#headframe

[meriol-lehmann]

mine johnson, thetford mines

[straightyuri]

freakerrrr

[mggslover]

🤓☝️ may i request for your first time series the first time spencer lets reader take control during sex? not too sure how you feel about sub spencer but im horny for it and i’d love to see what you do

edging sub spencer genre: smut 18+ cw: sub!spencer x dom!reader, mentions of spencer being insecure about his masculinity, mentions of p in v sex, tied hands, handjob, edging, breastplay, oral (f receiving), thigh fucking, bit of degradation, religious comparisons wc: 2,4k a/n: am i a sub spencer fan?! pull up in the- yes lol i very much am. i cannot even call these drabbles anymore. if anyone is wondering why your requests are taking so long, this is the reason. my first time exploring this dynamic. i hope you'll enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

“Come on, baby. You’re the one who begged me for this.”

Spencer whimpered underneath you in response. He sat up straight on your shared bed, upper body rested against the headframe, long legs spread over the sheets, as your naked body hovered over his. And most importantly, his hands were tied behind his back with a silk red fabric.

Spencer craned his neck, trying to press his lips to yours, but you simultaneously leaned away from him. You shook your head, tsking. “What did I tell you?”

Twinkling hazel eyes blinked up at you, his eyebrows caught in a slight furrow.

“You can’t tell me you forgot,” you purred, fingertips trailing the curve of his jaw. “What did I tell you, Spencer?” you repeat with more force in your tone.

He visibly swallowed as your nails dragged down his neck. “That I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“And why’s that?” You hummed.

“Because sexual denial will increase the release of dopamine, and—oh…” he closed his eyes in delight as your nails continued their path down his chest.

“—and the release of oxytocin and serotonin. It will… in general… Jesus… make you more sensitive, which will heighten your pleasure.���

He had hurriedly finished his last words, letting out a deep breath of relief once you nodded in confirmation. 

“And all we want is for you to feel good. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He nodded fervently, a deep moan escaping his throat as your fingers grazed the skin of his upper thigh, carefully avoiding his throbbing length.

-`♡´-

It had all started last week, when you came home on a dreary Thursday evening. Immensely frustrated from your day at work. 

Spencer oftentimes suggested sex when you were feeling stressed out. Sexual intercourse is known for lowering blood pressure and boosting happy hormones.

Usually this would result in him leading you to the bedroom where he’d gently press you down onto the mattress. He’d crawl on top of you, lips immediately finding yours, giving gentle pecks as his hands roamed up and down the sides of your body. 

You’d have sensual sex. Sweet. Vanilla. It was the norm, and when it came to sex, Spencer wanted to keep to the norm. Sexuality and masculinity were deeply intertwined for him, and in both of these aspects, he felt like he didn’t fit into the traditional roles of a man, causing him to feel the need to approach sex textbook-wise.

The sex was good for the both of you. You never minded seeing your boyfriend on top of you. His lips slightly agape as he fought back his moans, hair falling into his face with every push of his hips, shoulders shuddering as he came inside of you. And for Spencer, he was always happy to be there. 

So, it was entirely new when you came home that day and tugged him by the collar of his shirt the second you entered the house. Spencer’s mouth was still in a gasp when you hungrily pressed your lips to his, tongue finding his without building the moment up like you’d usually do. 

Your body pulled flush against him. The softness of your breasts pressed against his hard chest. He was able to feel the peaks of your nipples even through the fabric of clothes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer choked out as you cupped him roughly through his pants. 

“I just need you, Spence. I need to use you.”

Those words were almost enough to make him spill in his underwear. And indeed, the second you had moved to the couch and straddled him (an entirely new position), taking his cock in your soft hand as you sunk down onto him, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to fill you up with his release.

You needed the control and security after having been bossed around at work. Spencer, on the contrary, felt too much in control at his job. Setting a profile and finding evidence and whereabouts on an unsub was very precise work, not even mentioning the huge amount of pressure on saving people’s lives. 

He never realized how good it felt to let go. To trust someone else in taking charge, in taking care of him. At that moment he didn’t think about portraying a certain type of masculinity. Instead of holding back his moans and settling on deep groans, he whimpered against your mouth as you fucked him. Squirming and whining underneath your touch as he begged you for more. 

His reactions didn’t go unnoticed by you. When you both had recovered and were cleaned up, you brought up the subject of this sub-dom dynamic, and it was very easy for Spencer to give in to exploring it more.

-`♡´-

“P-please.”

“What’s that?”

“Please touch me,” Spencer softly cried, fisting the pillow behind his back with the little grip he had.

You leaned in closer. Your breath tickled against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before you licked a bold stripe up the skin. 

A strangled moan left his throat. You smiled at him, pleased with yourself. It deeply turned you on that you could do whatever you wanted to him, that he’d beg you for anything that you could give him. 

His body responded to every ghost of your touch. Your lips trailed his throat, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Occasionally leaving lingering marks and bites until you made your way up his jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Spence?” You teased as you put your hand around his thick shaft. 

“Yes,” he moaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “Exactly that.”

You pumped his length in a steady rhythm, flicking your palm to enhance the sensation. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a pretty boy. Your cock is so hard and ready for me.” 

He shivered at your words. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have you hovering above him, breasts swaying with every movement of your hand. You were so good to him. When his gaze blinked from your breasts to your face, seeing you seductively smile but your eyes radiating a gentle sweetness, he started wondering if there might really be a God. You were too heavenly to be here on Earth, pleasing him like there was no better enjoyment in life.

Your eyes were fixed on his cock, watching his precum gather at the tip. You circled the sensitive skin with a soft stroke of your thumb. Spencer used the momentary distraction to dive in, his lips catching around your nipple. “Oh god,” you gasped in pleasure, the sensation going straight to your core. His tongue made quick work of stimulating the nub. His cheeks were hollowed as he sucked, giving his everything for the mere moments he might get of tasting you.

Spencer was internally grateful when you didn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, your fingers knotted through his hair as you tugged him closer to you. It helped him keep his balance as his still tied hands clenched around the air. 

He continued his kisses to the rest of your breast once he was confident enough that you wouldn’t tell him to stop. He sucked on the soft, full flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment days from now.

“Look at you sucking on my tits. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Such a little slut for me.”

He moaned around your nipple, a wave of need fluttering through your stomach. You pulled on his hair, sharp enough to leave a pleasurable sting of pain. “Look at me.”

Wide doe eyes met yours. “‘m sorry.”

“Too distracted by having my tits in your face to look me in the eyes, huh?”

“Sorry, you’re just too pretty,” he truthfully muttered, eyes fleetly falling onto your breasts before blinking back up.

He looked so pretty like this. A red flush painting his neck and cheeks. His lips were just as swollen and red as he pouted at you. A smug smile lingered on your face, and you pulled him back in, leaning forward to not have him stretch his neck too far. The kiss was sloppy, hungry. You were not able to tell whether his whimpers were because of the kiss, or because of your touch as your hand had found its way back to his cock.

You fastened the motions of your wrist. His mouth was parted, a pretty song of whines escaping. You sucked down on his bottom lip, mirroring the action he always did when kissing you. 

“Oh, baby.” The moan came out in a gasp. His hips started stuttering, stomach clenching as he neared his release.

“Are you almost there, Spencer?”

“Yes! I’m almost there, I’m almost there baby. Please don’t stop.”

You released your grip on him. His length remained hard, standing upright as if you were still holding him.

The desperate cry that left his lips should have made you feel bad. Instead, you found yourself getting even more turned on. Sure that your thighs were slick with your wetness by now.

“Why—why did you do that?” He whimpered accusingly, as if betrayed. “I was so close.”

“Ah, I know, baby,” you faux pouted. You had to bite your lip to hold back a sadistic smile as you noticed his glossy eyes, looking more green than they usually were.

“I’m just keeping you to your promise,” you reminded him. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “When you told me you’d always make sure to make me come first.”

“But we weren’t—”

“Uh, uh, uh,” you shushed him, index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you want to please me?”

He softly kissed your finger, “Of course I do.”

“Then start using your mouth for better things than complaining,” you cooed at him before carefully standing up on the bed, making your way forward until his face was right below your cunt. Spencer wiggled on the sheets until he lay flat on his back, arms in a bit of an uncomfortable position, but not enough to bother him as he had a perfect view of your dripping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in a prayer. You softly chuckled, bending your legs so that they were spread on either side of his face. Slowly, you lowered yourself until his tongue, which was already sticking out, made contact with your folds. You hissed at the sensation, your clit throbbing in the same way it always did before he ate you out.

He started lapping at your pussy, gathering your sweet slickness and spreading it over the lips. He flicked his tongue over your inner lips before sucking on them. As much as Spencer adored giving you the reins, nothing compared to the shaky, uncontrollable whimpers that left your mouth. Sounds that were made because of him. Sounds that were made for him. 

“Keep making those sounds, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body.

After more worshipping kisses to your cunt, his lips finally settled down on your clit. Your back arched when he started sucking on the sensitive button while simultaneously pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. He truly was your toy, no silicone object giving you the ecstasy that he could give you. 

“Oh God, Spencer. You’re so good at this,” you stated in a heavy breath. The feeling of your orgasm coming up was close to overwhelming, and you were whimpering as your vision hazed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck, I’m—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, instead crying out a moan as your release hit you. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy pressed even harder against his mouth as you rode out the aftershocks, muffling his deep moans. The feel of his nose against your overstimulated cunt was dizzying. 

“I need to lie down,” you said, out of breath. Shaky Bambi legs as you climbed off of him. Your body didn’t allow you to move much further. Settling on lying down on top of his body, spreading your legs to give his achingly hard cock room to breathe.

Your cheek rested against his sweaty chest. Spencer reached out to trace your face, huffing in annoyance when he remembered his hands were still tied behind his back. 

He hummed when you pressed a wet kiss to his chest. “Finish for me, baby.”

Then you squeezed your thighs together. Spencer swallowed when he realized what you meant. His cock was enveloped between your plush thighs, and when he experimentally lifted his hips, he discovered how good the act felt. 

“Jesus, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

Wasting no time, he started pumping his hips up, using your thighs as a cocksleeve. The wetness that was gathered on your inner thighs (and was still dripping out of your pussy) working as lube. 

Your fingertips lazily trailed over his chest. “Doing so good for me, baby. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

He nodded, a whine leaving his lips as he fastened his speed. His eyes were transfixed on the curve of your ass, craning his neck to get a better look.

He’s never experienced a feeling as sentimental as this. The rough pleasure of the sex mixed with the gentleness of your head resting against him. He couldn’t get closer to Heaven than this.

“You feel so good,” he whined. “You’re not stopping me this time. Right?” He asked for confirmation, his voice shaking in doubt. 

You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That really took a toll on you, huh? I won’t, I promise.”

The slight tension in his body resolved. Making him feel enough at ease to let go. He placed his feet firmly on the bed, using his knees to lift himself up, making you let out a yelp as he fucked your thighs.

The silk wasn’t enough to hold him back, the fabric tearing as he moved his wrists. His hands immediately found your head, holding you against him as his hips stuttered. Your moans were entangled in each other as he spilled his cum all over your ass. 

His stomach clenched underneath you, and you soothingly shushed him. Reassuringly caressing his chest and shoulders as he came down from his height.

-`♡´-

“You okay?” You softly mumbled once his heartbeat had calmed down.

He nodded, a lazy smile displayed on his lips. “I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t too rough with you. Was I?”

“No,” he answered, holding you closely against him. “You were perfect.”

[falsegodcore]

CUTLERY; viktor x gn reader, very very sappy and corny, two czech petnames, set before canon events and possibly non canon compliant. rated mature for vague sexual shenanigans at the end + profanity. 9k words. crossposted on ao3

Frequently, he wants to call your name for no real reason – maybe just hum, he knows you’ll look up for him anyways – if not to see your face soften.

The delicate frown between your eyebrows smoothen out, your eyelids flutter shut for a second as your brain processes his voice and the usually immediate turn or tilt of your head towards him, sometimes followed by a hum of your own as a response.

Viktor takes notes about everything. You know he takes notes about you because he joked to once, and since you got flustered at the idea he decided to actually do it. Scribbles about what you say, mundane or not, can be found on various corners of his notebook, but his handwriting is too messy for you to read the details. You don't know how he's able to go through pages and pages of his notes when writing an essay or lab reports. Or maybe he does it on purpose, to hide some thoughts from you and blame it on his hands. 

You're used to finding him staring. It came as a surprise, because you were sick the first two weeks of class and they had described Viktor as someone cold and even detached, at times. ‘They’ being high-school classmates promoted to university classmates that you weren’t fond of, but civility was required in academic grounds. When Viktor’s name became a common word in the daily retellings your roommate would give at a safe distance from your sickly self, it was clear to you that he was sticking around your circle to avoid complete loneliness. You were equally curious and bothered by the new addition. 

You had been discretely kept at arm's length at the very beginning, or whenever something in his brain pushed him to close up, be distant for his own sake, but as time passed said distance never truly felt cold: solitary Viktor still made sure to keep an eye on you. Maybe he couldn't bear not to. When you confided this to someone while revising notes, they made a face and giggled that Aw, he must really like you. You remember making a face in return because it sounded like a taunt.  

When you drag your eyes away from your book, they take their time to travel over the fabric of his pants, the jacket he’s using as a blanket and then they reach his face, only to get distracted by the auburn locks falling messily on his forehead. He has one arm propped on one of the many pillows, a hand hovering over his head as if ready to mess his hair further. Your own head is pressed against his calf, akin to a cat lingering around its owner’s leg. With your heels pressed against your bed’s headframe, Viktor has settled on scratching the sensitive skin behind your knee to show his affection (unconventional and somewhat selfish, if you were to ask him) and use your displeased sounds as a distraction whenever the complex words of the physics textbook in his lap turn into gibberish. 

“You are–” Comes his soft murmur, voice carrying a playful edge as sharp as a butter knife, “–Overthinking.” Viktor’s fingers let go of his pen to wrap blindly around your ankle, and they are cold even in the comfort of your room. He squeezes just a little when you frown just barely, because: “I'm not.”

Viktor hums. Viktor likes to speak in hums and little noises and the frequency of this one lets on that he’s anything but convinced. His thumb moves over the curve of your malleolus, presses on the bone for a moment, and then reaches the small artery next to it. The traitorous thing reveales your rapid heartbeat, albeit faintly. “Restless, still.” 

A breathy laugh pushes past your lips. Of course Viktor would check your pulse like that. “I'm not,” You insist. “I– Maybe I am overthinking. I just... you know how my brain gets.” 

He likes your brain. Likes how your thoughts scatter away one after the other; or better yet: how they grow one after the other, like leaves on a stem, on a branch. Viktor enjoys hearing your rambles and the way you sometimes jump from one thing to another, from one development, one opinion, one phrase to another, growing even the simplest of conversations into the prettiest of trees. Almond trees, maybe. He likes them almost as much. 

Viktor’s fingers caress the skin of your ankle for a moment before offending the back of your knee again, wiggling even when your leg bends on instinct and traps them in place. “You ridiculous thing. Such a brilliant mind, and you let it push you to wallow in self pity.” You know he's trying to keep the mood light, looking for discomfort in your eyes in case humor and distractions are not what you need. But tonight you're not sure why you're restless either, so it doesn't really sting: you don’t mistake the jest for a taunt. “We could take a walk.” Viktor watches your eyes drift to the window and the night sky beyond the glass and the moon as it stares back at you. “I'll tell you all about the stars, lásko.” 

Viktor already knows you'll say no, but doesn't like you upset and silent. He doesn’t need to wiggle his fingers again to prompt your answer and shrug. “No, no. It's so late, and we're already here. And it's cold.”

“Better if it is,” Viktor watches you stretch your legs against the wall again. His hand wanders down the path of your thigh, touch tender over where he knows it's bruised. “You always retreat in my arms if it’s cold, even just chilly. And you should know that’s my favorite place to find you hiding in.” 

You do not take the bait. Maybe it was more akin to a request. “No. Let me look at you, please. And we won’t get anything done if we start cuddling.” 

It all had started with a kiss to your cheek, an act of jealousy. You had dozed off while studying with him and other few classmates; not friends, as what had brought you together was exactly in the name: class. 

In a maybe selfish and even mean way, you had hoped to get rid of them after graduation and limit your relationship to pleasantries exchanged in hallways between lessons. Of course, you couldn’t be that lucky. The name written in the letter carrying details about your dorm arrangements had taunted you upon reading. 

Was it resentment? Viktor had asked you soon, unfiltered, prompted by the dry answers he’d hear from your lips and ‘fuck off’ stares and the public ‘classmate’ titling. You had shrugged. Resenting people who wouldn’t decide between friend or foe would take too much time off your to-do list. And it wasn’t even that long to begin with.

It took half of your first semester for the two of you to break the ice, shatter and stomp on it and start softening when the other entered the room; because in September, Viktor was careful with his words and actions since he didn’t know what to expect from Piltover and its customs, and you had no intention of looking interested when he didn’t. But as December approached you had long stopped blinking at one another from a distance and accompanying him to drop some documents to Heimerdinger was much more pleasant than the forced conversation with said classmates during coffee break. 

Coffee break– You always bought hot cocoa and Viktor tea. The coffee machine in the study room had awful coffee and your drinks were even worse. Viktor made faces, awful at being discreet, liked to pat your thigh to comfort himself as he took slow sips whenever you happened to sit next to him ever since you had said touching was okay, Vik’, I really don’t mind after your first winter break together – and his hands were surprisingly itching to feel your skin. All of that was a rite he indulged in before dumping the drink and standing up, prompting you with another pat (this one playfully patronising on your head) to follow him to the ridiculously expensive cafeteria on the other side of the building because at least the drinks there were worth the price.

The first time, you joked it wasn't like him to abandon his work for something as trivial as a drink. Viktor had humoured you, rolling his eyes and joking back that he actually meant to steal you away, his voice that comfortable butter knife that dragged its blade over your chest, right over your heart, carving his name with no need to draw blood. 

You hadn't thought much of it; probably oblivious, possibly in denial. Someone had already caught up, unlike you, seeing the way Viktor would guide you out of the study room with him as what truly was, an answer to the question awakened in everyone by the way he would arch an eyebrow at anyone's touch, but welcomed yours. Encouraged yours, if anything, offering his hand for you to grasp during walks because he knew you wouldn't let go. 

(You had asked if it was okay when it stopped being an acquaintance born from casualty and was turning into a friendship — wanted to turn in a friendship, the metamorphosis proceeding more steadily than anticipated. You asked because you knew you'd want to feel him close once he gained that precious title. Luckily for you, Viktor was already endeared. And much more aware than you of where your hearts were headed; tracing the path for you to follow, maybe.) 

The one person of your small group that Viktor disliked just slightly decided to buy you hot cocoa. Had arrived at the always dreaded study session with a cup for you and only you, from a cafe just outside the Academy District. “Since you despise the stuff here so much,” They had grinned, then spared Viktor a glance in the acid and childish way rivals do. “I'm not sure how you drink your tea. Didn't want to risk it.” 

A lie, of course. He always went for black tea with a stain of milk and his cup had been perched next to his books every afternoon for a whole year. Viktor bit back an equally bitter answer, holding onto his pride but quietly. Decided not to give them the reaction they surely seeked. You had offered him a sip, because you were the gentlest thing for him, hoping to soothe his glare. Viktor declined with a squeeze to your knee.

Then you had dozed off. Cheek pressed against your notebook. You knew the fresh equations would've no doubt left traces of ink on your skin. You had laid down on the hard desk out of resignation, grumbling curses for the Yordle you were unlucky enough to have as a Professor and then, knowing you, Viktor thought as his gaze softened at the sight, had started thinking and thinking, tracing thoughts like they were the numbers on your pages (and cheek, too) until they had soothed you to sleep. 

Viktor didn't know what came to him, except he did. He excused himself for his tea, stopped by your chair to lean down and brush his lips on the spot of your cheek you liked to press against his shoulder when he guided you against his side. Had lingered, making the gesture two proper pecks under the comically wide eyes of your classmates and whispered something sweet under his breath, all while smiling fondly. Your poor excuse of a suitor had made the mistake of telling you of Viktor's kisses the following day in an awful attempt at trying to know if they had a chance, as if you weren’t attached to his hip and Viktor to yours. “Weird, wasn't it?” They had said. You were more surprised than weirded out by the kiss; confused and uncomfortable at their pushy tone, if anything. So you had settled for a shrug and a “No, not at all."

When Viktor had walked to the dorms with you as he always did, you kissed him at his door. On his cheekbone, trying to replicate the two kisses you could now feel on your skin, could have since you were told about them. Viktor had caught up on it, expected you to know. Wanted you to know, knew they would have told you. It was a predictable move that he hoped they’d make to fall in the trap of their demise. 

(Let the man indulge in his theatrics.)

“Is this an act of vengeance or retaliation?” He had asked, no knife this time, not even the butter one. Of course, you knew he was expecting it, but his eyes didn't hold the devious and self-satisfied glint they had when someone acted as he predicted. It was always nice to be reminded he saw you as more than an experiment of action-reaction events.

“Well, Viktor. Define ‘retaliation’?” 

“You know what I mean, miláčku,” The familiar term made you smile, “Is this to strike me twice as hard or set the record straight?”

So dramatic. If it wasn't for the slight tilt of his lips you might have fallen for his serious tone. You echoed it to piss him off. “Oh, drop the act, please. And if I wanted to hit twice as hard, I would've kissed you four times.” 

A proper smile, gentle, lovely and maybe even beaming with excitement. Viktor was smoking and you knew by the look in his eyes that he would’ve reached for your face in affection had his hands been free. The way you never had to struggle to read him was always comforting. “I barely felt it, speaking of. You should be more rough.” 

You laughed and couldn’t resist teasing. “Oh, ‘should’? Not could?”

Viktor had ignored you and the warmth on his cheeks, tapped his fingers on the handle of his cane. Barely tilted his head, the way reserved for the tone he'd speak to you with when he wanted to be intimate and sincere, without needing to openly admit it or hope you'd catch the implication. 

“Did you mind it?” 

And again, but through a smile: “No, not at all.” When you hugged him, Viktor almost stubbed his cigarette on the wooden door to hug you back. He caught himself and his already crumbling self-restraint just barely. 

Viktor started to kiss you when he deemed it fitting, surprisingly uncaring of prying eyes and probably eager to indulge in some possessive displays, weak as every man. A peck between your eyebrows when you lamented sleepiness, against your hair when you pressed in the safety of his chest while standing next to each other, or on the back of your hands if he wanted to steal a smile. Selfish and awful and asshole as he was, Viktor always tilted his head back when you tried to reciprocate, grinning like an idiot at your complaints and insults. You had to settle for kissing his shoulder, feeling the harsh fabric threading his clothes against your lips, or the back of his neck the rare occasions he was sitting down and the precious spot was in your reach. The way he squirmed and hissed your name with flushed cheeks paid off the wait. 

For a while, you didn't want to ask if it, the kissing, was really okay. Didn't want to know what ‘not okay’ would have meant for your dynamic, still clinging to the concept of normalcy. You took what you could get, until you couldn't and it wasn't enough, and caved in, somewhat terrified. 

You remember scolding yourself. Sophomores do not lose their minds over men. Viktor had almost treated it as the many times he had soothed your loudest thoughts away: “What else could it mean?” Had made it simple. And had kissed you on the lips, murmuring sweet words to hush the tears away. Even threatened to pepper kisses all over your face whenever you retreated in your head, the one place he could not reach. 

So when he calls your name once and hints at the small space between his hips and yours and you obey – or rather your body does, his words a spell for your nerves – and drag yourself next to him, the gentle press of his lips against your forehead is anticipated; equally anticipated are one hand cradling your jaw and another reaching up to brush your hair away, making space for his kisses. 

You’ve learnt to simply remain quiet during these moments. Stopped trying to fill the silence in fear he’d mistake you as selfish, taking his kisses greedily without even offering a word back. And greedy you were, in the end – but so was he. Viktor was greedy in taking, you were in receiving, however thin the line might be. He leans on an elbow to sit up just slightly, other hand tangling in your hair as his lips trace the spot that frowns when you’re upset and up to your temple.

Still, Viktor hums to himself in what you recognize is self-satisfaction and probably doesn’t let his mouth walk the path of your jaw because you requested to look at him. Obedient (as much as the black cat that he is can be, of course), he rolls on his side and his chin falls back against the palm of his hand, face tilted to watch you. You pick up where the conversation had halted, mesmerised by his half lidded eyes. “You said we could go for a walk, but shouldn’t you be at that event? As the Dean’s Assistant and all.”

“So you do want to go for a walk,” Viktor tries again, but relents when you shake your head. “Professor usually specifies when it's necessary. This kind of event requires a partner, he’s there as the head of the Council. Unless my position requires me to dance with Heimerdinger, too.” The mental image you come up with makes it hard to stifle a giggle. It’s Viktor’s eyes turn to soften, now. “But. I could have asked you to be my saviour for the night. Would you have said yes?” 

“Of course.”

“No hesitation, didn’t even require a ‘please’. Is this loyalty, or mere pity?”

You huff, but the smile doesn't leave your face just yet. It can't, when it comes to Viktor. You lay down next to him and a pleased hum vibrates in his chest. “I love you enough to ease the gala induced headache, should you ask. Also, the food and music were nice, at the last Academy event. Thankfully, they always put some effort into the celebrations after summer break.”

He hums again, only to give you a response – because you both stare at each other when one goes silent, and he knows it’d be hard not to melt should you give him that look. Viktor recalls the music, the pleasant combination of violin and flute that you had described as unfitting: "Doesn’t it remind you of spring?"

He had said it did, now that you mention it. The upbeat melody had made you giddy, blossoming like a flower. Yes, spring, indeed. Viktor remembers thinking they should’ve saved it for Progress Day, but the Academy is triple crowded during the occasion: it would’ve been harder to find somewhere private yet a spot the music could reach, somewhere he could prompt you to spin with one arm for his eyes only, to idly lean back on a balcony’s railing, tug you closer, guide you into twirling again with little effort. You had laughed the same way you do when he torments your sides and ribs in the privacy of your rooms: loud, bubbly, soft and terribly you, had laughed before retreating in the safety of his arms in the aftermath of your giggling fit. He has the sudden urge to have you like that again even if the winter chill would make it impossible to take you hostage in the corner of a balcony. “We could still attend, then.”

You mistake the irrationally blurted out words as a simple joke, because Viktor despises such events and you still don’t fully understand how much of a lovesick fool you make him. You're the one actually holding the knife and all. “No, we can’t.” Not with heavy eyes and a heavy heart, and certainly not three hours late. 

Silence comes after that. Viktor lets you stare at him solely because he wants to stare back, and this once you don’t squirm under his always warm but sharp gaze. Viktor is all sharp edges, in many ways. Sharp cheekbones, sharp jaw. His words can be sharp, rather than ‘are’. Most of the time you'd deny his cocky sarcasm, used to the soft curve of the words he'd reserve for you even when jesting and arguing. That until he'd deliver a line that left you agape. Viktor likes outwitting others, and that includes you. Were you to ask him, he’d admit cornering you in particular was much more amusing. Ask when he’s feeling devious, he’ll pretend to say ‘arousing’ instead of ‘amusing’, blatantly faux apology for the slip up worsened by his shameless grin. A look you like on him, even when he flirts like a corny teen. 

There is no space for it right now. Maybe there could be, you’ve learnt how to bring it out even during lectures, but riling him up is not what you need, or want, right now. If only you could notice the way his eyes linger on the curve of your jaw, then down your neck. Suddenly overwhelmed with something as ridiculous as neediness, Viktor tangles his fingers with yours. You are not cruel, so you don’t tease him over the gesture. You rarely do, anyways: you feel no need to test a heart reserved just for you; or worse, to risk and insinuate the curl of his fingers around yours is wrong or unappreciated. A cat is not as blinded by love as much as a dog is and there’s only so much it can take. 

“You look so pretty, you know?” You blurt out in a clumsy whisper. Rather yet, the words write themselves in your throat and push through your mouth before you fully realize it. If vocal chords worked like guitar strings, you could call them notes and Viktor your song. Awfully saccharine and yet you can’t stop yourself nor the fingers brushing and playing with the wisps of hair that curl around his forehead and graze the hidden mole near his eyebrow. “The moonlight looks lovely on you.”

Viktor offers you a small smile. Embarrassed, flustered, shy. Lips press in a thin line that curls down at the edges. The line is thin because he sucks his lower lip in to chew on it like a nervous teen rather than the grown man he insists he is. The hand stroking a strand of his hair dips lower to cup his cheek and you can’t help but mirror his expression as if just realizing the sweetness of your words. You didn’t know love would’ve made your tongue impulsive and ridiculous. 

Viktor lets the moment stretch as you stroke his face and the mole you use as a target for cheek kisses. “Can I come closer now, you pest?” He then asks in a somewhat hoarse voice and you half-wonder how long you’ve been cornering him with your gaze. The other half doesn’t really care. His request receives a few absent nods from your head as his body moves before you completely process his words. You were sure you’d remain the clingy one. Viktor surprised you once more. He crawls over your stomach, drapes one leg over yours in a careful gesture as his cheek claims the familiar spot above your chest. Your nose rubs at his forehead affectionately and Viktor scrunches his with a smile. 

It’s not enough. You coil an arm around his waist to press him more against you and let your fingers idly stroke his side. Viktor makes a face and a sound, displeased and sensitive, but you hear him huff a chuckle again when you giggle at his dramatics. 

His ear presses down and Viktor focuses on the thrum of your heart for a moment, taking the hand closest to his in a secure hold. You know he doesn't purposefully mean to ground you, but he does anyway. Rock and anchor, moon and tidal wave: the two of you might be running out of analogies to explain the chain locked around your hearts. 

“Your heartbeat calmed down,” Viktor murmurs, angling his head to nose your throat and guiding yours to tilt back. “What were you thinking about, mhm?”

You shrug. And throw a look at your discarded textbooks at the edge of the bed. 

“Eh. Thermodynamics, I suppose.”

“I meant before coming home, sweetness. You were quiet on the way back.” 

Instead of shrugging again, you press your cheek against his head with a hum. Viktor hums back and nuzzles more into your neck to soak in the affection. “I don't know. We… kind of argued over the assignment earlier, didn't we?”

“Us? No, we didn't.”

“Not we as ‘us’, I mean us and the others.” Viktor huffs as your words trigger recallings of your unpleasant afternoon and you tut in a soft coo. “Don’t sulk. You looked like you wanted to kill them.”  

Viktor grunts like a child and you know his lips are pouting because he doesn’t like being scolded. “You took it personally, didn't you? I don’t think anyone meant to make you feel attacked. It’s– I know it’s frustrating and they lack tact. I don’t like when we stall on unnecessary banter, either. Or, err, when we disagree. We as ‘us’, this time.” 

He huffs again, reaching blindly to mush your face to shut you up: “Talking and discussing and bantering over materials is part of the experience. And it wasn't your fault, in case you’re even remotely thinking that.” He didn't like how the hot-cocoa bastard had backed you up immediately, that's for sure, but it wasn't nearly enough to make him mad at you. When they made an absurd proposal, both ridiculously expensive and unrealistic just to keep going against him, Viktor had gone quiet.

“...I could write my thesis on how much nonsense they talk sometimes, seriously. You shouldn’t have humored them.”    

“Viktor. I didn’t humor anyone. I brainstormed from what they suggested– And yes, their idea was bullshit, but someone had to propose anything else and move on. You were too busy glaring to listen, weren’t you?”

The way your voice comes muffled by his palm is amusing and it soothes the hint of jealousy still lingering in his heart. Viktor tilts his head again to kiss right under your chin. “I got just a half of what you said,” Lie, “Next time make sure I have a pen in hand. And go slower. You’d make an awful lecturer.”

When you tug at his hair to force his head up the weak glare you give him must be not even weak and just ridiculous, because Viktor absently taps your cheek while looking at you with one of his smitten smiles. You have grown to recognize them because he never even realizes he's smiling, mouth parted, his grinning teeth peeking just slightly and the crow’s feet around his eyes showing. Still not cute enough for your glare to soften. “You are stubborn, though. Using both copper and aluminium for the components would be better, but you’re fixated on brass. Brass, baby.” 

“Heimerdinger will understand,” You both know he won’t. Viktor echoes words from your stressed speech with a tilt of his fingers and that same smile because, again, he annotates everything you say, even in his brain. “Efficiency does precede expenses even for our ‘stupid assignments,’ dearest. It won’t kill him to go a little over his budget for once.”

“We asked him that last time. This stupid thing isn’t even worth a quarter of the grade, mind you.”

“He always says that, and then changes his mind a week before the deadline.”

“Shouldn't we save the request for Progress Day, then? Or the Young Idiots Competition?” 

Viktor can't help a chuckle and his stomach presses against yours as he does. “I always forget how much you dislike it.” 

“It's rigged,” You reply. “I'm sure it is. Notice how last year you barely made it to fifth place, beaten by rich kids. Their work was ass– and I’m not singing your praise. It was nothing we hadn't seen before; nothing Heimerdinger hadn’t seen before. ‘City of Progress’ and then they don’t let something new and progressive win.”

His fingers litter small pinches on your cheek for the whole length of your mumble. Viktor, ambitious and prone to grumbling and holding grudges when mistreated because of classism Viktor, looked back at the three months of hustle and bustle with fondness rather than bitterness: all his memories focused on you. Still walking that blurred line between wanting to kiss your lips red and opting for squeezing your shoulder in a half hug as good morning, he was; and more enamoured than ever, right out of two weeks spent as somewhat roommates as you nursed him through a high fever that left his lungs (already weak, but he didn't know that yet) so stressed that it made him stop smoking altogether. He called it the prologue of his lovesick trimester.

You had gotten sick right after that – a classic – and couldn't finalise your own blueprints for the competition, which effectively shut you out from taking part in it. Then came a cruel week of forced distance (you had banned everyone from visiting, especially him lest the two of you fell into a feverish circle, and struggled to ignore the ominous notes slipped under your door in that messy handwriting of his), followed by a duel for your assistance the second you were free from your self imposed exile. Viktor won it, effortlessly. You became his somewhat roommate again and the two of you learnt to share a one size bed without either monopolising blankets and that sleep comes easy when close to someone else, especially if they are your favorite person in the entire city. This all made your reaction at the kissing ordeal that would happen a few months later even more ridiculous, because Viktor had held you in your rest long before small kisses became a daily occurence. Reverse slow burn or whatever the Literature Majors would say.   

A delicate tug at his stress-curled strands interrupts his blissful reminiscence. Your nail drags over his scalp to hurt and Viktor almost grins. “You’re not taking me seriously, are you.” 

Viktor enjoys when the two of you switch roles. Not that you’re an actual pest; not most of the time, anyways. He calls you variations of ‘sweet’ for a reason. But he supposes you feel this same giddiness to bother him, make him grumble and fluster and you’re simply too good to act upon it. Viktor loves to deem himself a cunt even if you disagree, and wants to both torment you until you find a way to shut him up, no matter how, and simultaneously have you all over him, waiting for you to give him a reason to pin you down and dig his teeth in your flesh. All is fair in love and war, and war, for him, is foreplay. And foreplay is too fun to restrict it as a prelude to sex. Here comes that smile of his again. “Absolutely not, love.” 

You tug at his hair again, harder, and his breath hitches. Playing dumb to his growing needs, you turn the tugging into pleasant scratching at his scalp again and the tenderness of it almost has the same effect on his groin. Almost. 

“Remember when we both used to wear half-ups?” You ask. The first of many cheesy choices made when you both weren't sure if you were in love, but definitely wanted everyone to know you were associated. As close friends, at least. Viktor was glad you revealed yourself a sweetheart and thrifted matching pins for your jackets and ties and cheap charms for your bags, glad that he didn't have to beg for you to show that you actually and really cared, that you were eager to show your place at his side. It soothed the ugly part of him that crawled in his insides when someone stared a little too long, looking at him up and down: it made him nauseous, especially when it happened in your presence. 

Viktor thinks of one hot, early morning on the Engineering department's stairs, hiding from annoying classmates in the nook of the oldest building. Thinks of the coffee he had drank for once, the bitter taste still in his mouth softened by your presence alone, and the adrenaline, caffeine induced and rushed 'Would you mind doing my hair like that?' that he blurted out while staring at the rebellious strands escaping your half-up and the spare hairtie you were playing with while blabbing something about Calculus. Remembers sitting between your legs, a step below yours, and how when he had to look up at you, hair style finished, it felt good to crane his head for someone for once. Wondered if you would also find it pleasant. 

“Yes, I do. It was quite cheesy.” 

“We matched. Then you cut your hair and ruined all the fun.” 

Viktor barks a raspy laugh and thinks of all the trinkets you gave him, mostly halves that completed yours. Some are still hanging on his bag, others rest on the bedside table that he calls your sanctuary – and the way he has grown a habit of looking at it while falling asleep is akin to a prayer, in his eyes. “We already matched. Heimerdinger asked me about you almost immediately.” 

The kiss he presses to your cheek is barely noticed. You don’t particularly like Heimerdinger for a handful of reasons, as it usually happens with professors. On one hand, he’s so ridiculously stingy with assignments that you quietly await the day he’ll trip and roll down a flight of stairs, hopefully within your lifespan and without experiencing a concussion. On the other hand, you find his political choices and stance confusing and hard to agree with, but most of your insights come from Viktor’s delirious, late-night complaints about what he hears with his own ears and what he finds in the reports Heimerdinger writes and tasks him to review. In all honesty, you didn’t think the professor would notice someone as skittish as you, as good as your grades are.  

Viktor picks on your surprise. “He noticed you tagging along. Your voice from outside, at first,” His breath fans over your face as he straddles your lap with a small grunt and resumes talking before you can ask if he’s okay. “You thought he wouldn’t? Said he was glad I had 'made friends'; always let me go more easily if he knew you were waiting outside. Then you helped me carry something inside – boxes, I believe – and when he saw you, the identical pins on our ties were hard to miss.”

It gets a little laugh out of you and Viktor turns it into a small giggle by fluttering his fingers on either side of your neck and you only now notice how needy for your voice he’s being, tonight. Your own fingers wrap around his wrists because your hands don’t know where to go if not against his skin. “What did you tell him?”

“Eh, the truth,” Viktor presses his thumbs into your cheeks until it almost hurts just to hear a sound. “When we were friends, that we were friends. When we weren’t, that we weren’t.”

You almost scold that he’s making it easy, but it actually was. Viktor had become a part of you very much easily, first of your school routine and then of your heart. You were glad it had been so effortless, in a way: you knew he loved you, he knew you loved him, all from the very beginning, save for the first months of his guarded aloofness and your seven feet of careful distance. You had discarded most doubts and fears long before the kissing began, and those that stayed couldn’t be helped: courtesy of your brain, as usual. 

It wasn’t hard to realize why Viktor hadn’t kissed you earlier, either – or why he was ‘so comfortable being friends’, as your roommate put it when you were desperate enough to ask for relationship advice or just rant and then get upset when they treated you like a child and their playground crush. Again, you had frowned, because what others initially saw as lack of commitment you saw as the beginning of devotion. Maybe you self-projected (an awful habit) or were ridiculously smitten. Or both. And yet, you told yourself when Viktor made sure your shoulders were touching even when sitting in class, when he should’ve been focused on taking notes, was he really being that patient for the sake of a chase? As clingy as you were, you knew he was more than a body to hold, for your heart. You were willing to wait and find out if you were right in thinking he shared the vision. 

That time you didn’t really expect others to understand nor wanted to fully explain yourself, reserved as you were with those confusing classmates of yours. “I mean, I could have kissed him sooner instead of trying to analyze him.” You preferred pointing that out, not fond of the annoying innocent lamb reputation that preceded you for some reason. You knew naïve is rarely meant as flattering and that most lambs are slaughtered with no concern. “And he could've grown tired and decide to move on before I could beat him to it. For what other possible reason would you think he lingered?” 

There was an elephant in the room, because everyone exchanged gazes, uncomfortably, and that same person looked up from their book with something that made your insides churn, different from the butterflies Viktor’s loving gaze gave you and the anguish your anxious heart stirred in your stomach. The elephant sat on your lap, and you knew.

“Because you’re nice,” They had said. Suddenly in a mirror, you felt they didn’t really expect you to understand. Peeked at you from behind their textbook. “You are so nice.” 

You had waited for them to elaborate. They didn’t. No one in the room did and you almost felt ridiculous for hoping they would. Viktor did, with a completely different insight. Your waiting paid off for once and the lamb wasn’t slaughtered, even if Viktor thought you were anything but innocent and maybe the butcher himself when you wanted to. Still, seeking refuge in someone else’s arms never felt right, less for pride and more for dignity: you didn’t need soothing nor a whole relationship built on it. So you kept enduring the stares that bordered glares out of nowhere even if you couldn’t pinpoint why the gun was at your temple in the first place. Assured it wasn’t jealousy because no one humored Viktor more than necessary (especially in your absence, when a suitor would have striked) you picked the role of the bigger person and kept mirroring smiles and words to keep a neutral ground. 

Viktor had a much clearer picture of ‘what the fuck is up with them’, being an outsider of dynamics that had been growing for years and that you deemed normal in your daily life; even if you recognised that something was, in fact, up when he had pointed out a few details that inevitably escaped your fed-up eye. He wasn't surprised you couldn’t see outside the bell jar, only playful and mean enough to compare you to a spider trapped under a glass just to get himself frowns and your hands all over him until he finally spoke his sentence. 

You earned his silent smiles and praises when you told him their envy was pointless and it didn’t really boost your ego. You knew you couldn't force someone to put you down the pedestal, nor could you step down by yourself if technically you didn’t know you were on it. And addressing it out loud would have made you presumptuous, knowing how confrontation with them usually ended. Sitting down on the stoll was easier. Viktor doesn’t think standing and sitting are that different. 

The poetics are always a little awkward on two scientists’ tongues, even the lust induced ones, usually excluded from criticism. Still, Viktor wishes you'd notice the glow you had, inside and out, no matter how part of him longs to keep it all for himself. If he was the prideful Undercity scum some had called him, a part of him wished you’d pick that up, even if you were content with your humble amount of confidence.

You grab Viktor’s face and kiss him to apologise for zoning out even if you know he doesn’t mind, likes watching your expressions change as your mind walks through your thoughts as if in an art gallery. Or the automatons exhibition your course was dragged to once. All failed prototypes, yet Viktor remembers how your eyes glinted and how standing still didn’t bore him at all, if it meant bearing witness to your dazzled stare. 

The press of his lips against yours is nowhere robotic, the sequence of pecks so tender and messy that you’re not sure who’s kissing who, for a moment, only aware of tilting your head up, leaning in every moment the pressure is gone. Then Viktor licks the seam of your lips with a hum, his own version of a plea, and when your mouth opens it’s hard to deny him your tongue, not when he sounds so sweet. It feels slightly weird when he licks the roof of your mouth, and he rewards your patience to his antics with another suck on your tongue and drinks the saliva clinging to it like a dying man. 

Viktor breaks for air first. “Change. For bed,” He mumbles. For bed, yes, of course, stay the night, don’t make me ask. Fingers you hadn’t even noticed cupping your face move to trace your jaw, then press against the familiar line of your neck, linger on your collarbones and stop over your chest, where you habitually murmur he belongs. The quickened beats of your heart must be strong under his palm: you feel them echo in your own ears. They are no longer caused by your anxious subconscious. 

The tip of your nose rubs against his cheek while you absently nod. “Of course,” You murmur as you blindly palm his chest, less worried about undoing the buttons of your shirt and more keen on just touching him through his. Viktor breathes against your parted lips when your thumb flicks where you know it’s sensitive but his body jerks towards your palm. 

“Behave,” He huffs against your mouth before you peck his lips again. “Patience is a virtue, miláčku.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies,” You’re too busy rubbing against him like a cat to notice the way his Adam's apple bobs. Your thumb plays with him again and his guts knot tight and he can only let out a choked whimper, going as far as removing the one hand feeling your heartbeat to cover his mouth. As always, you take mercy. Lean back enough to lay your loving gaze on him. “Can you help me undress?”

Viktor blinks at you like cats do to say I love you. Eyes the side of your throat and it's enough for you to tilt your head, baring the skin to him, for him. You're not sure who's playing who anymore and it’s never been in you to care. His tongue licks a strip of your neck as his hands fiddle with the buttons of your shirt, making an opening for his fingers to touch the center of your chest directly, and Viktor initially keeps his hand there instead of mimicking your teasing touch from earlier because he knows the pressure of his palm soothes you, no matter where. But when your own fingers undo the rest of the buttons, saving him the trouble, Viktor immediately neglects your heart to claim the sensitive skin of your chest, and you laugh your bashfulness out at his eagerness. Needy, again. You didn’t realize he was starving.

“Would you mind rolling over so I can take care of you?” You ask against the shell of his ear. You had spoken variants of that same sentence over and over, from the start, and oh, how it made his insides turn in the worst way, at the very beginning. How he thought you saw him as a fragile thing in need of assistance, and maybe even as good fucking karma. And how he pushed you away lest he said something mean in response – because Viktor knew how you’d react, a witness to cruel words disguised as playful jabs. And maybe they really were, but you shifted uncomfortably all the same, fuming in your silence. 

It would’ve been easy to shoo you away that exact way: Viktor had immediately realized you didn’t linger when something, someone stung. Physically, you had to, but he noticed if you started talking less and the care you put in what you said. That’s why you openly called your classmates that instead of ‘friends’ for the sake of peace. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to grow distant from him just yet, let you bear the guilt of your failed acquaintance. He told himself it felt wrong to give you that much control, still fresh from the playground of the undercity and his old connections, nothing but chess matches he never liked losing. Yet you didn’t look like you wanted to play chess. If anything, he suspected you wanted to save yourself the trouble. There must have been a reason you preferred growing quiet and distant when it hurt. Talking it out it was, then, he decided. 

Viktor had been blessed with a cancelled study meeting, but you hadn’t attended the morning lecture and missed said cancellation, showing up in the library at the designated time. The very first time he was all alone with your presence. Viktor remembers wishing he had stayed in his room, but the thought of you waiting only for no one to show up made his insides turn, in a different way. Was he the one treating you as fragile, now? 

You had hummed when Viktor said everyone planned to ditch. Peeked over his shoulder to the equations he scribbled and crossed out, probably fighting against some theorem. And losing. Viktor had turned to you at the silence, cocked eyebrow and all.

“Do you intend to stay?” 

His tone was still plain out of habit. You mistook it for intentional. “No. I’ll go back to my room,” But you had no real reason to be a dick yet. “Do you need something before I go?” 

There it was. “Like what?” Viktor had mumbled, sparing you a roll of his amber eyes out of mere courtesy as he turned back to his numbers. “No, I don’t, thank you. You don’t have to ask every time.” 

“Well, I’m here already. And I just care,” You had replied as if it was obvious. Viktor could hear the shuffling of clothes. You probably had flapped your arms against your torso like you always did when saying something you deemed painfully obvious. “Maybe you were in the mood for tea? I only wanted to be nice. Helpful?”

“You don’t have to help.” 

“I know, I said ‘wanted’ for a reason.” You paused for a second and tilted your whole body as if that could let you see his face at least a little. “Are you upset?”

He had paused too, surprised you cut right to the chase. Considered turning around and face the frown surely on your expresssion, or maybe you had raised an eyebrow, and would’ve looked down at him as if he was saying nonsense. Viktor wrote down a few random numbers to keep his fingers busy. “Simply curious, really. I don’t see you ask our classmates these many questions. Or this one specific question more than once.” 

The knife he held was still the sharpest. Not because it was you: Viktor was simply unsure if he could risk wearing out the more precious ones. Polishing them was always a bother, and he had better use of his time than mending his heart after results he should’ve expected. 

Maybe you were anything but predictable. Entropy itself. Or maybe he was just desperate under those clumsy layers of seriousness he sewed on himself like an armor before stepping on foreign grounds. “I’ve known them longer, we went to school together. You are the new kid around, and–”

“And you’re aiming for a good impression?”

“And it’s common sense to be polite to people you aren’t familiar with. I asked them, in the past. I still do when I feel like it. If you’ve been observing me as much as you imply, it’s not hard to understand I care because I want to. I’ll offer help when I want to help, and won’t when I don’t.”

Viktor turned around at that and yes, you were frowning. You had crossed your arms, clearly offended. “You don’t think I'm just a little goody two shoes, do you? We’re grown adults."

He did think that you were something akin to that and much less sincere than what you, apparently, meant to be. So used to not being treated as an equal – save for a childhood friend he’s long since last seen around, a mentor with screwed ideals, brief flings in his teens and his current patron (was Heimerdinger to be included? He wasn’t human, after all), Viktor immediately supposed you were less genuine and more… performative, he settled on that word. A mistake on his part, he realized. Guilt pooled in his throat when he noticed a spit of hurt in your eyes, unable to not feel bad. He might have proved himself one and the same as your classmates. 

Mean, as he deserved you to be, you had blinked as if to push away tears and pouted to yourself, rubbed salt in the wound. “Scientists shouldn’t jump to conclusions, you know.”

That hurt. You really knew which buttons to press. To hell with his guilt, Viktor huffed, almost grumbled: “Yes, I know. You’re being very frustrating.” But he was avoiding your gaze and the way his arms were crossed was not intimidating in the slightest. When you noticed it was the first time he wasn’t trying to hold himself uptight in the two months you had been knowing him, your expression softened. “And you are stubborn. Full offence, Viktor.” 

He always found your voice a lovely, comforting tone; it was the first thing he noticed. Sometimes you murmured your words instead of saying them clearly, and he still wondered if it was because of remnants of shyness and awkwardness or just an unintentional, sweet quirk of yours. He’ll ask in a close future and you’ll just shrug. 

Viktor looked at you and you let him stare, either because you had nothing to hide or were confident it was hidden well enough. He preferred the former, pushed the latter away lest more doubts about your intentions bubbled in his mind and he upset you again. And why was he so worried about upsetting you? 

“You said something about tea, didn’t you?” Silence rarely solves things, Viktor knew that even if his throat has a bad habit of closing up when furious. You might have accused him of jumping to conclusions again, so letting you close to gather data was okay. Worst case scenario it'd hurt and he'd be proven right. Viktor gestured to the chair next to his. “Do you still want to be helpful? I could use some company. And a helping hand. Have you been told what we’ve done in class, in the morning?”

Whether you saw through his words or not, you didn’t comment on it. Maybe you stayed out of spite, that warm afternoon of two falls ago. But Viktor knows why you’re staying now, and why you try to coax him to lay on his back. You don’t ask him again, not expecting an immediate answer because he takes kissing your neck very seriously. You settle for pressing your face against the side of his and rubbing the tip of your nose against his skin like the clingest of pets. Viktor grumbles what you take as a very hard no.

“Viktor. Be nice.”

I am nice, Viktor wants to say, and he doesn’t try to because it’d come out as muffled and mumbled (moaned, should your fingers happen to play with his nipples again) and you’d let out one of those endeared chuckles of yours, pepper kisses on his shoulder and ask him to say that again, please? and he doesn’t want to risk and let the tables turn. You've learnt to be as mean as he can be, just to get him to squirm. It’s lovely. Viktor wonders if he’s rubbing off on you or there’s actually some malice in that precious heart of yours and you reserve it to let him see stars – and only when he lets you, giving him the choice every time, much less worried about control than he is.

Viktor sinks his teeth in the side of your neck hard enough for you to hiss his name and the jolt that runs up his spine as you try to buck your hips under his weight is too good to rush things, to indulge in your gentle voice and come apart under your fingers and the affection that drips from them. He could just ask you to let him take care of you, but Viktor has learnt what the poets mean with the unspokeness of love. His hand tugs at the hem of your pants and Viktor discards the butter knife, picking a blade sharp enough to leave goosebumps in its wake. You’re familiar with it by now. Still- if it’ll cut, Viktor knows you’ll let him lick the wound clean.

[yaboywillyshakes]

tfw someone gets a historical fact wrong in a fanfiction but it's about something you care about, so you end up making tag yourself memes for two days as if that's gonna solve it

[image IDs under the cut]

First Image: A "Tag Yourself" meme on a white background. It is titled "Tag Yourself: Butte, Montana Edition." Underneath the title are three rows of three pictures. Starting from left to right, the first picture is a white and black restaurant logo for Pork Chop John's which includes a pig's head wearing a crown. Above the logo is written "Mr. Pork Chop John." Below the logo are the bullet points: "best with miracle whip," "really loves bread," and "branding? who's that." In the middle top position, there is a black & white picture of a white man in a newspaper clipping from 1918. He is wearing a dark suit & there is no background to the picture. It is titled "Local Hero Manus Dugan." Beneath the picture are the bullet points: "hard to photograph," "puts others before themselves," and "error: location not found." The picture on the right of the top row is of a mineshaft headframe silhouetted against the sky. It is titled "Mineshaft Headframe," and beneath it are the bullet points: "looks great in profile," "was useful once," and "named something cool." The leftmost picture in the middle row is of a snow goose. It is titled "Arsenic-Filled Snow Goose," and is followed by these bullet points: "bad at choosing housing," "dead inside," and "always travels with the squad." The middle picture is a logo for a casino called "Lucky Lil's." The logo is multiple shades of purple and white, and contains the name of the casino and a drawing of a saloon girl with blonde hair." The image is titled "Lucky Lil," and the bullet points below are: "always has the good liquor," "house always way too dark," and "cleavage causes lesbian awakenings." The picture on the right of the middle row is of a huge, solid white statue of the Virgin Mary perched on a mountain top; it has similar vibes to the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Buenos Aires. This image is titled "Our Lady of the Rockies," and is followed by the bullet points: "really over it all," "fond of helicopters," and "doesn't understand the separation of church and state." The picture on the left hand side of the bottom row is another casino logo; it is a white woman with brown hair wearing cowgirl attire encircled by a horseshoe over orange block letters that read "Montana Lil's." The logo is titled "Montana Lil," and the bullet points beneath it are: "trying too hard to be country," "never pays your money back," and "mafia connections?." The middle picture on the bottom row is of a hand pie on white plate. The pie is split down the middle and contains meat chunks, carrots and potatoes. It is labelled "Traditional Cornish Pasty." Beneath the pasty are the bullet points: "full of good things," "forgets to wash hands," and "easy to get along with." The picture on the bottom right of the meme is a black and white picture of a white man looking directly into the camera. He is wearing a medium toned suit and a fedora worn at an angle, and has a bit of a lopsided scowl. The picture is titled "IWW Organizer Frank Little," and is followed by the points: "has the charisma," "likely to die under mysterious circumstances," and "really over capitalism."

Second Image: A "Tag Yourself" meme on a white background. It is titled "Tag Yourself: Helena, Montana Edition." Underneath the title are three rows of three pictures. Starting from left to right, the first picture is of some teenagers dressed in cowboy attire climbing makeshift gallows on a parade float. Above the picture is written "Vigilante Day Parade." Below the logo are the bullet points: "likes the cheap beer," "celebrates local history," and "racist undertones." In the middle top position, there is a color photo of a gothic style cathedral with two steeples, made of tan limestone with a red tile roof. An airplane emoji has been pasted between the steeples. It is titled "Catholic Aerial Stunt." Beneath the picture are the bullet points: "needs to lay off the whiskey," "incredible eye hand coordination," and "no respect for architecture." The picture on the right of the top row is a black and white mugshot of a white woman in mid-to-late middle age. She has a tired expression, a somewhat jowely face, and dark curly hair styled in a 1950s bob. She is holding a signboard that reads: "Lewis and Clark County Sheriff 2715 1-18-57." The mugshot is titled "Big Dorothy," and beneath it are the bullet points: "ungovernable," "pillar of the community," and "cool aunt but bad mom vibes." The leftmost picture in the middle row is of an abandoned strip mall. It is titled "Signs of Urban Decay," and is followed by these bullet points: "vaguely morose," "likes a good burrito," and "doesn't understand landscaping." The middle picture is a black and white photo of a man dressed head to toe in mid century firefighter's gear. The image is titled "Smoke Jumper," and the bullet points below are: "sick threads," "cares about the laws of thermodynamics," and "chased by the reaper." On the right of the middle row is a picture of a whitetail buck at night taken with the flash on. The buck walking past what appears to be a wall of a building in a residential area. This image is titled "Urban Outlaw," and is followed by the bullet points: "has beef with every dog," "wanted by law enforcement," and "hates the paperboy." The picture on the left hand side of the bottom row is of a theatre building made of a red stone. It has three arches over the front door, a triangular roof & a large, round strained glass window over the door. A bedsheet ghost has been poorly photoshopped onto the stairs leading to the door. The image is titled "Grandstreet Theatre Ghost," and the bullet points beneath it are: "constantly misplacing objects," "loves a balcony scene," and "good with kids." The middle picture on the bottom row is a landscape photo of a mountain that vaguely looks like a man laying on his back. It is labelled "Sleeping Giant." Beneath the Sleeping Giant are the bullet points: "#naplyfe," "really photographs well," and "loves a lake day." The picture on the bottom right of the meme is a color photo of a wooden tower structure with four legs and a circular lookout room at the top. The picture is titled "Guardian of the Gulch," and is followed by the points: "the tall friend," "helpful & perceptive," and "has a love/hate relationship with fire."

[his-angell]

worthy of my love. (c.bc)

plot; Chan loves you. He loves you more than anything in the world. During a late night pillow talk, he gushes about how much he loves you. But he also slips up with an admission that he feels he isn't worthy to have something as precious as your love.

paring; Christopher Bahng x fem!reader

genre; slight angst, fluff, comfort

word count; 1.0k

warnings; established relationship, self doubt, pet names, kissing, 3rd person

request; no

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Chan whined as he flopped down onto the bed. (y/n) giggled, already cuddled up in the fluffy white sheets. “This is my favorite part of the day.” Chan sighed. “Oh yeah? How come?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow at him. “I get to relax after a long day and cuddle with the love of my life.” Chan smiled as he crawled up the bed and got under the covers. 

It was about three in the morning. Chan had gotten home from the studio around one. (y/n) had made him food and he showered. They ate and watched an episode of their show and now they were settling into bed. Chan grabbed her by the waist and gently yanked her closer, making her squeal a bit and giggle. 

(y/n) cuddled her head into his warm chest as she closed her eyes. She threw her leg over his waist. “I have to admit, this is my favorite part of the day too..” She whispered. She was so comfortable in his arms. He held her close, his head resting back on the pillows. He hummed softly. He pursed his lips and looked down at her. 

He used his free hand to gently comb her hair from her face. “I’m so in love with you, (y/n).” He whispered. He admired her face. She looked up at him with a smile. “And i’m in love with you too, Chan.” She giggled. Chan swallowed nervously. “I don’t think you know how much I appreciate you.” He whispered. 

The woman shook her head a bit. “No, I know, love, trust me.” She snickered. But Chan wasn’t laughing.. She faltered a bit. “What's wrong, baby?” She sat up slightly. Chan looked at her with sad eyes. He let out a shaky breath. “I should be here for you more.” He said. (y/n) shook her head again. “You’re here all the time, though.” She said. 

Chan sighed, sitting up and leaning his head on the headframe. “No, i’m not (y/n).. I’m working all the time. I barely ever have time for you.” He looked away from her. She shrugged. “You make time for me though. Plenty of it. I knew what I was getting into, Channie. I don’t regret any of it.” She said softly, trying to meet his eyes. 

“I.. I’m sorry.” Chan's voice cracked. That had (y/n) sitting up immediately. “No, No, none of that.” She said. She moved to straddle his waist. She grabbed his face and made him look up. Her heart shattered at the tears that streaked the mans face. “Talk to me, Chan.” She whispered. 

The man searched her eyes for any uncertainty. Any glimpse of something that said she didn’t really care. But he found none of it. Her eyes were filled with nothing but love and care. His lip trembled. “I don't deserve your love..” He cried, a sob breaking past his lips. (y/n) was slightly shocked. She had seen Chan cry before. He was very expressive with his emotions, but this seemed so much different.

She pulled his head into her chest, running her hands through his hair. Chan wrapped his arms around her waist and sobbed into her chest. (y/n) held him, softly hushing to him that it was okay. She would let him get his tears out. She knew he needed to release the feeling to feel better.

After a few minutes, she pulled his head back. There was a tear stain on the white shirt she wore. She took her thumbs to his cheeks, swiping away his tears. “Why do you think you’re unworthy of my love?” She said. Chan blinked a bit. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it after a second. “Think about it Chan.” (y/n) said, nodding softly. Chan let out a shaky breath. 

“I just don’t feel.. Good enough for you.” He said. (y/n) nodded, humming for him to continue. “I’m always so busy with work. I don’t feel like i'm handsome enough for you. There's been so many times where I snapped at you after work, but i’m just tired. And I-” He was cut off by her hand going over his mouth.

She squinted at him. “Who do you think you are, huh?” She said. Chan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You have no right to be saying these things about yourself, Chan.” She said sternly. “But I-” He was cut off again. “No! Christopher, you are the most amazing person I could ever imagine being with.” She said. “I don’t care whether you’re handsome or not, which you are very handsome. But! Your love, and your loyalty is what I cherish.” She nodded. 

“You are so talented, strong, pretty, beautiful, all of it. Everything about you is perfect.” She rambled. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Jagi. Because you truly are such an amazing man.” She caught more stray tears that slid down his cheeks. “You are worthy of my love.” She said. 

Chan sniffled, his eyes glossing over once more. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. (y/n) raised her eyebrows. “For what?” She asked. She always asked. Unless he gave her a solid reason to be sorry, she wouldn’t listen. They always went back and forth on apologies. They were both working on learning that they didn’t have to apologize for everything. 

Chan licked his lips and sighed. He looked down. “For thinking bad about myself. Also for.. Thinking I don’t deserve your love.” His voice was quiet. The woman hummed, tilting his head up. “It’s okay, Channie.” She kissed his nose. “I love you. I love you so much. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.” She kissed him softly. Chan kissed back, squeezing her waist. 

He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “I love you too. More than anything in the whole world.” He said. She smiled. “I know, baby. Now let's get some rest, yeah? I’m going with you to practice in the morning. You need sleep so Minho doesn’t scold you for being so tired like last time.” She giggled. Chan nodded with a small chuckle. 

They moved to lay down, Chan turning off the lamp before cuddling her close. “Thank you for loving me, (y/n).” He whispered. (y/n) hummed softly. “I will love you until the end of time.” She whispered sleepily. Chan chuckled softly, kissing her head and soon falling asleep with her in his arms.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

my requests are open!! I write for Stray Kids, ATEEZ and All Of Us Are Dead! I'm working on adding more to the list of what I can write for. I mainly do hurt/comfort and angst (mostly always with a happy ending). I am open to anything though!! (NO SMUT)

this was such a cute idea. I saw this tiktok, and I got this idea. he's such a sweetheart, he deserves the world. I don't think he understands how much we love him. I hope you enjoyed! have a good day/night/evening! muwahhh!!

all writing rights reserved to @his-angell. do not repost or translate blogs without permission. reblogs are appreciated!

[shslbunnylover]

★★★𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 (𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮 9: 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨/𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙭)★★★

Character: Wanda Maximoff

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1 @marvels--slut

Trigger warnings (DL, DI): Virginity loss, smut, vanilla sex,

Genre: Smut

A/n: Fuck Colonizer Columbus

Word count: 1.4k

...

...

A soft whimper escapes your lips as the cold air around you and your girlfriend shot straight onto your heated sex, eyes focusing on the redhead that was slowly pulling off your panties as to not freak you out too much.

"Are you sure about this Y/n?" Wanda asks, cupping your chin immediately at the sound of you whimpering. "I promise I won't get mad; you can take as long as you want for us to do it," She reassured you, eyes filling with concern at the thought that you wouldn't be 110% comfortable with what you were about to do.

You nod, legs trembling in need as you bite your lip hard enough for it to start hurting.

"Please Wands...I really need you; I don't want to do this with anyone but you," You replied, eyes seemingly filling with a combination of lust and love as you began to beg the other woman to touch you.

"Okay baby, if you're sure. Just tell me to stop whenever you want me to and I will; no judgement," She said, her eyes continuing to carry a caring undertone to them that was easy to see.

Your legs clench up as you feel her soft hands trailing up and around where you needed her most, your body not used to teasing as you had usually just gotten your orgasms from your own fingers or toys, but you liked her being in control.

Wanda smiled softly, her middle finger sliding through the tiny gap between your soaked cunt and your ruined underwear as to hook it with her digit, pulling it off in one quick motion before tossing it off the bed into the neat pile where all of your other clothes had gone.

"So wet? Are you sure you've never done this before?" She smirked, teasing you slightly before returning to her normal soft and gentle nature as her pointer and middle finger spread your folds apart just a little bit.

You blushed furiously, your head quickly snapping away from your girlfriend as to not let her see your incredibly flustered reaction.

You knew it was pornographic yet wholesome the way the two of you were positioned, Wanda on her knees and leaning over you while you rested on the headframe of your shared bed, but you loved every second of it.

The cold and silent air around your body left a trail of goosebumps around your arms as Wanda pulled your hands together, pressing them to the bed frame to fuck you at a better angle.

"Is this okay?" She made sure to ask, her eyes still looking straight ahead at you as she continued to rub her digits around your sensitive points.

You nod eagerly, liking the control she had over you as she touched you with her loving hands.

"Full sentences..." Wanda warned, wanting to make sure you were actually comfortable.

"Yes Wands, I like this," You chuckle, a tiny moan escaping your lips as you felt Wanda's fingers getting closer to your hole.

"That's good, now, we're going to use colors to say whether or not you're comfortable. Green means good, yellow means slow down, and red is basically your safe word," The redhead explained, her thumb finding its way to the outer part of your clit, rubbing circles into it slowly as to draw out as many moans from your throat as she could. "Do you understand, sweetheart?"

You nod once again, internally joking about how your neck will hurt after this before you remember your girlfriend's rule of using full sentences for your first time.

"Yes, I've got it, please don't explain any more...It's too painful for you to tease me like this," You whinsomeed, a pleading undertone in your voice as your eyes dart down to where the green-eyed woman's fingers were circling your clit.

Wanda chuckles at your begging, a sly yet caring and coy smirk tugging at her lips as she slowly slid two of her fingers inside of your cunt, releasing a loud moan from your mouth as your tight walls clenched around her digits.

"F-Fuck~!!" You cried, your voice meek from the sudden penetration of your body, eyes rolling back into your head as you closed them from the ecstasy.

Your hands try to resist the hold that's placed on them by your girlfriend, to which the other woman lets go immediately, allowing for you to cling your arms around Wanda's neck.

"Color?" The redhead asks, looking you dead in the eyes as her pace speeds up, your walls so tight she's not sure if she'll be able to add a third finger inside of your core.

"G-Green!" You choke out, soft cries leaving your lips as you bury your face into Wanda's shoulder.

Her scent is just as addicting as her touch, the smell of her matching shampoo and body wash filling your nostrils with the familiar and comforting smell that somehow manages to turn you on even more as you feel your walls stretching perfectly around Wanda.

Soft cries of pleasure filled the room as Wanda's fingers filled your need. Your slick, already dense between your legs, helping the redhead move her digits in and out of your aching core. Your hands tightened their grip on her shoulders, causing red handprints to form where you had gripped her, her lips beginning to kiss and press themselves onto your own.

The slow penetration filled your body with tingles and the sensation of just pure pleasure that you were unaware could even be possible, it was just magical the way this woman curled herself inside of your wet pussy.

You looked down at the sight of your hole being filled, watching all the wet and sticky cum falling from your cunt and onto your girlfriend's fingers, the way it spread itself all over your inner thighs making you squirm slightly from the sensation of it mixed with the original ecstasy.

A string of curses leaves your lips as they only part slightly from the exhaustion that filled your body, your eyes hooding as you begin to feel your muscles cramping up in an oddly pleasureable way.

You knew about the concept of orgasms, but you had never felt one even with all the effort you tried to give with masturbation, no one had ever told you they were this...heavenly.

More cries that eventually increase in volume leave your lips, leaving you unable to speak as Wanda continued to pump her fingers inside of your hole that was perfectly stretched around her.

"Please Wands~!" You moaned, eyes rolling back into your scalp as you began to slightly cry from the overwhelming amount of pleasure and emotions you were currently feeling.

"I am, sweetheart," Wanda cooed, her other hand that wasn't covered in you stroking and cupping your cheek with just a pure gentle nature. "Color?"

You let out another cry, not wanting to speak with all of the emotions in your head crowding your ability to talk.

"G-Green!" You squeaked, your eyes releasing more tears as you felt your whole body become soaked with your upcoming orgasm.

You were practically sobbing at how good Wanda's fingers felt rubbing up and down your pussy, brushing across your clit before rubbing circles.

"Are you ok? Do you want me to stop?" You heard Wanda ask as tears streamed from your eyes, continuing to wipe away your tears while still pumping into your hole. She was always so caring and this moment was no different. You shook your head no and she kissed you before starting to make her way down your body.

"Please don't! I need you!" You cried, feeling yourself coming undone before Wanda's very touch.

Your fingers dug into the sheets and blankets below you, turning your knuckles white until you finally rode your high out, falling back onto your pillows as Wanda pull out of you.

Wanda quickly caught you, wrapping her arms around your body as you felt her warmth comforting you.

"Did that feel good baby? Do you need water?" The redhead asked with a worried tone evident in her voice.

You shook your head, burying your head in your girlfriend's chest as you hummed in response.

"No, just you," You mumbled, looking up at Wanda before yawning. "We can do all that stuff later..."

Wanda chuckled, laying down with you in her arms as you both began to fall asleep.

You definitely knew you'd have to do this again.

[passengerprincipessa]

are panicking about it being a million words because you have a lot of ideas but not the time or because theres plot and a direction you trying to take it? Anyway as many others have said before i would not mind this fic being ongoing forever and updated whenevr inspo strikes u because this is legitimately the most excited i have been for something and i could gobble up infinite amounts of chapters until i reach old age and wither away with a picture of girl osc framed above my headframe

im just realizing that there are so many steps between now and where im imagining this fic ending! but im trying to be chill about it and taking it scene by scene 🥰

[yeosboba]

i'm here - k.hj

yet another post i'm transferring from @yeosluvr

______________________________________________________________

I’m here Featuring: Hongjoong

Genre: Angst

A/N; I have very frequent nightmares and nobody to coax me back to sleep whenever I wake up from them so this random burst of a word spill is inspired by myself huhu. May the people who read this find peace before going to sleep. ((Also please forgive any grammatical errors lol it’s a word spill after all))

...

She had seen their faces, so grim and cold towards her as they walked to her with mute accusations just falling from their lips. She couldn’t hear them, but she knew that they would bitch about her to her face. It’s only safe to assume.

The smiles on their faces were crooked as they swarmed her; the scary thing about them was they were all people she’d known at some point in her life. People who had once played a significant role in her life. What had they wanted with her this time?

“No!” She screamed, breaking into a run when one of them came to her and grabbed her arms.

“You owe us!” The person hissed and she screamed again.

“Please!” She shouted to them. “Please, let me go!”

“Y/n!” Another screamed.

And for a whole minute that was all she could hear.

“Y/n!”

“Y/n!”

“Come back, y/n!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n!”

…

Her eyes shoot open in alarm as she feels her figure being engulfed by a warmth she deems familiar. Her arms that had fallen limp before struggle to wrap around the figure that’s hugging her, but the figure starts speaking.

“Hey, hey.” His voice is shaky, she almost recognises the sob that he holds back. “You’re okay, love. I’m here.”

She lets out a shaky breath. “Hongjoong?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me.” He continues the soothing brushes along her spine as he says this. “Focus on me. I’m right here.”

“I’m okay?” Her voice comes out unsteady and doubting, so he pulls back and lets her head rest against his clothed chest instead, brushing his thumb against her shoulder. She can hear his own heartbeat quickening and she figures he must’ve cried at some point when he was waking her up from the way he’s sniffing.

“You’re okay, love.” He whispers. “I’m here.”

“I’m okay,” she confirms, feeling her heartbeat steadying. “Thank you.”

She watches Hongjoong pull her head from his chest and looks down into her eyes with the softest gaze she’s ever seen, and she immediately remembers this is why she’s reminded of the feeling of safety with Hongjoong.

“Thank you, Hongjoong.”

“You’re welcome,” his laughter doesn’t reach his eyes. “You said it twice. I just came by to check on you.”

That’s when she notices his shirt and jacket still intact and the smell of air-conditioner mixed faintly with the smell of his cologne still wafting in the air around him, indicating that he was working. His eyes are still shining, a soft exhale leaving his lips before he leaves a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“I heard you screaming.” It sounds pathetic, coming from him, when he smiles awkwardly. “What was it about this time?”

The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue and she knows, but she hesitates on her reply and she also knows that he notices it. “Come on, love,” Hongjoong threads his fingers through her hair as she leans into his chest again. “I know about them, you know. It’s alright to tell.”

The silence is loud and ringing in her ears, but he does it like he has time; pulling her impossibly closer to his body as he adjusts his position on the bed, leaning against the headframe of the bed and pulling the covers of their bodies. Blinking away tears, she quietly focuses on the sounds he makes, taking note of his relief when his initially erratic heartbeat finally calms down.

“It’s so hard with nightmares,” she says.

Hongjoong’s quiet humming sounds loud in their bedroom, the fingers in her hair slowing down their pace. She also notices that he’s looking at her when she dares to sneak a peek of him. There’s a fondness evident in his eyes as he kisses along the tiny fringes of her hair. “Yeah?” He hums again. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s a long story, Joong,” she sighs, going back to focusing on the sound of his heartbeat; that sound alone is able to coax her back into a state of drowsiness. “Can you stay for a bit, though? At least until I get back to sleep?”

“I’ll stay with you for tonight, darling,” he smiles, kissing her forehead again. “Go back to sleep, I’ll make sure you’ll have no nightmares for tonight.” She stares at him and wonders how she gets to be lucky to have someone who loves her as much as him. She hadn’t had much of that a few years ago.

“Thank you, Hongjoong.”

He kisses her eyelids when her eyes slowly flutter shut. “Go back to sleep, love,” is all he says as he fondly watches her slowly being pulled back to sleep.

When she finally, finally lets out silent snores and her breaths are once again even in her sleep, Hongjoong kisses her nose.

“Goodnight, love.” He whispers. “I love you.”

And if he listens carefully enough, he could’ve heard the “I love you” he gets in reply.

[finnsterus]

Im in a sculpture class and we are doing headframes of creatures that arent real and i chose to do a minotaur, purely so i can put it in my room, but i have to be discrete so no one finds out about my monster fucking kink,

Like i need to hide who i really am 😭 i cant make it too hot or they will know, i was scetching what i want it to look like and i was using a picture for refrence (i wanted a buffalo looking on, fluffy instead of the biblically accurate yk) and someone said “why are you using furry art as your refrence picture” THE PANIC! It genuenly was bc i wanted a fluffy one and the more realistic ones were all biblically accurate (aka bald and bald human bodies) but i tried to explain that and it in short didnt work

My cover is being blown but im determined to have a furry minotaur head mounted on my wall… pray for me

(Also i tried to find it but i couldnt find the refrence pic, ill have to look on my ipad later i think i saved it there)

[catenation]

alright. im having a problem that i need to call on all hands to solve

so chapter 73. everyones escaping through the mines. and we get a shot of this structure which thanks to google dot com i now know is called a headframe

these structures go over top a mineshaft (vertical) and hoist miners and materials in and out. the hoist itself is a large and complicated mechanism that requires a skilled operator. now my problem here is. how did they get down there. without somebody staying behind to operate the hoist. did they just jump down the hole mario style or what. help me

[michael-rosskothen]

Model with design – Headframe

[aajjks]

Tc! Jk You won't let me sleep? Okay. Let's fuck. But you don't get to come until I say so. *ties his hands to the bed headframe* oh baby you don't know two can play at this game. It's my game baby. You wanna fuck? Fine have it baby. *rides him slowly* oh baby see? . Gets off him. Touches herself.*Yn comes* Now you wanna come too? No. You don't get to come. You've failed my test. God you tire me so much. I am going to sleep. Bye baby. *leaves him tied*

What? That’s not fair I will cum when I want, you cannot stop me- w-what are you doing? You cannot tie me up like this leave me! YN I do not want to play any game- I need you right now… o-oh no please… no f-fuck… oh that feels so good, you can’t s-stop- no you can’t! FUCK YN YOU- w-what? No!!! You didn’t even let me touch you? I’m in so much PAIN- this is funny to you?! UNTIE ME RIGHT NOW OR I Will break free- WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHAT TEST? COME BACK! COME BACK AGGHHHH!”

[beemellifera]

"Butte"

Deafening, I bet,

the silence when the headframes

fell asleep for good.

Blinding, I bet, the gut shot

of trust turned rancid and drowned.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Phonos (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Pale Prince of Crime by the people of Olympius

Mr. Slaughter by Hermes

Age- 39 (immortal)

Location- The Underworld

Personality- He's generally detached, matter-of-fact, & darkly inquisitive with an intelligence to match. He favors logic and reason over emotional influences. He's single.

He has the standard abilities of a god except shapeshifting. As the god of murder his other powers/abilities include haemokinesis (blood manipulation), being able to infuse any weapon with negative energy, having an innate sense of when, where, & how a being was murdered, being able to influence a being to commit a crime of murder (though he rarerly uses this ability), being able to communicate with spirits who have been murdered, as well as his deathstare ability. His eyes turn blood red as his pupils turn to slits. He's able to kill any being (except a deity) with an intense pulse stopping stare!

Phonos has two younger sisters- Kakia (goddess of vice & moral wrongdoing) and Androktasia (Andi) (goddess of battlefield slaughter).

Fifty years ago, he traded the warm gold sunlight of Olympius for the cold atmospheric darkness of the Underworld. It wasn't a big loss or change for Phonos. He never felt comfortable living in the realm of the eternal sunshine and he also began to find his role as the personal PI of Zeus (god of the sky, thunder, & lightning) to be unfulfilling. With the known knowledge of the Underworld's notorious high crime rate, Phonos saw it as an intriguing opportunity.

Notable physical features include his alabaster skin as well as his glossy ink black hair which he almost always wears slicked back.

Though an Olympian by birth, Phonos considers himself a Chthonian- the official term ascribed to a being native of the Underworld. Even his accent has more of an Underworld twinge to it!

He likes the brutal reality of the Underworld. That there's no bright smile painted on it. The Realm of Darkness is cold and miserable and rich with culture & it's honest about it.

Phonos currently lives at the Screech Owl Motel located in the Acherontis neighborhood of the Underworld. His room has the standard basic amenities like a small flat screen television, a kitchenette (that includes a mini fridge), a bathroom, a king sized bed with a blackwood headframe, & a bathroom. The walls are painted blue-gray and black. The only things in his possession that is of high monetary value is his premium set of leather briefcases that holds his collection of weapons. From expertly crafted daggers & knives to Phonos' favorite piece- a .440 magnum semi-automatic handgun crafted from Stygian Iron and platinum. He bought it at an auction for 2.25 million drachmas.

He's very fond of smoking cigarettes, his favorite brand being Plutopack. Phonos can typically go through two packs a day. Cigars are his "dessert."

It's no secret that the Screech Owl Motel is essentially a cesspool of unsavory characters. Phonos remembers the first time he moved into his room, noticing a faint chalk outline of a body near the wall of the carpeted floor. There has been no "unalivings" since he moved in, but he's well aware of everything else that's been going on- the parking lot being a revolving door for teens cutting school, prostitutes scouting for clients, or strung out beings trying to find their next high with lotus dust or black ice.

Phonos sees the other side too- beings just trying to pick up the pieces of their lives to survive, trying their best like his neighbor, a lampade single mom named Vlada who has a seven year old son named Poe. She left her physically & financially abusive husband and now has two jobs- working at the Cythonios Plaza as a cleaning lady as well as a cashier at a gas station. Phonos has been friendly with them, taking a liking to Poe. Sometimes after work he'll buy Poe a kid's meal from Olympic Chef, play basketball with him at the playground across the street, or give Poe a few drachmas so he can buy lunch at school.

He's not a cook of any kind, so Phonos turns to take-out. There's nothing of fresh produce in his mini-fridge except for a bag of spoiled ash plums and half a pomegranate.

On his way to work, he'll stop by a corner store for a large cup of dark roast coffee along with an egg & mushroom sandwich.

Phonos enjoys listening to heavy metal, rap, folk, as well as death metal music- prefering to listen to records on vinyl. His favorite musical acts includes Dissonance Machine- led by his good friend Koros (god of surfeit & disdain), an Underworld-born cyclops rapper named Spectre, Death Theater, and his friend Moros (god of doom).

A go-to drink for him is beer. Without fail every night, Phonos will buy a cold ten-pack of Asphodel Lager. He also likes red wine, rum & cokes, whiskey sours, dirty martinis, bloody marys, and steamrollers. He also likes ash plum juice.

Phonos typically dresses in used suits he buys from a vintage suit shop in Plouton Square. When he's not working, his casual clothes consists of leather jackets, black jeans, & suede boots.

At work for lunch, he'll typically microwave two Ramen Root spicy mushroom flavored instant noodle cups that he'll enjoy with a bottle of beer. Phonos loves adding ghost pepper & soy sauce to the noodles. He'll also sometimes order a reuben sandwich (with extra sauerkraut) along with salt & vinegar steak fries.

His career and primary source of income is being the chief of detectives of the homicide department. Phonos oversees nearly 4,000 officers & detectives. He also works closely with the Underworld's chief medical examiner- a lampade named Isolde La Morte.

A notable highlight in his career was when Phonos solved the case of one of the Underworld's most notorious serial killers- The Seer. The Seer terrorized the Underworld on and off for ten years. The victims were mainly young lampade men whose bodies were found bound & discarded in abandoned areas, their notable dark blue eyes being gouged out. Phonos could already tell that whoever The Seer was, they harbored resentment and hatred against the lampades, a racial majority in the Underworld. Things became more paramount after the discovery of the last victim, a newborn lampade boy found in a garbage bag near the entrance of one of the subways. The baby was kidnapped from the hospital after it's birth and Phonos promised the baby's parents "with every drop of ichor in his body" that he was going to find the monster responsible. A major break in the case happened when the police recieved a call from a young man (a lampade) who ran into an office building with his arms bound claiming to be a victim of a violent attack. Phonos saw the lampade himself. He was bound with his hands tied behind his back with black rope and his eyes were leaking a grayish discharge. The victim (a sex worker) told Phonos that a client asked him to meet at an abandoned apartment building, tied him up, & put hydrochloric acid in his eyes.

The Seer was finally caught due to an anonymous tip called in on the hotline. He was an Underworld-born mortal man named Leviathan, a nurse's assistant at Ophieus Hospital, the same hospital where the baby was taken from. Leviathan was a jaded pathetic being who grew more resentful towards lampades after being not being accepted into the Necro Soter School of Medicine where he wanted to be an ophthalmologist. He harbored a deep hatred for the school's dean who was a lampade. After leaving a mass of threatening e-mails and voice messages, Leviathan began his reign of terror.

Phonos attended The Seer's execution along with many of the victims' families, including the parents of the lampade baby. It fills Phonos with resolution knowing that The Seer is roasting in his eternal damnation in Tartarus. Hades (god of the dead) made a substantial donation to all the victims' families, including paying for all the funeral services.

For convience, he still has his citizenship in Olympius. He doesn't mind traveling to see his friends and younger sister.

Phonos absolutely hates sweets of any kind.

He'll sometimes sleep in his office at the station if things are too rowdy at the motel. Phonos will read the case files, just to get himself to fall asleep.

A guilty pleasure for him are the scorched chicken nuggets (with ghost pepper dipping sauce) from Olympic Chef. He'll usually get a 10 piece with olympian sized fries and a large pomegranate soda with ice. He also likes the chthonic burger (a burger patty topped with mushroom gravy, shredded cabbage, sauerkraut, red onions, and a black truffle aioli sandwiched between two black hamburger buns).

Phonos loves and is overprotective of his sisters, but even he'll admit that he's more closer to Andi & Kakia. It's not becaue of favoritism, it's proximity. Andi also lives in the Underworld so they see each other all the time and they also share similar interests, like ice hockey. Their favorite team is the Artic Strixes.

In the pantheon he's also friends with Lethe (Titaness of forgetfulness, oblivion, & concealment), Keres (goddess of violent death), Acheron (Titan god of pain), Poena (goddess of punishment), Alastor (god of blood feuds & venegeance); Kakia's boyfriend, Ponos (god of hard labor & toil), Lelantos (Lantos) (Titan god of air, the unseen, & hunting), Momus (god of mockery, satire, & ridicule), and Nosos (god of illness, plague, & disease).

Outside of the pantheon, he's friends with many beings that he works with- including Detectives LaRue and Blackstone & officers Hemlock, Lycoris, and Odotheus.

He thinks that Kronos (Titan god of the harvest, time, & fate) is the most notorious serial killer in all the realms.

Phonos also holds Nyx (goddess of the night) as well as Erebus (god of darkness) in high regard.

He loves reading mystery novels. There's a stack of mass market paperbacks (with the spines cracked due to a lot of re-readings) on his bedside dresser.

Phonos is fond of going to the Stygios gun range to decompress, spending hours doing target practice.

When spending time in Olympius, he first goes to see his sister Kakia. Phonos loves messing with her dragon Drago by pinching the spinal plates on his tail. He gives out a massive annoyed sounding roar. He'll play some pool or check out a monster truck rally with Alastor. Phonos doesn't mind venturing into the nightlife with Momus and Koros as long as the bar is operational.

On TV, he loves watching true crime documentaries, Blood Sacrifice, as well as crime dramas with his latest favorite being The Belladonnas- a TV series revolving around an Underworld-based mob boss Theodosius "Theo" Belladonna who struggles to balance his family life with his role as a leader of a criminal organization which he relunctantly explores during therapy sessions with his lampade psychiatrist. Phonos is biting his nails in frenzied anticipation for the seventh and final season of the show, scheduled to premier soon. The show is primarily filmed in the Underworld.

Phonos was a producer on the film Blooddancer.

He's not ashamed about the fact that he uses an escort service. Phonos is a premier member of starsofthenight.com, being a frequent customer of Esmerée, a strikingly beautiful lampade with the longest legs he's had the pleasure of being etwined in. He rationializes this by saying "Every cold heart needs a warm body every now and then."

Koros gifted him a pair of onyx brass knuckles. Phonos was the one who bailed him out of jail after Koros punched a paparazzi photographer.

At the insistance of Detective LaRue, Phonos made an account and profile for a dating app. He'll go over to LaRue's apartment for dinner with LaRue's wife and kids.

Phonos is also a HUGE fan of the cult horror film The Phantom Slasher, loving the 80's aesthetic.

He's not sure if he believes in love, perhaps he's too screwed up for it. Phonos would like to have a date for the upcoming wedding of Moros and Oizys (goddess of anxiety, misery, & depression). So far, Andi is his plus one.

Phonos is one of the few beings that has looked at Momus' script for a black comedy film.

In his free time when he's not working he enjoys reading, skiing, ice hockey, chess, boxing, and mixed martial arts. Phonos would much rather prefer using most if his free time working on cases, particularly unsolved ones.

For the upcoming Christmas, Phonos is planning on buying a silver race car automaton set for Poe.

His all time favorite meal is steak topped with black garlic butter with salt and vinegar fries.

"Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god".