me” Jake commands, his voice rough with his own need. “C’mon, aren’t you desperate to milk this cock baby?”

His words are your undoing. With a strangled cry, you fall over the edge, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Jake follows soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he finds his release, spilling into you with a groan.

For a moment, the world is a blur of sensation, the intensity of your shared climax leaving you both breathless and trembling. As the waves of pleasure subside, Jake pulls out of you slowly, his hands gentle now as he helps you stand.

You turn to face him, your legs still shaky, and meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability that makes your heart ache. Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you both catch your breath.

In that moment, you realize that despite the intensity, despite the games and the jealousy, there’s something deeper between you and Jake. Something that goes beyond the physical, something that might just be worth exploring.

But for now, you’re content to just be in his arms, savoring the afterglow of your shared passion.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; they say ‘showering together saves water’ or.. something like that.. right? otherwise known as, the one where sheer stupidity leads stiles into the shower with his very naked girlfriend. neither one of them is complaining about the turn of events.

warnings; no use of y/n, established relationship, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, handjobs, mentions of oral)

word count; +3k

a/n; i fear i'm going to be perpetually unhappy with this so i'm just biting the bullet and posting it and i'm camping so here it is an hour early!! — please be nice. if you’re interested in the original version cut from my Selenophiles series, you can find that here.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! i would appreciate either one to the actual ends of the earth.

Wrapped up in a softly hummed rendition of a song that had been rattling around in your brain all day, you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or click shut again, not alerted to Stiles’ presence until his voice suddenly sounded just to the other side of the shower curtain.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting. Your boyfriend remaining entirely unaware as you flinched wildly in surprise and nearly slipped in the shower on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic that separated you.

“You mind if I brush my teeth real quick?” He asked.

Your heart was still pounding away in your chest from the scare but you forced out a breathy laugh as you reached for the shampoo.

“No, of course not,” You told him easily, “Why would I mind?”

Fingertips scrubbed at your scalp, the sounds of him already beginning to brush his teeth meeting your ears over the rush of the shower as he finally responded.

“I dunno,” He said, words garbled by the toothbrush and foam in his mouth, “You’re all.. naked, so-”

“Well that’s very noble of you,” You smiled softly to yourself, “But you really didn’t have to ask.”

“Noted.” He said through a mouthful of foam before spitting into the sink.

As you began to rinse suds from your hair, you heard the telltale clacking of his toothbrush against the side of the sink as he flicked beads of water away from the bristles. You were awaiting Stiles’ quick words of goodbye when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

“Stiles! You in the shower?” His father’s voice sounded loudly from the hallway.

Your heart thumped quick in your chest with sudden misplaced adrenaline and you found yourself poking your head outside of the shower curtain only to be greeted by Stiles already looking in your direction with wide brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah!” He called back weakly, gaze darting around the small room as if he might suddenly find a perfect place to hide.

“Does he not know I’m here?” You whispered sharply, brows pinched together in confusion.

“No.” Stiles hissed back, “I’m kind of a little bit grounded-”

“What?” You interrupted, still whispering despite your incredulity. “You’re grounded?”

“It’s an unspoken kind of thing but definitely implied and- And I didn’t think he’d be home ‘til late!” Stiles defended in an equally hushed whisper.

“Alright, well.. You mind if I just come in and grab the Asprin real quick?” Sheriff Stilinski's voice asked loudly.

Stiles’ eyes seemed to widen even further with a small squeak of distress, “Um-”

You threw the shower curtain open just enough to to fist your hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until he stumbled and was forced to climb over the lip of the bathtub. The shower curtain was tugged back closed just as the doorknob turned and Stiles’ father cautiously peeked into the room through a cloud of steam.

Stiles was now the one standing directly under the spray of warm water, his pajamas quickly soaking through and plastering themselves to his body.

He was unable to help the way his eyes immediately dropped to the wet skin of your naked chest, but somehow, your instincts seemed to know exactly what was coming next because your hand found its way up to cover his mouth just before a soft groan could slip past his lips, the sound of it smothered by your palm.

“Sorry, my head’s killin’ me.” The Sheriff apologized as the medicine cabinet clicked open.

You uncovered Stiles’ mouth slowly and with caution, narrowing your eyes and tipping your head in a silent urge for him to formulate some sort of response. Brown eyes flicked between yours, his tongue poking out to wet his lips enticingly before he responded to his father.

“Nah, it’s cool, dad. Uh.. No biggie.”

Stiles’ eyes found their way to your naked chest yet again, bouncing back up to your face for a fraction of a second only for his gaze to fall back down to your breasts as if drawn there by an unstoppable force. His mind was decidedly blank, suddenly equipped with only enough brainpower to attempt to memorize the exact shade of your pert nipples in the soft light of the bathroom. A few beads of water from your hair curled their way around your collarbone, pooling in the small dip in your clavicle before welling over and cascading down to the swell of your breast.

You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as the shower continued to spray against his fully-clothed back.

“Right. Well. G’night.” Sheriff Stilinski called out as the medicine cabinet slammed shut again.

The boy’s eyes snapped up to yours at the sharp sound, a pink flush creeping up his neck from either the warm steam of the shower, the sight of your naked body, or most likely some combination of the two.

“N-night, daddio-” Stiles replied in an admittedly high voice, shaking his head at his you in warning as he watched you pinch your lips between your teeth to hold back a laugh.

The bathroom door finally closed with a loud click and you let your head drop forward onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as you released a quiet giggle.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, “For, uh, invading your shower.”

You lifted your head, “I quite literally pulled you in against your will.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah. I, uh, I guess you did.”

You snorted softly in amusement and watched his eyes flick over your face in a slow trail. His gaze eventually found something of interest behind you and he seemed to hone in on it with a determined focus.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned quietly, craning your neck to examine the shower products on the shelf at your back before returning your gaze to the boy in front of you.

“I, uh.. Well. Literally, y’know.. Anything but your extremely naked body.” He choked out weakly.

A smile pulled at your lips and you inched forward to drag your hands lightly over the soaked-through cotton of his shirt, “There something wrong with my naked body, Stilinski?”

You’d said the words with a teasing lilt to your voice, but Stiles’ eyes seemed to snap back to your own sharply, “No! No, absolutely nothing-” He denied immediately.

“Okay, well, you are allowed to look, y’know,” You told him softly, like you were revealing a secret, “It isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t already seen-”

“Well, yeah but, you- You’re trying to shower and.. If I’m being totally honest, if I look now I’m gonna get painfully hard painfully fast ‘cause I’m already barely holding on here-”

At his words, you shuffled back just a fraction so you could peek down in between you, your eyes catching on the wet, tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. Your hands twitched with the desperate need to touch and you hesitated for only a second before taking ahold of the soaked material of his shirt beneath your fingers.

“Maybe you should shower, too,” You interrupted, licking your lips as you gazed back up at your boyfriend, “I mean, your dad already thinks you are, and you’re already all wet, so y’know.. We should probably get you naked-”

The moment the word left your mouth, you tightened your fingers around wet fabric and stammered quietly, ridiculously nervous considering that you were already naked. And wet.

“-And clean. Naked, to clean your- To wash your body, obviously. I mean, it only makes sense, right?” You suggested eagerly.

The fabric of his shirt inched up his torso, your deft hands revealing his hips and the thick trail of hair at his belly button, but that was where you stopped, waiting for him to give some sort of approval before lifting it any further.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” He agreed quickly, nodding for you to continue.

You stripped him of the wet article, dropping it at the opposite end of the tub with a quiet smack. When your eyes returned to his, Stiles barely held your gaze before he was cupping your face and dragging your mouth to his. He turned you back into the shower wall and you sighed in contentment as the spray of warm water finally cascaded over the side of your body once again, pleasant goosebumps erupting over your skin.

Stiles’ kisses were an enigma and they very nearly managed to catch you by surprise every time — the way he devoured your mouth with so much hunger yet was still somehow able to hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His lips dragged over yours sickly sweet, thumb stroking over your cheek, fingertips digging into your scalp beneath wet hair.

You only managed to hold out for a few desperate brushes of his mouth before you were parting your lips beneath his in silent invitation. When his tongue teased against yours, you caught the taste of mint left behind from his toothpaste and you couldn’t hold back the groan that poured from your mouth into his. You suddenly found yourself craving the taste of it, prodding your own tongue between his lips on the next kiss to chase the lingering flavor in his mouth.

The wet drag of his pajama pants against your naked thighs beneath the stream of water was an immediate reminder that he was still wearing the wet article of clothing and you flicked at them idly, fingertips dipping beneath the drawstring waist. His stomach tensed beneath your hands and he pulled back from the kiss just enough to drop his forehead to yours, eyes raking over your face slowly as he attempted to catch his breath.

“What, um. What do you- I mean, do you, um..” His eyes pinched shut in frustration as his own inability to convey himself.

Your hand slid over his water-slick hip, arm circling around his waist until you could run your fingertips gently along his spine beneath the water, forcing a contented sigh from his kiss-swollen mouth at the contact.

You licked your lips in thought, “I could either jerk you off in here, or we could wait and I can blow you in your bedroom,” You offered quietly, “I’d blow you in here but I’m honestly not entirely sure how it would work with all the water in my face and-”

Stiles nearly whimpered, “You cannot say that shit and seriously expect me to not blow my load, like, immediately.”

Your mouth twisted up into a grin, “Sorry.”

You weren’t.

He dragged you just a bit closer beneath the spray, bare chests sliding against one another. A shaky exhale left his lips and cascaded across your damp cheek, his nose skating softly against clean skin as he craned down to push his face into your neck.

“No you’re not.” He shot back without hesitation.

You sighed softly, head tipping back of its own accord in an open invitation for his lips to find your skin. The soaked through material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide the warm, hard length of him pressing against your hip. You slipped your hand just a bit farther beneath the damp cotton until your fist found its home around him, beginning to move in firm jerks as a choked groan sounded in his throat.

“No, I’m not.” You agreed easily.

“Jesus Christ.”

“So?” You asked quietly, words spilling out toward the ceiling as your head rested against the shower wall.

“Huh?” Stiles articulated weakly, the sound swallowed up by the way his mouth was pressed into the skin beneath your jaw. A large hand slipped down the length of your spine, long fingers finding their way to your ass, merely resting there for a moment before a flick of your wrist seemed to spur him on, hand tightening over the soft flesh as he dragged you up against him just a bit harder.

Your ankle hooked around his knee easily, pulling yourself up a bit higher, warm, wet cotton still separating you as you continued to work his length beneath the material.

“Handjob in shower or blowjob in room.” You repeated the options stiffly, thoughts scattered from the feel of his fingertips digging into your backside.

“Shit.” He murmured against your neck, his hips jerking forward to meet your hand, making the movement of your wrist more difficult when it was pinned between your bodies. “I- Um.. I.. Shit-”

“It’s kinda looking like its gonna be handjob if you don’t decide otherwise pretty quick here-”

“But I-” A sharp sound was pulled from him when your hand slipped over the head of his cock, a delicious but quiet uh squeaking out onto the wet skin of your throat. “God, I really want your mouth but-” A quiet groan interrupts him but he carries on after only a brief pause, “If you stop I might die.”

He says the words so seriously that you can’t help the small laugh that pops out.

“Oh, so you want both? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck.. Please-”

“Seems a little-” Its your hushed words that are cut off this time, a small gasp of surprise falling from your lips when the hand on your ass creeps lower, hiking your leg up higher as two of his fingers find your wet entrance. “Little, um. A little greedy, don't you- Ah! Don’t you think?” Your teasing statement was tainted halfway through as he dipped his fingers inside, long and thick and pushing in to the third knuckle almost immediately.

He begins thrusting in time with the jerks of your hand, synchronized gasps and groans falling from your mouths for a minute before he thinks to respond.

“If you think I’m not gonna give as good as I get then-”

His words cut off with an unabashed moan against wet skin and you nosed at his jaw until he tipped his head up to meet your lips, your scolding shh silenced within the kiss.

“-Then you don’t think very highly of me, huh?” He continued as if he’d never paused at all, his words murmured between slick lips as his mouth slid against yours again and again. “It’d, uh- It’d be a fair trade-”

“Yeah?”

The whispered question was stolen from your mouth when he licked inside, hot and dirty as his nose pushed into your cheek.

“Yeah.”

His own utterance of the word was swallowed up by your gasp when his fingers crooked just so the next time he pushed them in deep. Your grip on him fell slack for only a moment before you recovered with newfound determination, matching his efforts as he sped up the rhythm of his hand.

Your thigh hitched up on his waist that much higher, all but consumed by the desperate hunger you felt to be closer. He returned the sentiment, pulling you in and crowding you back and devouring each of your sounds until it seemed as if he were everywhere all at once.

You traded kisses between stuttered breaths and heady gasps, bodies rolling into one another’s hands as you both chased after the tight pleasure coiling in your guts and building up, higher, stronger, closer–

Stiles came first, a soft whine against your tongue when your fist circled at the head of his cock, twisting and pulling his release from him in thick spurts beneath the wet cotton of his pajama bottoms. You worked him through it, taking control of the kiss as he went slack with his orgasm and finally pushing his pants to the floor of the bathtub with a wet thwack once his hips stopped twitching into your hand.

He fell back into the kiss urgently and you relinquished control without a fight, weak to do little more than throw an arm around his shoulders for support as he redoubled his efforts to make you come.

Thighs trembling, toes curling, your muscles tensed as you were worked closer and closer to your peak. His fingers hit a spot deep inside of you with every thrust and each time sparks danced up your spine with the impact, sharp noises of pleasure were dragged from your lips.

“Sti-” You whined softly, wet mouth falling against his cheek as you tried to alert him to your swiftly approaching release, “’m so close. Shit, I- ’m so close-”

“Shit,” He returned in an urgent whisper, “Shit, okay-”

He eased his hips back from your own, his free hand falling to the apex of your thighs. His lips covered yours again as he began swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud there and your whole body jolted at the sensation. Your mouth fell open with a soft cry as you came, the glide of his fingers both smoother and more sharp as he worked you through it.

As you came down you were panting, hot breaths mingling between your mouths. The steam of the shower felt almost cloying, both of you a little lightheaded from the heat and the exertion. You cracked your eyes open and found his gaze already on you, eyes hooded and heavy, the tip of his nose bumping your own.

“Holy shit.”

It came out as nothing more than a whisper against his lips, your chest heaving in time with his as you both fought to catch your breath. You loosened the tight grip your arm had taken up around his shoulders and neck, mouth slack as you tried to pull in enough oxygen to clear your head.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” He whispered in agreement, forehead falling against yours.

The tip of your thumb pressed into a dark freckle on his chest as your hand made its way down from his shoulder in a slow drag over slick skin. You swallowed around your dry mouth as your leg finally fell free from its place around him and provided instant relief to your muscles.

“You sure you can handle two more orgasms?” You questioned breathlessly, not entirely sure which response you wanted to hear as you swayed against him in the overpowering steam of the shower.

In lieu of an immediate response, his gaze fell downward and your own followed on instinct, catching sight of the long thickness of his cock, already fattening back up against his thigh with arousal.

Tongue feeling suddenly heavy, you were filled with the urge to fulfill your teasing promise, to work him toward his peak all over again with your mouth.

You voice was a breathless whisper when it finally sounded.

“Oh.”

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

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

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

Word count: 7.8k

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

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

He didn’t lie. 

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

When did he find the time?

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

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

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

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

You frown. “What was what for?”

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

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

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

Uh oh. 

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

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

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

“Trying not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

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

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

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to taste them.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, did you.

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

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

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

“I’m glad you think so.”

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

And decides to torture you.

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

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

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

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

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

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

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

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

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

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

—

“I brought you something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

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

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

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

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

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

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

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

It’s November before you know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

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

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

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

“You grew up in Russia?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

Changed his name?

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

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

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

“Come closer.”

God help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much faster.

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

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

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

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

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

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

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

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

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

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

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

He listens.

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

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

“Do you think you can do it?”

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

But yes. You think you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so warm. 

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

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

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

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

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

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

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

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

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

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

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

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

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

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

“A shock wave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

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

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

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

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

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

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

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

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

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

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

9:34

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

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

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

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

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

Who is that? 

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you.”

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

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

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

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

12:05 

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

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

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

Me

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

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ love and deepspace men and their random habits

warnings: none!!

characters: rayafel, xavier, zayne, sylus

link to master list here!

author’s note: feeling like a short and sweet one today, sometimes writing more than i want can take the fun out of writing so i’ll stick true to myself this time 🗣️

more below the cut! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

he like, drums his fingers a lot. you know like that rhythmic tapping on desks?

rafayel enjoys moving around his fingers and stimulating his brain in little ways whilst he’s waiting for some paint to dry to paint another layer or when waiting for you to finish an activity.

he also picks at things, paint on the wall or at scabs (bad habit, you tell him but he never stops) - he complains and says it doesn’t hurt when you bandage it up

rafayel hates growing out his fingernails but he doesn’t bite them, he tends to pick them until they peel shorter then clip them neat with nail clippers

how to combat both his picking habit and nail peeling at the same time? slap on some nail polish, he gets to peel to his hearts content and look amazing at the same time!

“Cutie, come here. I peeled off all my nail polish, can you redo it?”

i feel like in game xavier already blinks quite a lot more than all the LIs, but i can see him also doing those like, long hard reset blinks

he’ll blink loads at once then do this longer blink and then be fine, i can just see him doing this

maybe it’s because his hair looks like it’d get in and irritate his eyes lolol

when you and him get plushies he keeps the ones he keeps on his bed, i feel like he’s usually minimalistic when designing his house but his bed??

it’s like a plushie fortress, when you visit you could literally drown in them

“I like sleep, and I like you. It’s the best of both worlds, want to join me?”

zayne is the type of person to ACTUALLY rub his temples, like what person actually does that? zayne of course.

he also subconsciously clicks pens a lot, not loud and at a high frequency - but if you pay attention to his hands you’ll notice he gently clicks and then un-clicks the pen when in deep thought

he definitely does this more when he’s stressed, the feeling of the pen popping out against his thumb is therapeutic

zayne keeps around fake plants and a watering can because he somehow found a sick sense of amusement watching you water them every time you came to his office.

“Why am I smiling? No reason.”

he genuinely rubs his hands together and it makes sylus look like a fly, he just looks so sinister and mischievous when he does it

if you ask him why he rubs his hands together he just shrugs his shoulders

“Just habit, sweetheart.”

really it’s because he has sweaty palms LMAOO and he’s an old man, of course he’s gonna do old man things

i feel like sylus likes to chew on things, imagine one time you catch him clenching his jaw and decide to give him some gum

it’s not like he doesn’t know what gum is he just never really though about buying some

after that you find stacks of gum in his draws and he’s always chewing a piece, the only thing he dislikes is discarding gum.

AN; silly silly men doing silly silly things, i didn’t think too much about these just slurred random ideas and wrote them down LMAO

[shuenkio]

Naughty neighbor | Sim. J 😈

Paring: Stalker!Jake x male!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+ [don't like don't press]

Cw: cum inside, rough, dirty talk, swearing, obsession behavior, bad .

Summary: Your lovely neighbors who you thought of as a golden retriever but turn out he's a stalker.

Non proof read/ wc: 1.6k

Eng is not my 1st lang.

A|N: I accidentally wrote it smut oops | @ddeonuswhre special thanks to you for the idea 🐱💡hope you're having a great time pookie.

[Ignore my edit, it's suck]

Moving to another home, just because of your workplace, was exhausting. However, when one of your co-workers, who is also your friend, told you that this neighborhood was full of hot guys and friendly people, as a result, you immediately moved in without hesitation.

Not to mention, it's better to stay here for a while. The scenario, the weather—it was pretty good for your own mental health as an office siren. At least you can enjoy the view while stressing your brain off. By your own pure luck, you were able to get a month of vacation off since you're the best employee of the month and the summer season is approaching.

Your boss probably won a lottery ticket; that's why they don't care if you're still working. Nevertheless, beside your tiny, little house, there's a guy next to you.

He seems like a fun guy, to be honest, at first glance. His face shape screams so much that he's an Australian citizen. Well, maybe you're in Australia right now? His smile, however, always did something to you, even if it was a greeting gesture.

He looks gentle and kind; his aura exudes the energy of a golden retriever. From your point of view, whenever you saw him, he was kind to the other neighbors. And his name is Jake. Your friends didn't lie about what they'd said about this vicinity.

Unbeknownst to you, all the scenes you saw in him were just his fake acting. Jake did all those corny things just because he wanted to get the attention of you, whom he'd had eyes on ever since you moved in. He thought that, never in his life, he had seen such a person as you. You look really soft and sweet, like fresh vanilla in your aura.

You're also an adorable little guy who's brave enough to live by himself in a small place beside him like this. He always wants to take your virginity away from you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow. Birds chirped softly, and the fresh scent of dew filled the air.

It's 8 a.m., and you're waking up to start off your day by watering your flower garden in front of your backyard.

As you hold your watering can, splashing wet on your beautiful plants, you see Jake is also in his front yard, while he's stretching from the back pain you're assuming.

Being the good neighbor you are, you greet him with a small talk, asking about this and that until you invite him for tea.. At first, Jake denied it, but you're insisted. Yet deep down, he had been waiting for this moment forever.

You then prepare for the table before serving him the tea that you had brought from your home town.

"So Jake? What are you doing for a living?" You said, putting down your cup as you focused on him.

"Not much of the higher-paying job; I'm just the owner of a small coffee shop down the road, and you?" He responded, taking a small sip as he clicked his tongue as a sign of taste.

"I'm working as a manager in the management of marketing; it's doing some justice for my life, but it's also burning keke." You reply with a sly smile along with your chuckle. I found it somehow funny that you're the manager now.

"You look like you're not an Australian m/n; I have never had time to ask about you this." Jake mutters, folding his fingers together, while observing your face while you're not paying attention.

"Yes, I'm not; I'm from ///, and I see it's rare to find my people here."

"That's why you look handsome; I mean it." Jake snorts in polite manners as you laugh along to hide your face. Which makes you want to stay here longer just to chitchat with Jake.

Suddenly, you heard your phone ring inside your house before you excused yourself to pick up the call. As perfect timing as he planned to, a dark smirk appeared on his face. As he puts something in your cup of tea, pick up the spoon on the table and mix it up. A few minutes later, you came back as you settled yourself in your seat again. You ask him if he's bored, but he says it's nothing.

The moment of silence suddenly awkward the scenes as you obliviously take a sip with your drink till your cup is empty.

Out of nowhere, you feel a pang inside your skull as you feel like there's a drum inside your brain. Keep hitting on you.

It's hurtful and dizzy at the same time. Aside from having a sudden headache, you also experience the hotness of sweat leaking out of your skin.

It's getting hot unexpectedly, as if you just got chased by a bear. Trying to hide your unstable condition, you stand up to get yourself a glass of water.

Due to the aphrodisiac kick, you fall down to the wooden floor. Jake still put on his mask as he expressed his concerns to you, asking if you're okay.

Before he pulls you up, taking you inside to your bedroom, he locks the door behind him. Jake put you down on your bed, gently, as he took off your socks and tucked away, according to your request.

"I'm so sorry, Jake, for the trouble. I don't know why I'm feeling so hot all at once" You mumble in your stuttering, low tone. Hot sweat is still dripping down on your forehead and everything. It feels weird, but that's not the only place that's hot.

You feel like your boxer is tightening from your hard dick. A scowl creased Jake's forehead, deepening the lines around his mouth. His brows furrowed, casting shadows over his eyes, filling them with excitement.

He couldn't wait any longer to show his true colors as your creepy stalker. Jake has had eyes on you ever since you're moving in; it's like a love at first sign to say, but it's in a sexual way.

At night, while you're asleep, he sneakily installs many hidden small cameras in every corner of your house, including the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room. Every move he made got you wrapped around his finger.

There's no privacy for you to have your time, chilling in your bed thinking you're alone, but deep down, your golden retriever neighbors enjoy the views of your face every single day. Even when you're in the shower, Jake would be sitting in front of his computer, fantasizing about all the nasty things with you.

He masturbates and touches himself from time to time when he feels like working up or missing you. For now, the plan that he has been working on is finally taking shape. He won't let it slip away and lose this perfect opportunity to have you, screaming his name, ruining your virginity.

Nonetheless, Jake's eyebrows shot up in astonishment as you begged for him to help you.

"J-J...ake, please help me take this hotness away; I feel like I'm dying." You said it half-conscious, rubbing your hand on your chest, feeling like fuel was burning on the inside of you.

"Don't worry, ma'boy, I'm going to make you feel at ease once I do my magic." Jake leans down to your earlobe, whispering. Before he tears up your clothes, drop them to the floor as he begins to strip himself while kneeling on your bed.

His cock was spring-free, standing so proud as he exposed his naked self in front of you. You were so fuck up that you want nothing but to erase those fires in your body; your body language is inviting him itself at this point.

"I won't stop just so you know, m/n, I'm going to make you can't walk once I'm inside—I'm going to fuck the life out of you till you beg for it, my dearest." The next thing you know, you feel a huge meat enter your entrance, spreading you in an instant without him warning you.

Results in a sign of pleasure, leaving your mouth open. A shockwave was sent to Jake's body, and he grunted loudly at the sensation. Making him buck up his hip, craving more pleasure. Before thrusting his cock in, as deep as he can at his first attempt.

"Holy, fucking shit, m/n, you feel like heaven, nrghh, let me have you more." Jake moans desperately, biting his plump lip to take pleasure once again. His cock continues to throb inside of you; your walls are clenching on him so tight that his hips are moving in and out unstoppably, fucking you roughly as a response to your body language.

"Jake, I think I'm going to squirt, ahh."

"Why not m/n~ *moaning* shot on me? I don't fucking care if it's dirty; just let me fuck you." Jake is shouting loudly at your statement, leaning down his lip to capture you, pulling you into a French kiss as his hip is still moving inside you.

"Let me fill you in, yeah? I think I'm coming. *huff huff* You let me hah?" Jake said in demand, and his orgasm started to build inside of him. You got the best of yourself, unable to decline his request as you braced yourself to welcome his request.

"ERG" Last but not least, Jake felt his cock twitching, growing hard as a metal between your stretching wall, as he exploding in your anal, filling you with his big load of a warm oragsm. In unison, you're also cumming to his sensation of him, hitting your sweet spot at the final thrust, which makes you shoot out uncontrollably.

Jake collapsed on your body, being too sensitive to the shockwave he had experienced earlier. Stop moving his hip as he sucking for oxygen sharply.

"T... thanks you, Jake; I feel a little better."

"We can do this all day, 7 days a week, to make you feel better every day, ma boy, haha. For now, let's consider our relationship  together."

"How about fuck, buddy?"

"No, I want all of you M/N" 

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ I know there's indeed a mistake in this, sorry in advance 🫶. Improve how to write better.

I REPEAT THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, NOTHING IS REFLECT TO THE REAL LIFE EVENT.

[livelaughloveluffy]

early mornings with monkey d. luffy

a/n: *cue evil laugh* i'm a fic writing fiend right now and nothing will stop me!!!! 😌 luffy is seriously on the brain and i just gotta write about how much i love this man, because i'm seriously overflowing with love for him

a/n: initially, i was going to write a sanji version of this prompt first, but luffy's on the brain so bad i literally could not stop thinking about him half asleep as the biggest cuddle bug in the world 😭😭😭

nothing but fluff here 💗

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the soft sounds of snoring have slowly become a calming ambience to your mornings waking up with the captain of the straw hat pirates. rubbery limbs stretched around your body too many times, a tangled mess of raven locks is the first thing your eyes spot on the pillow next to yours.

it's not often you get to see luffy so still. admiring the slow and steady rise and fall of his bare scarred chest. his face, features soft and at peace, lost deep in the world of his dreams, you can't help but admire how gentle he looks. softly brushing his hair out of his eyes, trying your best to manage his crazy, but somehow still adorable, bedhead. faintly running your finger over the scar under his eye is what happens to stir luffy from his slumber.

he automatically pulls you as close as humanly possible to him, burying himself in your warmth. his droopy drowsy eyes finally blink open to meet your face, and despite his tiredness, a lopsided smile appears on the captain's face as he mumbles "mmmm, ten more minutes.... you're so warm and cozy... wanna stay in bed forever...."

you can't help when your heart flutters at his casual words. anyways, who are you to deny the captain's orders... it isn't until after you softly press your lips to his bare forehead that you answer "well, since the captain says so... i suppose i can cuddle for a bit longer..." making luffy then pepper your face relentlessly with kisses, lounging in bed cuddled up with you until sanji calls for breakfast.

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[lovelyunholyc]

you'd let it slip that one time, when he called you at the time of day he usually does to check in, you'd let it go to voicemail just to be able to save it and conjure up his voice whenever you pleased while he was away.

"i don't have any voicemails of you," nanami had said with a troubled look on his face, and you'd found it so charming that you had to lean in and kiss him.

you'd shrugged, giving him a small, grateful smile. "you always answer when i call, kento."

you know him well enough to understand his logic; he'd never miss any of your calls, even when he's working (you were the only person allowed to contact him past his phone's 'Do Not Disturb' feature) - he couldn't ever risk missing it when you needed him, and you wouldn't think to disturb him for trivial things either.

of course your answer doesn't satisfy him, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain. you can't help but laugh a little, kissing his frown away and changing the subject to save him from the stress.

the next day, at that time he usually calls during his break, he receives an ominous text from you.

don't call. and don't answer, i'm leaving you a present.

he worries immediately, but another text pops up once you see he's read it.

don't worry! you'll ruin the surprise! i love you ❤️

nanami tries his best, but he can't help it. instances of something going terribly wrong concerning you and him not being able to reach you in time flood his brain and nearly make him lightheaded. he does as you ask and doesn't answer when your contact pops up on the screen, his self-control waning quickly the longer he sees your photo.

he doesn't know how long he stares at the screen, even when his phone stops ringing.

and then, just a minute later, a notification for a new voicemail pops up, and the tornado of worries in his brain grinds to a halt when everything suddenly clicks, and he's reminded of the short, perplexing conversation you'd had the day prior.

and he feels a little silly.

you pick up on the first ring, as if you were expecting his call.

"my love," you greet, and even though the audio on his phone doesn't do your sweet voice justice, it soothes his heart all the same. "you're not gonna listen to it?" he can tell you're smiling, playful and lovely.

"i'll save it for my way home from work."

"hmm, how do you know it wasn't something naughty, then? what if you start blushing on the train, and everyone notices?"

"darling-" he starts, but uncharacteristically doesn't have a follow-up. he knows no one on his commute cares enough about anything else at that time other than coming home as soon as possible, much like himself, but he lets you have that, if it'll make you giggle like you are now. your laugh is deeply precious to him.

"i can just imagine it - but i wouldn't wanna ever miss seeing you blush." oh, he knows, and has suffered your inappropriate whispers in public just to get a reaction out of him nearly enough to get used to it. nearly. "are you blushing now?"

"no," nanami lies easily, heat crawling up his neck in that oddly pleasant way only you can seem to bring out of him.

you laugh just as easily, see through him just like that, as if he's right in front of you.

"i'm glad you didn't listen to me and still called," you say softly, traces of your sweet laughter still lingering in your tone. "i wanted to hear your voice, too."

nanami hums, doesn't tell you that that makes him smile way too wide for him having lunch alone. he tries to tone it down in case gojo somehow happens to stumble upon his carefully chosen, secluded spot.

"i miss you," you sigh, as if you hadn't seen him this morning and kissed him until he was almost late, like you usually do.

"i miss you, too, darling," he replies just as sincerely, as if he wasn't seeing you in just a few short hours and wasn't planning on holding you until you begged him to let you go so you could get dinner together, like he usually does.

"enjoy your break, handsome." the corner of his lip always twitches up when you call him that. "come home safe."

"of course. i love you."

"love you more!"

nanami knows that if he argues that, like he really wants to every time, you'd be too stubborn to let him win. so he just chuckles and lets you hang up.

despite what you'd teased him about, he does listen to your message on the train. and he does start smiling like a madman, his entire face glowing, lighting up with it, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it when he's hearing your voice and he's only a few short minutes away from having you in his arms again.

"hi, handsome. i had to think carefully about how to get you to not answer your phone, but it didn't end up being that creative, huh?" you breathe a soft laugh, the gentle cadence of it carrying into your sweet voice. "anyway, here's your obligatory voicemail from me. i'm just kidding - i thought about it, and you looked so sad about it that i just had to make one. you know i'd do anything to make you happy, right? it's only fair, with how happy you make me, too... i hope this will suffice, i didn't really have anything special to say except that i think about you so much it's becoming quite concerning, and i love you so much i feel like i'm going crazy, slowly but surely. look what you do to me!... um, oh- i'm gonna run out of time soon! i can't wait to leave you a million more of these, it's almost as fun as listening to yours... actually, i'll tell you a little secret: i listen to yours every day when i'm missing you most, which is usually right after you leave for work. sometimes i wish you'd come right back even though it's a little ridiculous. um, anyway, i'll think of a more creative way to trick you next time. come back safely, i miss you terribly... i love you more than you know, kento."