#MY MAURICE JOKES!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harmless-variety-of-garden-snake · 4 months ago

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Oh, look, I had to stop writing porn so I could get some 815 feelings out. I got those feelings out the best way I know how: via Tommy Kinard. Here's 1700 words of feelings and sad about how Tommy's dealing (he's not, neither is anyone else, except for maybe Sal?). There's hints of Buck/Tommy because of course there is.

There’s so much leftover food that no one at the 118 will go hungry for weeks. Every single person showed up to the wake with a platter or a dish or a pie tin or something and all the sympathy in the world. Instead of eating, Tommy’s been running after Evan and Athena all day, holding things and handing them tissues and handkerchiefs and water. His shoulder still aches from carrying the casket, he tries to ignore it.

When Sal shows up, his eyes are swollen and red, and all he can do is set down a casserole dish amongst a sea of others, grab Tommy, and cry for a long time. He holds Tommy’s face after, pats it gently with one meaty paw, and kisses him on each cheek. It’s the most aggressively Italian gesture Tommy’s been on the receiving end of since his Nonno passed. It very nearly makes him smile.

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Tommy nods and squeezes Sal’s arm, unable to actually speak for a moment. When he looks over, Evan is watching the exchange with a blank expression.

“Hey,” Tommy says, looking at Sal. “You want to see his family?”

Sal nods and walks with Tommy, keeping an arm around his shoulder all the way to Athena, May, Harry, Michael, David, and Evan.

“Sarge,” Sal says, letting go of Tommy to grasp Athena’s hands. “I don’t know if you remember—”

“Maurice,” she says, a small smile on her face, and he cracks a smile, nodding. “How the hell am I ever gonna forget something like that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his expression screwing up just the slightest amount as tears roll down his cheeks. “I am so sorry. He was—he was one of the best men I ever knew. I know you’ve probably been hearing it all day, but I just thought it should be said again. He changed my whole life. I’m a captain now—a good one—because of him.”

“Thank you,” she says, sounding like she means it as she’s squeezing his hands. “You know something? That’s the day I met him.”

Sal gives her a wobbly smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she says, looking over at Tommy. “Both of you were there to see it. Look at you now. A captain and a chopper thief.”

“Not my actual job title,” Tommy jokes weakly, and she grins for just a brief, beautiful moment. It slices through him like a knife. “Whatever happened to Maurice?”

“Went to a farm in the valley,” she says, shrugging. “Never heard about him after that. That’s usually a good thing in my line of work. Thank you for coming. Really, it—it’s good to remember that day. Didn’t seem so important at the time, but—”

She cuts herself off, and May and Harry’s arms come around her from either side, already well-practiced at comforting her when the tears come again. Her lips press together, her eyes glittering with tears, and all she can do is nod.

“Nah, you could feel it. The second he handed that damn bird over,” Sal says, bringing her hands up to kiss the backs of them before he releases them. “You ever need anything from the 122, you call. Any day, any time, any shift. If I’m not there, tell them Captain Deluca said to give you whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” she says, and he shakes everyone else’s hands with soft murmured condolences.

When he gets to Evan, he pulls him into a hug and slaps his back.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says before pulling back and giving Evan the same treatment he’d given Tommy, kisses and all. When he steps back, Evan looks a bit surprised.

Evan had seemed to like Sal the few times they’d all hung out, even though he didn’t understand most of his references and clearly thought he was kind of a dick. They’d bonded over being from Pennsylvania and shared recipes like old ladies. They’d never been family, but loss does crazy things for relationships. Tommy hopes it sticks. Sal’s a good guy to have in your corner, and everyone can stand to have more Evan in their lives.

“Same goes for you,” Sal says softly. “The brass tries yanking you and yours around, you come to me. I’ll deal with ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Evan says, his voice a soft rasp. “Sounds kinda like you’ll kill them, though.”

“Eh, depends on the day,” Sal jokes, squeezing the back of his neck and shaking him gently like they’re fucking Scorsese characters. “I’m serious. Get my number from Tommy. Day or night, you call me.”

Evan nods with a tight, watery smile. “Okay.”

Sal finally lets him go and turns to say something to Tommy, but he looks over his shoulder instead. “‘Scuse me.”

He brushes past, and Tommy watches as he approaches Chimney, Maddie, and Jee. Chimney looks surprised for a moment before he yanks Sal into a hug. When he looks back at Evan, Evan’s watching him.

“You want to know something funny?” Evan asks, finally sounding quiet because it’s private and not because he’s barely been able to talk above a whisper all day.

“Hm?” Tommy asks, stepping closer.

“Thought he was competition,” Evan says, nodding toward Sal.

Tommy smiles, just a little. “Nah. He’s basically my brother.”

“Yeah,” Evan says with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

It’s something they’ve been avoiding, even though Tommy has used all of his mandatory leave following Evan like a lost puppy and asking how he can help. But it’s pretty effective, as far as points go.

“Ah,” Tommy realizes, and Evan nods, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Evan shakes his head. “Just be here.”

Tommy can do that. He stands next to Evan and nods to every new person that comes up, quietly thanking them for their condolences. He settles back into feeling like a zombie, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Evan as he does the same.

They’ve had their moments. Evan has cried here and there. He broke every plate in his house one day. Tommy’s nursing a broken toe and a few bruised knuckles from overdoing it with his punching bag the day Evan had found him in a heap on his mats while he stared at the medal hanging in its shadow box on the wall of his garage.

Everything starts to blur, even the people he knows. They’re the last to leave outside the Grant family, laden with dishes of food. Harry and May had crawled onto the bed with Athena after she went and laid down still dressed in her clothes. Tommy had taken her shoes off while Evan settled a glass of water on the nightstand, and they’d told her they’d be back the next day to clean.

“Thanks, boys,” she’d said, sounding brittle for the first time all day. From their places on either side of her, the kids thanked them, and they’d left.

They sit in Tommy’s driveway for a while, since it’s closer to the condo. Eddie and Chris are staying at Evan’s place, and he waits for Evan to text Eddie to not wait up. Then they just sort of stare out the windshield for a long time.

“Okay,” Tommy says eventually, sighing. “Let’s go.”

They heave themselves out, grab everything from the back of the truck cab that they need, and shuffle inside. Tommy watches Evan rearrange the fridge, knowing better than to deter him after getting snapped at. He lifts the lid on one of the containers and sees that it’s some kind of cake with chocolate frosting. Mechanically, he cuts a small square and heaps it onto a plate before poking a fork into it.

It’s some kind of Boston creme-adjacent cake. He chews slowly, the sugar turning sickly sweet in his mouth, but he keeps chewing.

“How is it?” Evan asks.

“How’s that cake taste, Tommy?”

The plate falls from his fingers, shattering on the floor, and Tommy’s frozen in his kitchen, his hands raised like he’s still got a plate and fork in his hands. His vision blurs for a long moment, and he thinks he might pass out, but it’s just tears. It’s just more tears for a man who made him feel like he was part of a family for the first time since he was a kid, who’d remembered everything about him when they reconnected years later over a capsized ship, who’d told him out of the blue that he was proud of him for settling into his own skin.

“How’s that cake taste, Tommy?”

The sugar’s turning to glue in his mouth, and he turns and blindly spits into his sink, resting his forearms on the edge and screaming.

Arms go around him, and he tries to fight them for a second, but Evan’s voice is in his ear, drowning out the echo that’s shot through time to wrap around his heart and try its best to strangle it.

Bobby’s dead, Bobby’s dead, Bobby died.

“I ca—” he gasps, feeling like he can’t breathe.

“I know, I know,” Evan says, hauling him up and turning him around until Evan can hug him. “With me.”

Evan’s breaths are big and exaggerated, pressing against Tommy’s sternum from the outside as a guide so he’ll stop trying to gulp in air. When Tommy pushes air through pursed lips and breathes in deep after, he feels like his head’s being squeezed. Then there’s something at his nose—one of the tissues from the packet he’d given Evan for his pocket—and he takes it, blowing his nose and meeting wide, wet eyes.

“You lost him, too,” Evan says, and Tommy shakes his head, his breath hitching.

But it’s not—he’s not. He’s not Bobby’s son. Evan shouldn’t be saying this to him.

“‘Tommy’s good people,’” Evan says, sniffling. “That’s what he said when I told him about us. ‘He’s good for you.’ H-he cared about you, he liked you. You—you lost him, too. And I am so sorry. You’ve been taking care of me so I can take care of everyone else. He s-said I’d be okay. I’m not. I don’t think ‘m ev-ever gonna be okay again.”

Tommy nods, biting on the small piece of skin behind his lip that he’s worried bloody more than once recently. “I know.”

“But this,” he says, gesturing between them. “It helps. You’re helping. You’re good people. And he knew it. Okay?”

He nods again and feels more tears roll down his cheeks and more snot flow from his nose, and he pulls Evan into a hug, exhaling the tension from his shoulders and feeling Evan slump against him. They’re holding each other up. It’s a load-bearing embrace for both of them.

“What happened?” Evan asks, and Tommy bites back a sob.

“The c-cake,” he admits, his voice broken and hitching. “Wh-when I transferred—was just s-something he s-said.”

Evan rubs his back. “You want a salad instead?”

It startles a laugh out of Tommy, and he squeezes Evan, grateful that he can take it, even more grateful when Evan squeezes back with equal intensity.

��Maybe later,” he says, burying his face in his shoulder. “I should get a broom.”

“In a minute,” Evan says, his voice slightly muffled against Tommy’s neck. “I need this.”

Tommy swallows, the knot in his throat easing a little. “Me, too.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

#my fic #911 spoilers #tommy kinard #evan buckley #sal deluca #athena grant #bucktommy #bucktommy fic

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hivemuthur · 6 months ago

Note

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests

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