#i'm writing a fic... that is SO self-indulgent... you would not believe it.

[outlanderalien]

Sad: local girl is writing a fanfic that will only cater to a niche audience, and that's on top of the fact that the character involved only has 2.5 fans.

[necrotic-nephilim]

in lieu of having posted any writing/headcanons/asks in the past few days because i have been *so* busy and unable to do anything fandom-related which is terrible and evil, i have a poll out of morbid curiosity and self-indulgence. i've been meaning to ramble here about how i feel about DC's lack fo Deaf representation and which Batfam members i would personally make Deaf, but i am mildly curious about the larger opinion and now i will subject you all to the question, i would love to hear thoughts/opinions/headcanons on any specific choices. (would love d/Deaf/HoH opinions esp but i'm mostly expecting this to reach the hearing crowd, so opinions from hearing ppl are ones i'm very curious about. if you've never given it thought before you are going to now or else /lh)

[ismyteadoneyet]

How fortunate am I to have so many Things to love and be excited about, to appreciate and look forward to?

Things I feel so strongly about that they stumble into my mind, univited, at random times of the day? Things that spill into my speech and vocabulary without me noticing? Things that impact my vision to the point where everywhere I look, everywhere I go, I see ghosts of them?

How lucky am I to have so many Things I love and cherish enough for them to reshape my very person, change my beliefs and make me grow? Things that make my own loved ones see the Things out in the wild, and go out of their way to make sure I see them too?

How wonderful is it that I have Things that I love so much that the very act is deemed and dubbed "not normal", making my love for them seem like it's more than they are supposed to recieve? An out-of-the-ordinary and above-the-norm appreciation for the Things that make the people around me shake their heads, call me "silly".

My dear, beloved Things, may I always stay silly for you ❤️

[esote-rika]

Kiss it Better | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader Category: FLUFF Summary: You trip and bruise your knees, but Spencer is there to kiss everything better Content: 1k words, established relationship, Crime and Punishment spoilers??? fluff galore A/N: INCREDIBLY self indulgent—this is a real life story, except I didn't have a Spencer Reid to help me out. My knees are still bruised. It hurts to walk. Dedicated to @darkmatilda because she's a fellow Rodya girlie and she said something that made me laugh so I put it in the fic. Cute lil fluff before I go MIA <3

“It's your fault.”

“Mine? How on earth are your bruised knees my fault?”

“I was reading your book when I tripped.”

He laughs, cradling your legs on his lap as he holds the ice packs to your aching knees, “Sounds like you shouldn't have been reading while walking then, angel.”

“But it was beginning to get interesting!”

“Then it's Dostoevsky's fault for writing something so intriguing.”

“Don't pin this on that dead man, Spencer,” you narrow your eyes, attempting to glare, but it all comes across adorable. You squirm a little, as if that would help with your accusations and make him take you seriously, “You gave me the book.”

“Not with the intention to hurt you!” He's smiling as he holds your legs and stills your movements. Ever patient. Ever warm. You’d melt if you weren’t in so much pain right now and lavish him with kisses. Thank you, you’d murmur. Unfortunately, your tumble has put you in a petty mood. But that’s okay, he knows how to handle that too.

“Are you sure? Because you know it would have hurt me one way or another,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest, “Not physically like this, but I've heard you talk about it like it’s the height of literature so I know it would be—” 

“I’m of the opinion that it is the height of literature, angel.”

“— it would be—” you press on, shooting an annoyed look his way,  “—an emotional rollercoaster. It would have hurt my feelings. Just wasn't expecting it to give me bruised knees and a twisted ankle on top of the emotional damage.”

He has to hand it to you sometimes, you can be so dedicated to your petulance around him. Only around him. With everyone else, you’re so dependable and calm, but those walls collapse around his company, sweetening into something so charmingly vulnerable, so he nurtures the petulant pouting all the same. Coaxes it from the cracks of your typically put together demeanor with his own teasing words.

“Yeah, that was quite a fall,” he grins, softly, to cushion the playful sharpness of your complaints, “You almost became Rodya's third victim, huh?”

“Are you joking?” you wave at the ice packs balanced on your knees, sputtering in indignation, “I’m going to be immobile for the rest of the day and you're joking?”

“Indeed I am. It is well known that humor, more than anything else in the human make-up, can afford an aloofness and an ability to rise above any situation, even if only for a few seconds.” 

Your jaw drops, “I can't believe you're quoting Frankl at me. I'm sitting in excruciating pain, and you're making a joke and giving me a lecture. Low blow, baby, even for you.”

“I know, I know, angel, I'm sorry.” he murmurs, soothing over the wrinkles he’d deliberately caused. Grinning because he loves this. Loves you. Oh, he loves you so much, “No more European writers. I'll get you all the ice cream and chocolate you need, and then we'll stay inside all day to cuddle, how's that sound?”

“But I want to know what happens to Raskolnikov.”

He laughs, “All right, then I'll throw in a couple of chapters of Crime and Punishment.”

“While we cuddle?”

“Mhm.”

“You'll read for me?” the loveliest eyes peek up at him from beneath fluttering lashes. You know you don’t need to do that, he wouldn’t say no to you, but it’s part of the fun.

“Yes, angel.” He'll read for you anytime, helping you feel better is just an extra incentive. “Chocolates and cuddles and a good book.”

“That's it? Aren't you forgetting something? What happened to that eidetic memory?”

He frowns, wondering what else it is he forgot in his arsenal of things to help you feel better. He wonders if this is just banter, worries that he did actually forget something important.

“You have to kiss them better, genius.”

Ah. Both. How could he be so foolish? His face breaks into a smile. Without breaking eye contact, he sets aside the ice packs, and bends your legs up at an angle so he could have an easier time reaching it. Careful, always so careful but especially now from your bruises. Beneath all teasing, he knows you’re in genuine pain.

Slowly, achingly sweet, he brushes his lips over the bruised knee, the barest caress, warm lips against chilled skin. You suppress a shudder. He moves his lips up to your thigh delicately, teasingly. It's gone before the gasp leaves your lips, though that one brief second sends goosebumps crawling up your skin.

He moves to your other knee, touching his lips to the rapidly blooming purples on your skin, before finally pulling away.

“Better?”

“Much,” you nod, scooting over the couch to get closer to him. His body adjusts around yours in the cramped space, joints and angles poking into your soft, curling limbs. Tangled mess, but you love it all the same. You find yourself somehow nestled between his thighs, your head tucked beneath his chin. He holds the book with one hand, while the other is cupped at your knee, balancing the ice pack and drawing mindless circles over your skin. 

“What chapter shall I read?”

“Part one, chapter six. But Spence?”

“Yes, angel?”

“You owe me more kisses.”

Not that you need to ask, but okay. His lips land on your temple automatically, “Always a pleasure.” he mumbles, breathing in the familiar, soothing scent of your hair, “But may I know why?”

“You said I’d be Rodya's third victim,” you reply, remembering the details of the book and what he’d said earlier, “He was only planning to kill that old lady so… he kills more?”

There’s a pause, before he laughs, “That's a spoiler.”

“Book's been out for centuries,” you roll your eyes, “And yes, that's a spoiler, but one that you unintentionally gave me!”

“I'm sorry,” he laughs, putting down the book to cup your chin. Turning your face to him, he regards you with large brown eyes that seem to dance with love, “I guess you're right, I do owe you more kisses.” he says, before finally kissing your lips.

[kewpiekitty]

୨⎯ something cozy ! ⎯୧

a/n: HELLOOOOO EVERYONE !!! so im really excited to write this because this game has taken over my brain and i need to write this like right now !! this is more of a self indulgent fic so the reader will go by she/her and will be plus size !! if that isn't something you wanna read then feel free not to ! i will most likely end up making something a little more ambiguous cause i love mateo sosososoososo much omg !!

mateo manta x chubby!fem! reader

Crickets could be heard chirping late at night, the sound makes you tired and relaxed. As much as you want to go to sleep though, you have to talk to one last person before you go to bed. You promised you'd talk to him today, when you got everything situated with Davi. So you went downstairs to talk to him. Mateo was such a sweet guy, he cared about everything except for himself at times. That's what drew you to him though, he needed someone to be able to take care of him the way he takes care of others.

You felt so bad seeing how his face fell when he explained he didn't want to lose you, since you had finished helping him find Davi and the other stray inanimals. Your heart broke into little pieces seeing his face painted with sadness and worry. "Mateo. I'm still going to be around and I promise you I'll still talk to you everyday. I'm going to make sure nothing will change okay?" You flashed him a big smile, one that made his heart race and his cheeks turn red.

"There is one thing that I do want to change." The questioning look you had disappeared when you felt Mateo's hands grab yours and hold them tightly. "I want you to be mine. I want you to stay with us and be my g-girlfriend, if that's okay with you?" Your face turned red, not expecting his adorable confession. No one had really ever felt like that about you before, especially because you weren't what people would call eye-catching. You were plumper than most girls, your thighs rubbed together when you walked, your tummy poked out with certain shirts you wore. No one had ever really liked you in that way before.

"Are you sure you want me to be your girlfriend? I don't think that-" Mateo interrupts you by slamming his lips onto yours. They are soft and gentle, his arms snake around your waist pulling you closer to him. Before you can deepen the kiss he pulls away, face and ears dusted with red. "Does that answer your question?"

You're unable to say anything, still dazed by the kiss he just planted on your lips. All you can manage to do is nod your head and lay it on his chest, hiding your face from him. "Yes I will be your girlfriend Mateo. I'd love nothing more than to be yours." He rests his chin on the top of your head, a small chuckle vibrating through his chest. You savor this moment, the feeling of his warm arms around you, his soft clothes rubbing against your body. It felt nice to be wanted, you'd been alone for quite some time and really just forgot what it felt like.

While you enjoy the embrace of your new lover, something hard starts poking your thighs. Mateo gasps and moves his arms, placing them up in the air and waving them around. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, I can't believe that just happened, I'm so dumb oh my-" He stutters and his words rush out, his face turning a dark red. You grab both of his hands and put them down to his sides. "Shhh Mateo, it's okay I promise." You let one of your hands travel down to palm his erection. "Is this okay? I don't want to rush you in any way." He bites his lip, attempting to stifle his whimpers, opting to nod his head for an answer. You bring your other hand up to cup his face, his brown eyes look at you with lust.

"I need you to use your words, mi vida." His hips thrust up, begging for some kind of release. The atmosphere is tense with want, you can feel how badly Mateo needs to be inside of you. "Please mami, I need your touch. It's all I can think about please." That's all that you needed to hear, you move him to the couch and begin working on taking his pants off. The fabric feels soft and familiar, considering all those nights you slept with him without knowing that he was anything more than a blanket.

Mateo is such a cutie, the thought of doing something like this to him makes your head become foggy. His flushed face and half closed eyes made it look like something straight out of a porno. You know you'll do the best you can to keep this image in your head forever. The second his dick springs free from his pants he produces a hissing sound, the cold air making his dick painfully harder.

You can't help but stare at it, it's a gorgeous tan color with a thick vein leading to the tip. Your finger touches the slit on the top of his head, gathering a bead of his precum and licking it off. It's warm and a tiny bit salty, an addicting taste. He shudders at the sight of you licking his precum off of your finger, the tip of his dick growing an enraged red. You lean down, wrapping your lips around him, his hips immediately ram upwards, shoving himself deeper down your throat.

The sound of you gagging and choking on him makes his head go fuzzy. All of his senses were overloaded, his eyelids were shut so tightly it looked as if they were glued together. The whimpers that came from him were beginning to get louder, you could tell that he was close to cumming, but you didn't want to allow him this pleasure just yet. You slide your lips off of his length, making a nice pop sound. Mateo whines at the loss of your lips, but stops as soon as he sees you taking your shorts off.

His dick twitches at the sight of your almost naked body, your tummy jiggling and your boobs bouncing as you take your shirt off.

"You're so beautiful, my gorgeous girl. I love how soft your tummy looks. You're so wet that it's dripping down those thick thighs of yours." He extends his finger rubbing it between the fold of your pussy. He's so gentle with the way he touches you, like he's trying so hard not to hurt you. His other hand finds its way to your hips, dragging you down to his level. You spread your legs and straddle him, hovering right above his cock.

He places both hands on your hips, moving you back and forth, his tip hitting your clit over and over again. This kind, caring, and sweet boy is begging for your pussy. The thought has you slamming yourself onto his dick. He lets out a ragged breath, matching your pace as his hands are still on each side of your hips. All you can think about is how good he feels, how his fingers are digging into your fat, which will definitely leave marks later.

His pace is rough but also soft, hitting all of the right areas without having to use too much force. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling and gripping with each new angle he finds. His pubes add a pleasant scratching sensation to your clit, making you see stars.

He thrusts his hips up, causing you to bounce up and land right back down onto his cock. A knot begins to form in your tummy, your vision blurring. The way he repeats the action drives you crazy, the knot getting tighter as well as your hole. You clench around his length causing his pace to get messy.

Mateo slams his hips up into you, hitting your cervix. "Y/N I'm a-about to cum. M-mi amor please let me cum. I need it, I need you." His arms wrap around your chubby tummy, lifting you up and down on his cock. "Cum inside of me Mateo, I want your cum my love!" His dick twitches as he spurts his load inside of you, a loud deep grunt leaing his mouth. The warmth of his cum making the knot unravel as you cum. You land on him with a small huff, his face lying in between your soft breasts.

"Thank you bonita, for choosing to stay with me. I don't ever wanna know myself without you again." You place a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll always be with you mi vida, you'll never be without me again, you're stuck with me." You start to laugh, which ends up turning into a yawn. Mateo keeps his arms wrapped around you, the cozy material of his clothes putting you to sleep.

[buttercupblu]

SoftDom!Suguru

Geto Finds Your Fanfic X Reader|Birthday One-Shot

the deets: uh, oh...girl, your boyfriend found your smut 😶 w.c: 12.3k (look...it is what it is) tags: fem!reader, fanfic indulgence (reverse uno, reader is an ADDICT—SHOCKER), mention of smut which is so ironic, delulu reader has all her dreams come true with the dreamiest fucking boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, soft-dom power dynamic, clitoral and vaginal masturbation, spanking/impact, edging/orgasm denial, fingering, forced orgasm, mention of breath play, gagging and throat fucking, mention of wax play, rope/restraint play, overstimulation, use of vibrator, P in V, creampie, reader’s brain is scrambled as she’s fucked into oblivion and ‘space’ (if you know you know), and most importantly, 💗💗💗CONSENT AND AFTERCARE IS SEXYYY💗💗💗 angel’s note: i almost named this 50 Shades of Geto chat 🧍🏾‍♀️…|a SoftDom!Suguru inspo pic i came across while writing 🥴 earworm 🐛: Freak in You|PartyNextDoor [Hoe|Jhene Aiko in video header]

Is this really the life I'm living?

Stifled moans threatening to spill over your puffy lips say yes.

That's less noticeable than the sharp, cool air kissing your aching nipples, though. Cute, little buttons that make your boyfriend's dick jump when he thinks about pinching them.

But neither compare to the coarse feel of the rope wrapped around your dainty wrists—competing for your attention and burning into your skin the more you grapple with it. 

Remnants will be there for days. Intricate lines of art that mark your body and make your slutty little mind smile.

But only fear lives in your eyes looking into Suguru's—his face smug but stern. 

A slight grin graces his lips as he raises his hand. “Eyes on me.” 

And you hold your breath, knowing that it’ll be 100 times worse if you look away, and wait for the—

Holy fucking coW, this is not a drill this is nOT A DRILL.

You squealed watching the mail truck drive off from the post you'd been stalking for hours—barely containing yourself from tearing the package to shreds the moment it's in your hands after rushing back inside.

Weeks had gone by, WEEKS, waiting for the beauty so gracefully wrapped in a shimmery tulle. Delicately peeling it away, you practically creamed yourself the second you pulled it from its satin bag.

It was finally in your hands, your fingers tracing over the glossy cover and raised title, not believing you were finally witnessing it in all its glory. And God, that new book smell was like crack.

Isn't It Sweet?

You nodded, biting your lip, agreeing with one of your favorite authors of all time as you marveled at their latest limited-book release.

One of only 1000 copies.

You remember how shaky your hands were when you ordered it, having set 4 or 5 alarms to make sure you didn't miss out on the drop. But you probably should've won an award for the world's fastest order the way you secured the bag with the quickness. And after daydreaming about it for days, you wanted nothing more than to hug it into your chest like a newborn babe.

Anyone who knows you would agree and say you're an avid reader (as if your overflowing bookshelf isn't enough evidence.) Still, you would say you were maybe just slightly above average—only spending about 5 to 6 hours a day gluing your eyes to books and words. Fully immersing yourself in endless lives, worlds, and universes was nothing as long as the life was worth living. And you're no stranger to all kinds of genres.

The classics. Sci-Fy. Horror. Smut. Occasional non-fic and self-help because it pays to be well-rounded. Romance is often hit or miss, but it has its moments.

What?

Oh ya. That's right.

That said smut.

And oh baby, does it have its claws in you.

Especially when it comes to fanfic.

Are you the world's biggest nerd? Maybe not (that's a lie; you've cosplayed and been to a few conventions—you're too far in the trenches, beloved, and it's okay), but the second someone mentions anime, you almost break your neck to listen in. Waiting to see if your favs are mentioned.

With most of them, you come for the action, laughs, and often heartbreak. Your latest fav was a great example of all of the above and taking the anime world by storm. The storyline and PTSD you get from watching it are part of the reason why, but truth be told, it's mostly because of the real gems you get if you stay. Gracing the screen from the first episode to the last.

Drop-dead gorgeous fictional daddies.

Being ate up around the world for being too good to be true. And there are more than enough of them to build a harem all wrapped up in a cute, gory little bow.

And you're the baddest of the down bad.

But you're not alone.

Oh dear love, very, very far from it.

The simps are everywhere. 

And you're the queen of Delulu Land, full of edits, cosplays, AUs, and art galore of anything you could ask for. And who could forget the stories?

Just the sheer amount of raw, raunchy, unsolicited smuttiness you get out of those is enough to make anyone sweat like a sinner in church. And you keep coming back for more.

It amazes you, the quality of content you get from those fandoms written by everyday people that even rival popular published works. But God, you can't even begin to imagine the sheer amount of batshit-crazy and unhinged energy it must take to think up and create such toe-curling filth.

Be there you were. Holding your second hardcopy fanfic that managed to make it off of the internet. About to shamelessly indulge your tastes once again. 

It didn't help that the cover was positively delish. It had a dark and mysterious air that you instantly recognized and made you feel a little funny. The infamous style belonged to one of your fav fanfic artists, and you couldn't believe the collab of your dreams was real.

Your bath was about to be one for the books, and you wanted to wait until you were simmering in the tub to open it, but you just had to get a sneak peek of the author's note at least.

You laughed, expecting nothing less as you read the gaggorific but true words. They're so unserious.

But this bath was about to be.

Rosy scents filled the bathroom as you lit a few candles and drew your bath, sprinkling salts and tiny petals into the bubbles.

Anyone on the outside looking in would think you were preparing for a date, and in a way, they would be right, but this solo ritual was routine anytime you got your hands on a good, smutty story.

Sighing, you sank into the cloud of bubbles, your muscles instantly relaxing in the hot, steamy water as you exhaled your cares away and let your head fall back against the fluffy body pillow.

The water felt amazing, and you could spend forever soaking in paradise, but slowly, your face began to warm. Not just because of the sweltering bath curling waves of steam around your body but also because of the heady thoughts that floated through your brain when you remembered why you were there. And so you pulled the caddy into the tub, your heart fluttering as you set up your book and dove in.

Fruity notes coated your tongue as you sipped a new wine between scenes, warming not just your tummy but also your core. Desire steadily built as you flipped through the pages, eyes soaking up the words as the scenes played in your head like you actually had the privilege of being a voyeur of such vulgar moments.

Your hand absent-mindedly drew small circles on your neck the more you imagined and read about your fav fictional daddy. Hearing his voice, trailing your finger down your chest as you envisioned his sharp, sultry eyes. That face he makes when he's being a big, tough, serious guy and somehow your hand ended up between your thighs, fingers lightly tapping your gradually pulsing clit.

And fuck were you jealous.

Your fav warned you about being in her bondage and restraint era, but the OC was going through it—manhandled and dealt with in a way that made your pussy throb until you couldn't take it anymore and slipped your fingers in to feed it.

Mewling, your fingers flexed inside you, feeling so warm inside your walls that ached so much you could feel a heartbeat when you dove in and out—moaning and working to sync with the story's vulgar pleasures.

But no matter how romantic the atmosphere was or how turned on and desperate for release you were, your dainty fingers, as cute as they were, were simply no match for the level of smut between those pages, and soon you found yourself drunk and pouting. Failing to properly reach those deliciously sweet spots inside you and leaving you unsatisfied and craving the only thing you knew could actually give you what you needed.

Your boyfriend.

And you knew if the day ever came when he did even a smidge of the things you'd seen in that book, you'd absolutely fall apart in his hands while blubbering ‘thank you’.

If only you weren't too chickenshit to just open your mouth and ask your angel of a boyfriend for it.

Suguru is such an, oh God—(insert animalistic noises)—you could eat that man for DAYS.

But truth be told, you weren't the usually overly confident bad bitch that made boys fall to their knees with Suguru. In fact, when you first saw him around, you were actually very intimidated.

Right off the bat, everything about him was different, way different.

His casual but cunty style screamed curated but careless when he walked around looking like he was fresh out of a Japanese street-style magazine. Often dressed in dark, baggy clothing that added to his mellow, mysterious aura—only to quietly flex on niggas by adding minimalistic but expensive layers of jewelry and accessories.

But what really made you weak the first time you saw them are the crown jewels that tie his look together—his piercings. The one in his eyebrow made it look sharper when he raised it, and whenever he tucked a strand of hair, you'd notice his cuff earrings fitting snugly on his cartilage that perfectly complimented his gauges. And—fuck—you could go on and on for days about how you constantly had to resist the urge to smash your lips onto his just to feel his snakebites.

You were doomed.

There he was, this tasty but nonchalant, cool guy. Reserved. Exclusive. And picky. 

Never ever ever in a million years did you think you could bag a walking piece of art like that. 

Don’t get it twisted; you are THEE shit and always the prize, but this time, it was less about looks and more about personality. And compared to Suguru? You were like a baby Powderpuff, sweet and bubbly, while he was a panther: sly, magnetic, and quick to ghost anyone who tried to get too close. 

Hot and impossibly hard to get. 

No wonder everyone wanted him.

Even without the competition, you were sure he probably had a thing for someone more his vibe, like big titty goth bitches, and you wouldn't blame him. Because sugar and spice just do not mix.

But fate had a funny way of humoring you, and one day you were unexpectedly thrown into each other's lives in a way that couldn't have been anything but the stars aligning.

The Panther and the Powderpuff.

Who knew you two would be a recipe for...perfection? And to your surprise, it was Suguru who latched on first, finding you simply addicting.

You were this vibrant, unapologetic good girl, sugary sweet and full of life, while he was this introverted yet magnetic loner, secretly craving someone to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Everyone else had been mere distractions, superficial, and a waste of his time.

But when the universe suddenly dropped you right into his lap, everything he thought he knew about loving someone changed.

The chemistry was undeniable and Suguru was selfish, wasting no time taking you off the market after only a few dates because the thought of you with anyone else made his stomach twist. But honestly, he had you hooked from, "Hello, my name is...", and ever since, you still find yourself unbelieving your luck—and the way he treats you.

From the unconditional princess treatment to every small or large sentiment you could wish for, Suguru does it all without hesitation. Knowing you deserve nothing less and leaving no room for anyone else to even try to compete. Often making you blush like a little schoolgirl who doesn't know what to do with herself because of his cool candor but loud love. Leaving you gagged and absolutely feral for him.

But it was simple for Suguru. He never questioned his instinct or need to have you. He just knew what he wanted, what he needed. 

You. 

You stir something deep in him, and he’s simply a slave to that insatiable urge to care for you in ways only he can.

Your sweet, raven-hair simp—always waiting and ready for you to pepper his blissful face with kisses every time you love on each other. Leaving you with no doubts that he’s yours and you’re his.

And he constantly reminds you that he can and will match your freak as his hands never seem to be able to stay off of you just as much as you think about sinking your claws into him.  

You practically jumped at any opportunity to have your way and slut out that man in all his panty-dropping glory—when he lets you—but you firmly drew the line at vanilla.

In a perfect world, you could live freely as the truly unhinged and slutty succubus you were and let this man dictate your every waking moment, body, and soul however he pleased—just like many of the books you obsess over. 

But you couldn’t risk scaring off your dream man with your Freak-a-leek fantasies. 

You had to be quiet with it. 

There was no way Suguru would be into that stuff.

Besides, it’s not like you were missing much. 

Suguru and Satisfaction go hand-in-hand, and your oh-so-thoughtful boyfriend is damn-near dedicated to making sure you spend your nights repeatedly moaning his name. Whether it’s by slurping you up with his tongue just for a taste or slow-stroking your insides until you soak the sheets before fighting over who's sleeping in it. Naturally reading your body with ease and filling you to the brim with butterflies until you claw his back then milk him dry. 

But every now and then, you couldn’t help but wonder…what would happen if one day he just happened to tap into that subtle but smug big dick energy and took the reins?

Alas, you’d rather sneak away every blue moon and submerge in the depths of smut than confess. Settled and content with getting your fix when you could, but that night, you found yourself growing more frustrated the longer you tried.

No matter how hard you concretrated, no matter how detailed and lewd the images and sounds were in your head, you were hell-bent on shooting stars into your eyes with every trick you knew in the book yet failing to bring yourself rapture with such feeble fingers. 

Eventually, with a final but not yet defeated groan, you decided to stop toying with yourself and return to Earth. Slightly disappointed but relishing in the fact that you always had access to the ultimate trump card, no matter how your smutty escapades went. You might not get to play 9 and ½ Weeks with your boyfriend, but he always guaranteed to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you and give you everything you need anytime you get all dolled up for him.

Your hand glided down your silky thighs, feeling smooth like butter as you caressed them, and you nodded. Mhmm, you were gonna get tore up tonight.

After finishing your bath, you dressed your body in your favorite lotion and serum combo before slipping into the silky lingerie Suguru randomly bought you a few weeks ago. He had been doing that more lately, coming home with all kinds of catered gifts and this one was by far one of your favorites and fit so perfectly. Now, all that was left to do was wait for him to get home and peel it off.

He’d been out most of the afternoon hanging with the guys while you did a few chores and stalked your mailbox. Suguru said it was supposed to be chill, but with the sun setting soon and knowing that Satoru was invited and without a doubt responsible for why Suguru was still not home, nine times out of ten, they ended up playing basketball. 

Your boyfriend is already pretty active, but anytime Satoru comes around, he gets turned up times ten and things get real competitive, real fast. Almost always against Sugu’s will, but he’d rather entertain Toru to make him shut up and eat his words than back down. And like a good girlfriend who knows all of her boyfriend’s dumb little weaknesses, you were exactly right.  

You missed the sound of his umbrella as he came through the front door, smoothing back his hair from the rain you didn’t hear while in the bath.

“I’m home, Love,” he calls out, and his gentle yet sultry voice paired with your pet name always makes you blush.

His natural scent was the first thing to hit your nose when he entered the bedroom, mingling with the wine steadily warming your body. Expecting you to nearly tackle him with a hug as you usually do after hours of being apart, he braced himself, but when he found you poised on the bed, relaxed and waiting for him, his mouth dropped, his heart once again racing even though he was sure he burned through his adrenaline playing basketball. 

You looked downright delectable.

“Hi, baby,” you laughed, smiling at his expression as you crawled towards him. The silky fabric draped in soft folds over your body, shifting and riding up just enough to reveal tantalizing glimpses of skin as you moved—clinging to your curves like a second skin. Everywhere he wanted his hands to be. 

Imagining you in it when he picked it out was one thing, but seeing you in it, right in front of him, well fuck—you looked so perfect now, he’d probably die seeing it around your ankles later.  

He drew a breath, unable to believe his luck or imagine a better view than the one of looking up at him with doe eyes while on your hands and knees. Just for him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, the soft blend of rose and vanilla flooding his senses as you pulled your body close before realizing he was soaking wet.

“Ahh! Babe!” You jumped back. “You’re wet.” But his warm hands had already settled on your waist, firmly holding you in place. He smirked and stole a quick peck, and the familiar tease of his lips soon made you forget all about how cold and drenched he was as you melted into his touch, his lips making you more and more needy every time they met yours. 

He smiled against your lips, noticing you were more excitable than usual as you deepened the kiss, your heartbeat thudding against his chest as you pressed closer.

“You’re going to *peck* ruin your lingerie, Pretty,” he teased. But you clearly didn’t care, and he softly chuckled, having to reel it in for the both of you as he gently pulled away. “Let me hop in the shower first, ya?”

But when he looked into your puppy-dog eyes as you knelt before him, the thought of walking away felt nearly impossible. You wore that little frown and plea in your eyes that silently begged him not to leave, and any other time, he’d give right in. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, sending warm tingles to your tummy and making it just a bit easier for both of you. With your patience recharged, you perked up and switched gears, asking about his day as he settled in.

He casually shrugged, saying everything was cool. Yu called him, Toru, and Kento over to try out the latest 2K game, and though Toru was always down to hang, he spent the entire time groaning because, surprise, surprise, he was awfully bad at it—no matter which version he played. After losing one too many 1v1s to Suguru and the others, he let his butt-hurt ego get the best of him and suggested they ditch the “baby game” and play some real basketball.

Suguru knew it was just a cop-out for Toru sucking, but he also knew Toru wouldn’t stop whining until he got a chance to redeem himself. At least the day was nice enough for Suguru to humor him—until their Opp, Toji, showed up trying to start shit and ruin a good time as per usual. Lucky for him, the rain came in out of nowhere and cleared everyone out just before the gang could pop off, and blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff. 

Suguru sounds so lovely when he talks, but you were only half-listening, completely mesmerized as he pulled his sopping, wet shirt over his head and revealed his toned body and tats.

No one would ever guess that his chest and sides of his torso were inked unless he showed you. The intricate dragon tattoo weaved across his shoulders and down the full sleeve of his arms, but that was the only evidence that he’d taken a needle to his skin. It’s like a special little surprise reserved only for those he wants to see, and you never get tired of drooling over it—or him, watching him shyly smile as he noticed your gaze and gave you a playful wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

You sank into the bed with a pout but managed to distract yourself as he showered. Suguru loves a long, hot one, and he definitely took his sweet time that night. You figured he deserved it after such a hectic evening and told yourself that the wait to quell your fire was just a little bit longer. 

But your impatience would cost you, as you failed to notice that in your haste to get ready for Pound Town, you’d forgotten to do something very important. 

Suguru came out whistling, a cloud of steam pouring into the bedroom as he stepped through, a towel wrapped low on his hips. His long, slightly towel-dried hair clung to his face in cute, messy stands, and he shot you a soft, knowing smile as he crossed the room. You were so adorable, waiting on him like a pup, shamelessly following his every movement with your gaze.

He laughed, “You look comfy.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you pouted. “You were in there forever.”

Suguru grinned, reaching for the towel draped around his neck. “Yeah? I guess I got a bit distracted.” He moved toward the dresser, lazily pulling it open. “Did you have a good day?” 

Suppressing the urge to be frank, you nodded. If only he knew. “It was okay. Nothing special.”

“Oh, real?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re in such a good mood, though. Didn’t get into anything exciting?”

Just failed to get off to one of the smuttiest fics ever written. 

“Nope,” you quickly replied, chewing on your bottom lip. As thoughtful as it was for Suguru to be a loving boyfriend and ask you about your day, you wished he’d chat less and fuck your brains out more. Fuck the clothes, fuck the pleasantries. And it was painfully obvious by the way his sharp, purple eyes took in your antsy body.

Pulling out some clothes, his lips curved into a smile. ��You seem a little…eager tonight. Did my girl miss me?” But he didn’t really need to ask. He knew that you were practically in heat and only added flames to the fire by casually throwing on his favorite PJs that hung loosely around his v-section and slipping on a black wife-beater that hugged his torso(I know, that's a CRAZY name for an article of clothing).

Your pussy clenched—Yes God, YESYES STOP THE TORTURE!—silently screaming for him to just stop teasing and give you what you wanted before you exploded, but all you could manage was a whimper and frantic nod, knowing you were just seconds away from showing him exactly how much you did.

Suguru’s smile deepened watching you struggle, amusement dancing in his eyes as he sauntered towards you. “How ‘bout we burn off some of that energy then, hmm?” His weight sank into the mattress as he crawled onto the bed, closing the space between you and softly pecking your lips with every word. “With. A. Game.”

But the way heat flared in your chest as you helplessly fell under his kiss, you didn’t know if you could handle whatever his mischievous little mind was thinking. Still, you felt your body betray you, naturally unable to resist him and growing curious—no, needing—to do just about anything he asked if it meant he would continue kissing butterflies into you. 

With heavy-lidded eyes, you asked what game, growing breathy as you imagined every raunchy couple’s game you could think of. But your anticipation quickly turned to confusion when you felt him pull something from behind his back.

“Let’s read something new tonight,” he grinned. And you damn near went into cardiac arrest. 

With your mind solely focused on getting your hands on your boyfriend, you had completely forgotten about your book, leaving it in the bathroom to be discovered by Suguru the moment he stepped inside. 

And, oh baby, was it insightful.

You gaped, too stunned to speak as he pulled you toward the end of the bed. He settled on the bench and patted his lap, inviting you to sit, but you were frozen in place, absolutely mortified and refusing to believe this was real life.

You were caught, your mind filling with millions of thoughts all wondering how the hell your own carelessness after months of being “careful” ended up outing you, and it took him firmly calling you again before you finally found the courage to move, your brows furrowing as reality hit you. 

Now your boyfriend definitely knew how much of a menace you were—one of those Godforsaken BOOKTOK GIRLIES, of all things—and should’ve been running for the hills.

But he only looked at you lovingly, gently guiding you into his lap and making sure you were comfortable before his arms settled around your waist. He cleared his throat and held the book in front of you. “I’ll start,” and he began where you left off—on one of the smuttiest scenes in the story. 

“Taichi had seen what your mouth could do.” Oh no. “Never failing to command everyone’s attention before you cleared a room with just your words. Now, as his thumb softly traced over those same desirable lips that held so much power, his cock jumped at the idea of them wrapped around it.” 

Holy shit. 

Reading it was one thing, but being forced to hear from the last person you’d expect in the most naturally seductive voice imaginable was absolutely killing you in more ways than one. Especially when he was leaning right into your ear, his chin softly resting on your shoulder as if he were reading you a lullaby. 

Heat flooded your face, but Suguru’s voice was steady and calm—completely unbothered as if he weren’t reading about your smuttiest innermost fantasies and making your embarrassment skyrocket. You felt so vulnerable and exposed and dirty and like you couldn’t get enough air and fuck—you didn’t know what Suguru was trying to prove or if this was his wicked way of trying to embarrass you before breaking up with you, but the torture was too much, and you had to get out of there.

Panicking, you tried to get up, but no-no—he wasn’t about to let you slip away from storytime that easily, and his arm snaked around your waist and secured you against him with a gentle but unyielding grip. His legs followed suit, quickly wrapping around yours and locking you in place, and you gasped in disbelief when your thighs effortlessly parted and exposed your pretty, clothed pussy.

Helpless whines escaped you, and he tsked, smiling at your sudden innocence. Like you couldn’t believe this was really happening. Like you couldn’t believe that the same filth you craved, obsessed, and dreamt over was now spilling from your boyfriend’s pretty mouth, sounding like a limited-edition audiobook Fanfic girlies could only dream of. And if you thought there was no possible way to make the situation worse than it already was, Suguru decided to take things up a notch and bring the book to life.

His lips lightly brushed your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin as he nuzzled your neck and inhaled your scent. Pressing kisses to the back of your neck, he stole a breath from your lungs when he nipped your ear. Perfectly mimicking the story’s peak and leaving you completely at his mercy as the lines between fantasy and reality blurred.

His hand around your waist trailed across your stomach with a deliberate slowness, traveling down until he grasped your inner thighs, knowing this was one of your most sensitive spots and drawing possessive lines that made your clit begin to tingle and swell through your panties.

Inching closer and closer, the sly smile in his voice grew, and your breath grew shallower until it hitched, sparks igniting when he ghosted over your clit. Your thighs trembled, but his voice remained smooth and unwavering.

Suguru noticed a twisted sense of satisfaction growing within as he felt you squirm, simultaneously struggling to close your legs even though you throbbed like crazy for more. You were caught between sheer embarrassment and undeniable arousal. Not knowing which to give in to.

He pressed his cheek to yours. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he murmured, becoming distracted by your reactions as he poured out endless praise—so flustered, so sickenly distraught and overwhelmed, but it only made him smile.

You always get so shy when he compliments you. His usually confident girl easily coming undone with only a few soft words and a glint in his eyes. And he loved it—the way you always tried to pretend you weren’t seconds away from completely unraveling when he flirted.

He hummed thoughtfully, wondering how long you could keep it up this time. And what it would take for you to fold.

“Finish up for me, pretty girl,” he decided, and handing you the book, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties and brushed your soaking folds.

You stiffened, the sudden warmth snatching your breath and making it impossible to get a single sentence or objection out. 

“C’mon baby,” he kissed your shoulder, fingers stilling right on your clit. “You have such a pretty voice.” 

The fucking Devil.

You let out a shaky moan, not knowing whether you hated or still loved him in that moment, but either way, you sure as hell weren’t going to let him see you crack, and you drew a breath.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed thicky and mustered up the steadiest voice you could to prove you wouldn’t just be a victim of this wicked game of his. And you were doing so well, for a sentence or two. Until his slick fingers started to call your bluff and gradually began to draw slow, precise circles right on your swollen bud. 

And God help you, you couldn't stop the stutter.

“Sm-smeared mas-sc-scara ran hah down y-your f-face.” You paused and closed your eyes, wetting your lips before continuing. “You’d p-pay for your ah used and…and b-br-bruised t-throat in the morning bUT,” you yelped when he squeezed your waist. “It-it was a small price to p-pay to taste a c-cock sss-so d-delish.” 

Suguru chuckled lightly, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. But it wasn’t enough. 

He needed to see you completely fall apart. 

His free hand glided upward and fondled your breast, his thumb taunting and brushing over your nipple. You instinctively arched into his touch, a series of soft whimpers escaping your lips as he rolled them between his fingers until they were sensitive and hard. 

Your body couldn't decide which overwhelming sensation to focus on—the weight of his fingers just sitting and taunting your clit or the jolts of pleasure running to your core with each pinch of your nipple. Both sent messy moans tumbling out of your mouth. 

He grinned against your shoulder. “You’re so responsive tonight,” he said, adding to the heady mix of lust and frustration. Building you up and bringing you down in a vicious cycle as every time you crept closer and closer to losing it, he was quick to slow and remind you to keep going.

But your thighs kept quaking and your breath kept hitching and you could only squirm so much trying to rock into his touch and steal Heaven, but his fingers were light and easily kept you right on the edge. Touching only your clit and leaving you distraught as your poor, neglected walls began to ache. 

But your desperation was too loud to ignore, and knowing you wouldn’t give up, he smirked—like boyfriend, like girlfriend—and he nipped your ear, pulling back the hood of your clit before he strummed his fingers over it. Fast. “Go for it,” Suguru whispered. 

And fuck, it took all of 2 seconds for your legs to become a vibrating mess and made him wrap his tighter, your breath going light as you rose up on your toes. 

Whimpering. 

Heart racing.

Eyes drawing closed as you mentally sang his praises for allowing you to finally cum. Walking you to the line of release and rapture with every flick of your hot clit and every breath on your skin right up until he stopped.

You let out a defeated scoff.

You weren’t getting off that easy.  

He pulled the long-forgotten book from your hands, and you yelped, suddenly being lifted and bent over his knee. He gave you a second to adjust, then secured you with an arm around your waist, rolling up the hem of your dress before his heavy palm settled on your ass, fingers languidly massaging your cheeks.

You felt so plush as he caressed your skin, gripping you lovingly between his fingers before he delivered a heavy slap.

“Why’d you keep this from me?”

A shriek died in your throat, a million things instantly flying through your head. Shock from this stranger you called a boyfriend, how you ended up here, how no one could’ve ever convinced you that this situation only found in books and on the internet would actually happen to you. 

Endless things to think about but nothing to say.

“Oh, we’re being shy now?” Any other time, you would spend hours yapping Suguru’s ears off about one thing or another and he’d dote on every word. But now they were escaping you. 

*SLAP!*

And he gripped your cheek to soothe the sting, fingers running over the raised marks the rings he never takes off left on your skin.

He hummed, eyeing the soaked patch on your panties, biting his lip seeing you’d gotten even wetter since he bent you over his knee.

His fingers couldn’t resist gently dragging over your clothed folds, just light enough that it felt like a ghost and made you shudder. You pushed back, trying to chase it, your mind borderline broken and desperate to quench your insatiable thirst, but found it impossible to move. 

“Let’s try this again.” And he delivered a slap even harsher than the last, making you squirm under his tight grip. 

Obviously, you hadn’t learned your lesson from earlier, and when you tried to get away, Suguru swiftly pinned your arms behind your back and didn’t skip a beat, landing another series of slaps on the same spot since you wanted to be so damn difficult. 

You knew you couldn’t escape but neither would your words, silent screams building up as you just had to lie there and take it. Emotional turmoil churned within, leaving you questioning everything you thought you knew about Suguru who was promptly lighting your ass up. Bringing to life each hot sting that you’ve fantasized about in stories, on TV, and in the dirty thoughts of your boyfriend maybe one day warming up to the idea—but not like this. This was so sudden. Too much. So overwhelming to the point that nothing came out of you but feeble whines and stuttering breaths until you were on the verge of tears when “I’m sorry!” finally slipped from your defeated lips.

Suguru froze. 

His heart thumped. 

And in the span of a few seconds, Suguru learned a few things about himself. 

1. He hadn’t expected himself to be able to break you so quickly. You’re as tough as he is, hell, even tougher sometimes, and only admit defeat when you absolutely cannot fight anymore. 

2. He hadn’t expected to fall head over heels in love with the sound of your cries and heavy breaths as you tried to gather yourself. 

Knowing he was the cause and this was the effect of you being worn out and surrendering made his dick thump against your stomach. 

He rubbed slow, soothing circles on your flushed cheeks.

“It’s ok baby, it’s ok,” he shushed, and you felt so pitiful yet turned on that you could cry. But as much as he wanted to relish in your punishment for keeping secrets, he also needed to reveal one of his own. “Because I’ve known for a while.”

“You wHAT?” Your voice cracked. If you could look him in the eyes, you would just so he could see how utterly flabbergasted you were because there was no freaking way. “How??”

“C’mon babe,” he snickered, “You watch DevilBoy Games, a lot, and Toru told me how you DBG girls are, I’ve seen you drool over that crazy guy with bags under his eyes.”

“He’s not crazy,” you huffed, “Just misunderstood.”

He laughed, lightly squeezing your thigh. “He kinda looks like me.” 

“Get over yourself.” And you’d cross your arms if he weren’t still holding them.

He tsked. “Are you really surprised, love?” he asked, smirking before completely reading you, mentioning that there was no way you thought he wouldn’t notice the nights when you would stay up late, blushing at your phone. 

Never once wondering if you were talking to some other guy or anyone else, but putting two and two together pretty early on when you said you were having reading time on your favorite social platform known for its…content. Scrolling the site for hours just to soak up pure filth. 

As secretive as you tried to seem about it, the obsession never stopped you from being bold enough to do it in bed.

Suguru pouted. “So, you don’t like me enough or what?” he asked, his tone teasing yet laced with genuine curiosity. He often wondered why you didn’t just say anything—how you could be so close to him and dive into your fantasies but not act on them. 

Your face instantly heated. “It’s not…it’s not like that at all!” you stammered, struggling to find the right words. “I just—it’s different, okay?”

He cocked his head. "Different how?"

“I don’t know I…–I honestly didn’t think you’d be into that stuff,” you admitted, feeling more vulnerable than ever and even a little guilty. You deflated. “I thought you’d think I was weird.”

"My baby? Weird?” He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "That can’t be it.” And he leaned close. “Or maybe you just thought I couldn't handle it," and his eyes gleamed.

Your stomach dropped, eyes going wide as you were once again left shocked and speechless. But Suguru let go of your arms, satisfied enough with your confession and ready to play now, for real.

Your pussy practically swallowed your drenched panties that clung to you as he pulled them to the side, the cool air kissing your folds before you felt his warm fingers swirl over your glistening vulva.

He smiled—you were so sensitive—bucking at the languid strokes as he gathered your slick. He’s always been gifted with his fingers and quick to make you fall apart from the slightest touch.

He bit his lip, unable to resist lightly dipping his fingertips in just to bring them to his mouth and give you a taste.

“So fucking good.” He could play with you forever. Licking his lips, he parted yours, transfixed on your walls that clenched around nothing. Desperate to take his fingers that teased desperate whines out of you. 

“You gonna keep any more secrets from me, baby?” 

You shook your head, desperate to do or say whatever, which Suguru knew, but he needed you to mean it. 

He’d been edging you for almost half an hour now and his own dick was just as strained and blue-balled as your pussy, but he could and would hold out as long as he had to to make sure you’d never feel ashamed enough to hide any parts of you ever again. He just needed to hear the words, and he dipped just the tip of his finger inside you. “Say it.” 

“I promise, Sugu, never again,” you pleaded, your voice shaking. "I’ll never keep anything from you again, just please, I—” you almost choked. "I need you so badly.”

The words spilled out you, sounding so pretty when you begged. And when he finally believed you, your mouth fell open, but nothing came out—a breath catching in your throat and eyes fluttering at that familiar stretch as he slowly pushed in. Walls finally sucking in the fingers they’d been so hungry for.

You could’ve came right then. 

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. You felt like home. 

Your spongey walls squished and pulsed around him like a heartbeat, his fingers sinking in slow until you drew a sharp breath, your leg twitching.

Right there, he smiled, almost instantly finding that gushy spot of yours that makes you see white. 

He whistled—this mouth-watering position not only gave him an immaculate view of your ass he wanted to sink his teeth into but also let his peace fingers perfectly angle and beckon your gspot. 

His other hand slowly spread you wide, and he cooed, marveling at how easy he slid in and out, his fingers hooking with each dip as he took advantage of the easy access and sent sparks to your toes.

Your teeth tugged at your lip, brows drawing together. He was pushing so sinfully into you, his fingers flowing like waves with the full intent to draw your orgasm out of you as he’d done millions of times before. Always leaving you breathless, heady, and unbelieving how natural it was for him to bring you to absolute shambles.

His pace was agonizingly slow, plunging in and out with a deliberate rhythm that had you trembling and your lip sore from biting and stifling your pathetic moans. His dick painfully throbbed against your stomach, the heat of it branding your skin with each ragged breath you took trying to contain yourself.

After keeping you on the edge for so long without mercy, he was about to send you plummeting into the deep end, his own restraint slipping with every passing second as his pace gradually increased, your slick beginning to pool around his fingers when you felt your orgasm coming on. 

Your muscles tightened around him as he pushed you towards your peak, the sound of his fingers fucking into you rivaling macaroni but had to battle your fat mouth spilling out moans like a starving slut. 

“Ssh ssh ssh.” His hand slipped over your mouth. “I wanna hear her, she sounds so pretty.” And without restraint, the squelches of your pussy fucked the air, your drool slipping through his fingers and dripping down the side of your mouth. And just as you felt time slowing, he quickly swapped fingers, his middle and ring fingers angling down and furiously hitting that blinding spot that sent your eyes rolling.

Forgetting how to breathe, your cherry-O raced around the corner, aiming to crash right into you. Slowly, you began to arch your back into his hand, core tightening. And when you drew a deep breath, eyes screwing shut as you held it, his voice was deep and low to reassure you. “It’s okay baby, let it out.” And he racked his fingers until the pressure of your orgasm burst open.

"ohoHfuckfuCKFUCK SUGUSUGUSUGUOHMYGODIMCUMMING!" You clutched his calf and toppled over, your fluids spilling around his fingers and down your thighs, making a complete mess on his pants.

“Gooood girl, just like that,” he said almost desperately, biting down on his lip to stifle his own moans, but his fingers didn’t slow down, jiggling into you until you were writhing and begging for relief. He just had to make sure he got it all out, his silky fingers swimming deep into your sopping and noisy pussy until he wrung out all your shudders then slowed until your breaths somewhat returned to normal.  

You came down, releasing your grip on him, your calves sore and aching from being on your toes.

Suguru smirked and licked his fingers clean, impressed by the sight of you lifelessly hanging over his legs: pathetic, spent, and cute.

After a moment of just holding you, he leaned down, pressing a kiss on your slightly reddened cheek before giving you an unexpected but quick lick of your pussy that made you twitch.

Yup, good and sensitive, just like he liked it.

Gently rubbing your back, he hummed. “Is my little slut satisfied?”

“Suguru!” Un uh—now he was calling you names?? You barely managed to open your eyes, still in a daze as you tried to look at him.

“What?” he shrugged. “Just making sure…the author said you wouldn’t be,” he cocked a brow with a playful smile. “...Right?”

…the godforsaken author’s note. 

“For all my sluts who’d rather be fucked by fictional men than real ones.“

You ran your limp noodle of a hand over your face and groaned. Just when you thought the night couldn’t get any more humiliating, your fave author doubled back and helped you stumble into more trouble.

But Suguru wasn’t offended, not even a little bit. If anything, he looked amused, a slight smirk gracing his lips with a flicker of something else in his eyes. 

He’d been waiting for an opportunity like this and bided his time. Now, every little secret and hidden desire you thought you’d keep forever buried in those books was out in the open and his for the taking—and he was ready to tear them apart.

“Suguru, I—” 

“It’s ok,” he shushed, his thumb brushing your bottom lip as he tenderly cupped your face. But the hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you saw that sly grin spread across his face before he said, “We’ll see about that.”

Things were a bit…different..after that night. 

It wasn’t something either of you discussed outright, but there was definitely a shift—an unspoken understanding that lingered in the air between you.

At first, it was like you were meeting for the first time all over again, and you slipped back into that shy, uncertain girl you were when Suguru first came into your life. Every knowing look he gave you, every slight touch, had you blushing, anticipating. As if you, once again, had no idea how to handle him—or how he would handle you. 

He was slowly unveiling the quiet power you never knew or expected him to possess. And he was making sure you wouldn’t dismiss it again.

Now, it was you who hesitated before speaking, nervously fiddling with your fingers any time he asked you something even slightly suggestive before your eyes would dart away in embarrassment—not knowing that Suguru was absolutely loving this budding dynamic. 

He would tease but never pushed too hard because he was patient. Always patient and watching with that soft, amused smile anytime you fumbled for words or tried to play off how flustered you were. Gradually coming to terms with the fact that your boyfriend—the same one who always gave you a gentle look and treated you like you were more than precious—was more than willing to cater to and control you until you creamed and cried. 

But honestly, not much had changed for Suguru. He still carried that same calm, subtle soft-dom energy that had always drawn you in—now there was just a label for it.

But there was a subtle shift in the way he handled you, like a quiet reminder that he knew you now—all of you. And he made one thing clear and made sure you understood it—closed mouths don’t get fed—and it was a lesson you had to learn quickly, especially after you promised not to keep any more secrets. And whenever you’d shy away or fall into your usual silence, Suguru would tilt your chin and hold your gaze with those piercing, violet eyes. “Use your words, Pretty,” he’d say, and your cheeks would burn with embarrassment, but you’d still push through because you knew he was right. 

So you stayed true to your word and began looking for all the ways you could experiment and get what you wanted…in the only way a little gremlin like you could…by getting him riled up. And for a minute, he would just take it on the chin. But then he discovered breath play. 

You were really getting on his nerves one day.  

But you felt like you would actually die if he left you to hang with the boys when something in you was practically begging you to crawl into his skin. He was about to leave out wearing your favorite hoodie of his too, the one that's slightly cropped and hangs just above his midriff, and you sulked because you knew that any thirsty bitch in the vicinity would try to be on him like white on rice even when Suguru never paid them any mind. 

Besides, he had already fucked you silly that morning and had been pampering you with kisses all afternoon, so he didn’t understand why you were being so clingy. 

But you were craving something else. A bit of something to eat.

And instead of just telling him that you wanted his dick down your throat and past your tonsils, you decided to block the front door, cross-armed, scowling, and staring at the appetizing outline on his basketball shorts. Jealous that they got to hold his heavy balls all day instead of you.

His fingers snapped, “Babe,” the sound pulling you out of your silent tantrum and making you look at him with wanting eyes. “What’s up with you?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. 

But you just couldn't bring yourself to say it, so you deepened your silent pout until he pinched his nose and sighed.

“Then move,” he started, stepping closer, but you shook your head and widened your stance like a toddler.

A smirk played on his lips as he loomed over you, taking in your pettiness before his hand thudded next to your head.

You jumped, but your defiance didn’t waver, your eyes lifting to meet his. His smug expression only deepened as he shifted, the heat of his coveted dick pressing against your thigh in a way that made your breath hitch.  

“Move,” he repeated, but you just pressed your lips tighter, your eyes challenging him. 

His other hand slid up, fingers gently curling around your neck and thumb brushing over your pulse. "We doing this again?" he asked, low and laced with threat.

What could you say? Old habits die hard. 

But he knew what you wanted. The way you thickly swallowed and wet your lips, eyes darting to the growing tent between you, spoke volumes even when you wouldn’t.

“Fine,” he said, and before you knew it, your knees were hitting the ground, his hand settling on your head and making you slink to the floor. He tilted your chin. “Open that pretty mouth since you don’t want to use it.”

And at his gruff command, your tongue lolled out, unapologetically.

He tsked, tucking his lip under his teeth at your display. 

You’re the most difficultly-easy person he knows next to Satoru, quick to make the simplest things complicated sometimes, and this time, he was going to give you exactly what you were asking for, but not without reprimand. 

His thumb landed on your pink tongue, pressing and holding your gaze.

“You want it?” You caught a subtle thump, and he palmed his shorts. “Oi, up here” He held your jaw, cocking his brow.

His smirk was devilish, a knowing glint in his eye watching you grow needier by the second—unable to focus on anything but the desperate need for him to turn your throat into a daycare. 

Tongue trapped under his thumb, you finally answered him in the only way you knew how, and he watched with parted lips as yours closed around his finger with an eager nod. 

You were going to be the death of him.

With a tug of his shorts, your fat reward sprang forth, almost brushing the tip of your nose—already leaking stringy globs of precum for giving him such a hard time.

Your eyes sparkled. Suguru has such a pretty dick. One of the prettiest you’ve ever seen that’s girthy, long, and perfectly made for your greedy throat. 

It was heavy on your tongue as he tapped it, teasing your palate and holding it out for you to give it a taste.

Less was said, and you gladly accepted your meal, the taste of him coating your tongue as you swirled around the tip before sucking it into your mouth.  

Suguru’s knees almost buckled as you lapped at him like ice cream, your tongue tracing up and down his shaft before placing gentle kisses under his tip. His face went warm, his fingers threading through your hair as he fought to maintain control. “Don’t—ngh—tease. Suck it—mmph—properly.” And with a firm press to your bottom lip, he coaxed your mouth open before pushing in and filling it completely. 

You gagged, and a deep exhale left his lips feeling your warm mouth finally wrap around him, your eyes watering as the weight of his dick fully seated on your tongue and made your lips stretch to savor every inch.

“That’s it—mphm—take it all.”

His hips automatically moved at the feel of your throat, his head softly falling back feeling you relax and hum around him. He couldn’t help but gently thrust, his spongy tip kissing the back of your throat and making you blink back tears as he tested your limits. And you only made it harder for him to hold back with the way you ate him up like candy. 

Even though head is a game, you never play. All day, you’d been torturing yourself, once again denying yourself of your insistent need to swallow his kids in the name of shame, but once the reins were off, you wasted no time satisfying your craving—knowing exactly how to get Suguru to blow his load.

And fuck was it a losing battle for him to try to keep the tendrils of his orgasm at bay while also trying to remember that he was supposed to be teaching you a lesson.

As he said, closed mouths don’t get fed, and he started pulling away with a satisfying ‘pop’ every time you got too greedy. Rubbing his dick over your lips with a grin before snaking back in and taking you further and further down each time. 

He groaned watching you take him, your eyes meeting as you looked up. The new cut in his brow made them look even sexier when he bunched them, complementing the low and husky look in his eyes you’d never seen before you sent them rolling when he wrapped your hair around his fist and pushed in to the base.

“Hah.” His breath hitched as you swallowed. Once. Twice. Holding you down a sec before he pulled out with an exhale. And as he watched your heavy breaths, struggling to collect yourself but looking up at him with a starry-eyed but fucked out gaze, he got an idea. 

“Why do you act so innocent all the time?” he huffed, pushing back in. “Look at you,” his thumb stretched your lips, “Choking on my dick and loving it.” Always the innocent ones, he thinks, full of frills and freaks. 

And you couldn’t deny how the slow and lewd way he fucked your throat made your pussy drip like a waterfall, uring you to rub fast circles across your throbbing clit, but he knew you would try. 

You were a cock-drunk slut, after all, always getting off when he stretched, used, and abused your throat to his satisfaction, so he knew he would have to lock your hands away to keep your mouth open and you focused since you wanted to taste him so badly.

Still fucking your throat, he said, “Take a breath, baby,” and soon after, you gagged when he leaned over you. “Hold it,” and he pulled the string from his hoodie and began counting. “One, two, three.” Bringing a flood of tears to your fluttering eyes as he sank deep into your throat and tied your wrists behind your back.

Air. God, what is air?? Your lungs screamed for it, stomach tight, but your pussy clenched so sinfully tight from the lack of it. 

You didn’t know it then, but this was an accidental deep dive into something you’d both come to love. The control, the discipline, the trust. The skill you had to possess as a certified throat goat. And most of all, the uncertainty of never knowing when he was going to allow your next breath. Every time counting down until you were squirming for air before pulling out with an exhale as if he were breathing with you.

He ogled at the messy evidence of effort plastered on your face, strings of spit connecting from your lips to his pink tip. His dick twitched at your huffs and tear-streaked face and he rubbed your puffy lips. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby,” and the words went straight to your swollen clit before he continued playing with you.

He loved how your throat closed around his dick when you swallowed, like you were trying to milk him for every drop. Sucking, blowing, and swallowing til your throat knew every vein and his orgasm was coming and coming fast. His stuttering hips and tightening grip on your hair were enough evidence if the low moans competing with the sloshes of your throat weren’t. 

Heat pooled in his stomach, brows furrowing as he locked eyes with a borderline whiny look. He licked his lips. “Ready for me to cum for you, baby?” he asked in that breathy voice he always does before he unravels. And your dick-drunk nod, knowing you were about to earn your meal, was all he needed to cup your jaw, making sure you looked him right in the eye as the coil in him snapped.

“Fuck, hah, I’m cumming,” and he groaned, biting his pierced lips and slipping all the way to the base til your nose brushed his tufts of hair and he filled your throat. 

Ropes of cum poured out of him, and he went dizzy, his mouth falling open with shaky moans watching your spaced and gone face as he came down your throat. Your wrists strained against the tie as your throat constricted, but you swallowed his throbbing cock with ease like it was the only sustenance you needed. Pumping you full until he was a soft and empty gummy worm in your mouth. 

He shuddered and collected his breaths, slowly pulling from your lips with a sigh. You hummed and licked them—most of your lunch had gone to your stomach, but remnants remained on your tongue, warm and delicious. 

"ThAnk," you cleared your throat. "Thank you," you huffed, throat raw and voice cracking, but he just shook his head and smiled. You were above asking for what you wanted but never forgot to be grateful when you got it.

He swiped your chin with his thumb. "You're a brat," and you beamed, lifting your chin. Because he didn't know how right he was.

And while that was just the beginning of your exploration of power dynamics, it quickly became a very slippery slope. Because while you might've thought you were the expert in all things whips and chains and excitement, Suguru had been quietly doing some research and taking hellah notes. And taking one directly from you, he soon began to make a few secret purchases of his own.

Suguru has his hobbies. 

He likes to read, play sports to stay fit, and enjoys spending time in nature when he can. Outside of that, he’s pretty simple. 

But there’s a little-known fun fact about your beau—he’s a secret artiste.

It’s rare that he’ll break out his paints and easel, but once every blue moon when his inner Picasso strikes, he’ll sit for hours, brush to canvas until it all pours out of him. 

You always find yourself in a trance watching him in that element—his quiet intensity as he gets lost in space and creates galaxies. But even though Suguru isn't loud about his talent, he’s actually very creative and always looking for different ways to release and create. Never shying awaying from trying new things and always looking for new mediums. And canvases. 

You slightly winced, then moaned. 

Wax is hot in more ways than one, and it’s just perfect for when Suguru wants to creatively get his hands on you.

He loves creating delicate patterns on your back, savoring every moment and watching your face twist between pain and ecstasy as he skillfully lets the wax drip. Never too much at once, the hot lines spill and cool across his favorite canvas—your skin. There's a world of difference between paper stretched across wood, and the softness beneath his hands, and your skin is far lovelier, simply irresistible. 

His hair brushed your skin as he leaned down, his lips tracing down your back and between the patterns. So soft against his lips. All of you, from your neck to your chest to your tummy, softly mold under his fingers like clay when he worships you like art, and sometimes he’ll drip hot lines down your inner thighs and plush cheeks just so he can melt his lips between them—feeling so lucky to have the privilege to feast on a masterpiece. 

Your own little van Gogh, drowning his nose in your folds and bringing curses to your lips.

You knew Suguru was a modern-day Michelangelo with a paintbrush, but now your once shy and reserved man was having too much fun exploring all the unconventional ways he could create art—and slowly crossing over into a world of kinky debauchery. 

And at the end of every session, he never forgets to take a Polaroid picture to show you and keep for himself. A little testament to his sentiments and sensuality. It wasn’t all just about whips and chains after all. 

You also needed—

Buzz! 

Your eyes screw shut and you tense but can’t move because of the

—rope.

“Hey,” Suguru snaps. “I said keep your eyes on me,” and you shot daggers at him because how the hell could you when you’ve been overstimulated for hours and have already cum, twice?  

Eyes softening, you whimper, but your heart sinks when he just rolls his eyes.

Fuck. 

You really did it this time. 

Your boyfriend has a lot of patience, a thin line for everyone else but a lot for you. But God, do you know how to fucking tap dance on it sometimes.

“Did you think you were cute?” his face screwed. “Dancing in sections and on bars. Guys?” The vibrations increase, and you double over whining.

In all fairness, you did beg him to come out with you and your girls earlier, but your boo has been working on a big project lately and was understandably beyond tired. Still, you complained, eventually giving up and still going out without him, but you didn't expect a play-by-play of your night and mini rebellion to end up all over your equally drunk friend’s Snapchat—or for Suguru to see it. 

You picked a hell of a time to act out too, because, after weeks of secretly practicing his newest obsession, Suguru had finally perfected it: the harness prayer tie, and watching your wrists struggle against his work was the most satisfying confirmation of his skill he could’ve asked for. 

The skill and intricacy of restraint and rope play was the perfect balance between tapping into his creative side and reeling you in when you got out of hand—now proving very useful after you had fully pissed him off. 

Leaning down, he grips your face. “You wanna act like a slut so badly, I’m gonna treat you one.”

But he didn’t just give you the dick you’d been acting out over right away though—he hardly thought you deserved it. 

Instead, a vibrator has been nuzzling your clit for hours after he woke you up the following morning and went to work with his tie—your blubbering whines falling on deaf ears as he overstimulated you until you felt ruined and raw.

Sniffling, you plead, “I’m sorry, Sugu.”

“You’re always sorry,” he bites back, his hand wrapping under your jaw. “And so fucking greedy, you know that? I bet you still want me to fuck you stupid like the cock-thirsty slut you are even though you’ve been begging me for a break.” And your stomach pangs, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs despite the rawness because he was more than right. 

“You want attention so bad, you want me to fuck you so bad,” he pulls your hair, making you look straight at him. “Then beg,” and the serious way he looks at you makes you actually start to feel bad for upsetting him so much.

Swallowing your pride, tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Please,” you whimper, “I’ll do anything just please…please fuck me.”

And the words had barely left your lips when fear shot through you, his eyes darkening as you quickly realized that you should’ve been more careful with what you wished for. 

Without warning, he placed you on the bed and flipped you over. Gripping your hips, he hastily pushed you down into a grade-A arch and tucked his tee between his teeth, springing his cock free before knocking a breath out of you with one swift thrust. 

You both gasp, every muscle tensing as your Earths shatter.

Suguru nearly collapses. Your tight pussy that's been dripping and yearning for hours is easy to slide into yet struggles to accommodate his fat girth, but that doesn't stop him from reeling his hips back and pushing in even deeper.

You nearly draw blood from your lip as he begins to thrust with a pent-up intensity that's been building since last night, nearly blue-balling himself to take care of you in your drunken state and fighting the urge to say fuck it and punish you right then and there.

But now that you were good and sober and overly sensitive, he could finally ruin your dick-starved pussy and fuck you blind. 

His hold on you tightens, his knuckles turning white as he fucks into you with a primal urgency. Not caring if you can take it or not because he needs his dick burned into your brain in a way you wouldn’t forget. Besides, who could possibly hold back when you feel so fucking good wrapped around him? Mind-numbing in a way he can never get enough and desperately needs more, and he grips the divots of your waist and pulls you closer, making struggled whines fall from your mouth as he makes you simply take it.

The nerves of your pussy are on fire as every inch of him stretches and hastily fills you, the persistent vibrator on your clit still buzzing and sending you spiraling.

The way he's manhandling you, the soreness in your wrists, and the relentless rhythm of his hips all blend into a rush more intoxicating than anything you had last night until you're overwhelmed and bucking to get away. 

“Uh-uh, don’t run.” And his hand wraps around your neck, pulling you up and back against him, two fingers hooking in your mouth and making you arch so deliciously that every kiss of your cervix sends spasms through your walls and coaxes his cock for everything he’s got. 

"You feel that?" he snaps. "I fucking bet you do." And your breath grows lighter and lighter until your head goes dizzy, your body turning to Jell-O and slowly melting into the bed, but he follows you down and deepens his stroke. You lose your arch, but with one quick thrust, your nails are digging into your palms. He slaps your ass, punishment for making him mess up his rhythm, before hiking you back up and resuming the brutal pace.

Your mind goes blank and his hair falls from its neat bun, sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead from how hard he's fucking you and leaving you caught between begging for mercy and craving more of this delicious torture.

"Look at you," he growls, "Fuckin' brat—ngh—this is what you wanted, right?" And you can barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak, your reply coming out as garbled moans, but Suguru is having none of it, his hand sliding from your neck to your hair and pulling your head back. You cry out, the sound muffled by his fingers still hooked in your mouth as he bottoms out inside you. "I asked you a question," and the room fills with obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and fumbling 'yeses' from your mouth as he bullies your cervix. 

"Fuck hah," his brows furrow, "you drive me crazy, you know that?" he says, voice strained. "You wanted attention?" he breathes, "Well, now you've got it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it." and each word is punctuated by his leaky tip, making your overstimulated pussy clench and draw a sharp hiss from his lips.

"That's it, baby," his rhythm slightly falters. "Squeeze my cock. Show me how sorry you are." And his hand slips from your lips and snakes around your front, pressing the vibrator even harder against you until the delicious stretch of his cock and the merciless buzzing becomes too much to bear.

Your vision blurs, your thighs quaking and trying to draw together, but there's no escape. 

"You right there?" He pushes through the familiar clench of your walls. "Then cum for me," Suguru commands, and the words are the final push you need for your orgasm to rip through you like lightning—your body involuntarily arching as waves of hot, white pleasure crash over you.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou," you helplessly choke out, walls spazzing and gripping Suguru's cock like shackles, pulsating around him until it forces his own to come chasing after yours.

He struggles for breaths, "Where do you want it, baby?" But it was just a formality, a silly question really, because there was no way he could pull out of your vice-grip. He just needed to know you wanted it as badly as he wanted to fill you up.

"Inside, please, inside me, please," you stammer, still reeling from your own orgasm before he sends you into another, pulling you taunt by the rope and flushing you against his waist.

"Take it," and his moan is low and guttural, his fingers digging into your hips and locking you in as his body tenses, his hot seed flooding and filling you to the brim.

Your eyes meet the top of your head as you cum again in tandem, bliss rippling through your bodies.

"Fuck, c'mere." His lips crash onto yours in a searing kiss, plunging his pulsing cock deep into you one more time as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm, pumping out the last of his seed until you're both panting and trembling and he feels his cum oozing out of you.

Slowly, Suguru releases his grip on your hair, deeply exhaling as he gently lowers the both of you to the bed, his softening cock still nestled inside you. You whimper at the still buzzing vibrator, and he finally switches it off, tossing it aside.

He presses soft, soothing kisses to your shoulder. "You did so well, baby," and he carefully unties the rope, his touch tender and apologetic as he massages the faint marks and kisses your wrists. 

Out of everything you do together, inside and out of your newfound dynamic, this is his favorite part of all: putting you back together after breaking you into pieces.

His unwavering desire to care for you never changes, even when you do the absolute most just to get his attention and show him that you're just as obsessed with him as he is with you—your private but unmistakably commanding Panther and his secretly kinky Powderpuff princess who was now hanging on to life by a thread.

He softly laughs, slinging your limp arms around his neck and pulling you lovingly into his chest as you breathe. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your rib, his lips peppering your head with kisses as he sighed, feeling your heartbeat slowly sync with his.

But after a few moments in each other's arms, a curiosity that's been living rent-free in Suguru's head for quite some time now rears its ugly head—and he just has to know the answer.

"Sooo," he drawls, "... Taichi or me?" And you almost snort, a smile tugging at your lips as you nuzzle his chest. You look up at him with a playful gaze only to find him deadass—figuring that after a day like today, there would be no better time to officially find out if he's finally settled the score with your anime husband.

Your eyes smile, and you reach up with the little strength you have to gently stroke his face and softly kiss his jaw.

You contently sigh. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, babe.”

extended angel's note: oh god what can i say...

i can confidently say that this took me the entire month of september to write and it's definitely the hardest pieces i've worked on so far god bLESS

y'all have no idea how much word count RESTRAINT i had to use just to keep this reasonable (i do have a slightly extended version just for myself tho 🤭)

this was supposed to drop on my bday (unironically the day JJK ended) but life is life 🤠

anywho, thanks for reading 12k words of pure unadultered, unhinged smut. i hope it was worth it 🫶🏿

[epiphainie]

i kinda talked about this in the tags of other posts before but i've just seen my post about 6x11 in my notes and it brought a rush of musings about how i see buck "making things about himself" (a biiig part of the fic i'm trying to write) and it's like the show barely has a constant idea about what they mean by that and the fandom switches between if buck's the most selfish boyfriend ever or the generous caring angel who's being abused by his family depending on where their bias lies for any given storyline but i think selfishness/selflessness is suuuuch an interesting theme for buck (maybe incidental to the fact that the show doesn't know what they wanna say) that i think about it constantly.

like, i don't know how to really put this, but buck does make things about himself. constantly. i think it'd be disingenuous to his character to say he doesn't center himself in situations. i just never see his "making things about himself" as "woe is me, look at my trials and tribulations" but more like he makes himself the martyr. not the victim but the one who's liable for not being doing able to do enough. if he wasn't there like he wasn't in his coma reality, bobby would never get help and die. maddie would never make it out of her marriage with doug, chimney would stay in the same rut, and eddie would lose chris. it's always buck's responsibility and failure, the same way when he wants to leave the 118 for chimney leaving in s5 like it's got anything to do with him, and imo the s8 finale. he just shoulders the responsibility of fixing everyone, motivated by not being able to do enough to save bobby, and he centers his worries, his care, his surveys or whatever in others' grief process. do i think any of this, including other examples, comes from a selfish place? of course not, if anything it comes from trying to prioritize the others but it's "making things about him" especially in the face of a bunch of characters who are feeling the same failure over not saving bobby (imo which is why eddie heavily projects on buck here because eddie's also ascribing the "fault" of losing bobby to himself, the guy who always fails being there when it matters, but he doesn't deal with his martyrdom the same spinning around headless to "fix" like buck does). on buck's part it is a selfless act but it's not altruistic (does true altruism even exist) the same way him inserting himself in red's situation or helping taylor with her dad or earlier in the season trying to help eddie sell his house are done with good intent but his presence is also to process his own stuff (and can be annoying).

this is why i think the main thing he gets from tommy's breakup speech to him is that tommy believes he'll do something to break his heart. i think buck has enough self-respect to know tommy dumping him was a decision tommy make for his own reasons but he mainly focuses on the fact that tommy thinks them ending was always going to happen because buck would fail at a point. it's why "you don't think i'll break your heart anymore?" is so deliciously lethal to me because of course the guy who thinks he should quit his job for his sister and brother-in-law's issues would fixate on why he's been assumed that he'd fuck up. ESPECIALLY when he wasn't doing anything because imo, when buck's truly, really selfish, it comes in the form of him not doing anything to hurt the status quo. he's selfish when he doesn't tell taylor about kissing lucy before asking her to move in because he doesn't want things changing or risking even the slightest bit of friction that'd cause the bubble popping. he'd rather indulges in what he's given and snuff out what can hurt it (i.e. the abby thing) and imo that's what both buck and tommy were doing when they were together, but i don't think buck really sees that as coming from a selfish place. on the surface, it's harmless, it's the opposite of reckless, what's the risk in giving love and taking the love you're given but it's self-serving for the moment, for the relationship right now. there's all that i can add here to link this to buck being neglected and impoverished in love all his life but this post is already too long.

[tbdcarl]

i like you, say it back - c.g

genre - fluff

warnings - author has had one (1) relationship before so this is not accurate, awkward bullshit, self-indulgent fic, I think that's it

a/n - this killed me to write but it needed to be done to make the writing idea elf in my brain shut up

Shit's been fucking crazy. That’s putting it mildly.

The prison got bombed, nobody knew where anybody was, when the remaining people eventually reunited it was at the expense of almost being cannibalized, the group started staying at a church, the cannibals found the church, the cannibals ate Bob’s leg, and Bob died.

It’s three, maybe four days after the fact now. Who knows anymore? Days haven’t really mattered since Andrea’s calendar got abandoned.

You and Carl are outside while most of the adults are gathering supplies. The sun is setting, making it easier to stand being outside, and it’s not too warm out. Carl is staring off into space like he often is as of late. You’re staring at him. Now that everyone finally has a second to take a break, breathe, and process things, a lot of new thoughts and feelings are surfacing.

One stubborn one is that feeling that you had when you saw Carl for the first time in days after thinking he may have been dead. It was a light, pure feeling. Like nothing else in the world mattered and everything was okay. Then time ceased to exist when you ran to each other and engaged in a lung-popping hug. At the moment, you were two best friends seeing each other after a long time. Now? With the time you’ve had to reflect on the past few weeks? It seems like it could’ve ran deeper than that.

“Hey, Carl?”

His eyes snap up, meeting yours. “Hm?”

“Do you think it's dumb for people to think about romance these days?”

He just shrugs at first. After a moment, you get an elaboration. “I guess not? Whatever helps people get by, I guess. Why?”

It would be really easy to just open your mouth and let all the feelings spill out, like really sappy, unorganized vomit. Instead you shrug back.

“I don't know, I'm just thinking.”

Carl definitely doesn't look like he believes you. “What are you ‘just thinking’ about?”

“Y'know… everything with Bob and Sasha,” You reply hesitantly. It's not exactly a lie, but it is a gateway to the vomit. He stares back expectantly. “And how they didn't really say what they wanted to say until one of them was dying.”

“I guess I haven't thought about it like that before,” He started, putting thought into the topic.

“I've been thinking about it like that a lot because there's… someone.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I'm just worried because I want to be honest but it might mess up our friendship.”

Carl is the only other person in the group of your age. Admitting that there is someone was basically admitting that it's him.

He damn well knows that. Curse his social ineptitude and avoidant behaviors. “I think you should go for it. Isn't honesty the best policy or something?”

You open your mouth to say something sarcastic, but the words come spilling out instead. It's sappy. And unorganized. “Okay, okay! I really like you and I have since we saw each other after the prison. You're my best friend anyway, though, so you can totally just ignore this if you don't also feel that way. I just needed you to know that in case I die, because… shit's crazy.” He doesn't answer right away, seemingly processing. “Please say something,” You mumble.

“You like me?” Of course he gives the simplest, shortest, least helpful answer he could possibly give.

“Yes, I do.”

It seems like the world holds its breath with you. Have the crickets gone silent?

“I like you too. And I'm glad that you said that, even if it took fear of death to get you to.”

“So… do you want to be dating?” Your voice pitches up slightly at the end of the sentence, so obviously filled with hope.

Carl looks you in the eyes, appearing more bashful now. “I do. And you do too?”

You nod. “I guess we're dating now.”

Pukes

@tbd1aiahe

[andhumanslovedstories]

chapter eleven of what feels like the most soap opera ass fic I've ever written and then just a bunch of thoughts about writing it, which contains vague spoilers for my plans:

The inception of the fic basically went like this:

haha lol i'd be fun if sqq got real mad at the state of education

what would need to happen in this fic that doesn't happen in canon to motivate him to do something about it

oh shit he didn't unlock OOC so he has to figure out how to be his coddling indulgent self (which he's in denial about) while also being shen jiu

But the thing that really made the story get so much bigger in scope was when I was reading a fic with yqy coming clean to sj, and sj being like, "GASP. I forgive you." And I was "I simply do not believe that this is how it would happen." And I would have moved on with my life, but then I thought, "but like how would it happen." And more importantly, how could this conversation happen within the canon timeline but still involve Shen Jiu, the person this information affects.

The OOC idea and the need for Shen Jiu to be present in this fight scene came together to be like "what if sqq got sj's memories so he could rules-lawyer his characterization more accurately, and ends up being furious on sj's behalf?"

(This, btw, is why I knew I had to get much fonder of YQY and get a much better understanding of his character. When a pillar of your fic idea is a character getting ripped into for his choices, it is sooooooo easy to for it to come off as the author yelling their personal opinions or for it to be completely flat character bashing. Neither are interesting to read or write! Hence the crash-course in YQY appreciation, so now he gets his own emotional arc too. Everyone gets a goddamn plotline.)

Meanwhile I was also thinking about the implications of downloading another person's life into your head. If you have their memories and their body, are you them? What makes you not them? I didn't know! I sort of just kept writing and posting with the assumption that I'd figure something out, which I've finally nailed down btw. That's a relief! Also kinda the fun of WIPs where you're building the railroad track as you're on the train. I end up fanficing my own fanfic. Once stuff is posted, that's the canon, and I look at it and think, "if this was a book I was reading, what is the way I would extrapolate what's there to make a new but coherent story?"

That's why my outline becomes pretty useless after a while. The big picture doesn't change too much--I know roughly where all the major characters are going to be emotionally by the end of the story--but I discover the path I'm going to take there. Which usually means adding stuff. Liu Qingge wasn't going to get a POV, and now every chapter I'm like "fuck am I building a throuple". Ming Fan will have waaaay more a story line than I originally conceived. Early on, I was like "eh I'm not going to go too far into the brothel stuff," and can you guess what is going to be coming up prominently in the next few chapters? God help me.

Actually, there's only one major part of the outline that I cut: Shang Qinghua. He was originally very prominent early on, but turns out having the literal Word of God in a story about slowly discovering backstory is difficult to reconcile. So sadly, he doesn't get a real role. If you're curious, the original plan for him was that SQQ would realize he's a transmigrator much earlier in the canon, but the System would be like [shen jiu would not tell shang qinghua he is a transmigrator. ooc] which would lead to this series of SQQ trying to figure out how he can communicate around this. SQQ at a peak meeting being like, "do you think these DEMONS are PROUD of having made their WAY to us IMMORTALS?" while SQH is like, "AM I HAVING A STROKE?"

What's some other stuff about this fic? I've got a lot of thoughts bottled up, in part because I'm kinda snobby tbh in how I post. I'm like "*pushes glasses up my nose* the author's takes on the story should not be unavoidably present when reading the text" so I don't like to use ao3's author's notes. It's ridiculous and not a standard I hold anyone else too, but whenever I find myself wanting to address something in the notes, I know I must feel insecure about that part of the story. So either fix it or don't draw attention to it. But this is fine, you have to come here for this. This is DVD commentary.

My favorite part of writing this fic has been balancing Shen Jiu's character. As I'm fleshing out his sad backstory, I've been wary of essentially woobifying him. Reducing him to just someone who greatly suffered is so boring and flat. He NEEDS to suck. Or more accurately, he needs to be a very imperfect victim. Exasperating at his mildest, despicable at his worst. (Truthfully, I do think I can and should make him worse. Luckily this story is nothing but flashbacks to him at his worst so there's plenty of opportunities.)

This whole mental breakdown section has been an interesting balancing act because it's explicitly about how bad Shen Jiu's life was and now how bad Shen Qingqiu's is. It's the point at which I had to decide how torturous his time at the Qiu manor had been (me and Shen Qingqiu really discovered that together). On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the absolute worst saddest brutalist ideas I had for this era in his life, I'd say I settled on about a 7. Most of it is backstage in my head, but once I locked that down, I could start figuring out how much was bleeding through.

Anyway, it's been fun writing the angstfest of the last few chapters, but oh my god am I ready for a tone shift. There's usually jokes in my works, even the saddest bits, but jokes relieve tension which is the opposite of what I was going for. I didn't want any humor in the YQY conversation, then you have to keep not joking for a while to get the point across. There's still a lot of planned emotional shit, but I'm happy to not be wallowing for a while.

AND GOD AS MY WITNESS THIS STORY WILL NOT BE LONGER THAN 20 CHAPTERS. MAYBE IT'LL EVEN BE LESS!! IT IS DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO BE A WHOLE CANON REWRITE. PROBABLY!! IF TIANLANG JUN HAS ANY SIGNIFICANT SCREEN TIME, PLEASE KNOW THAT I HAVE FAILED.

[deathbxnny]

Hi! I really love your fic. Could you write oneshot reader x Viktor that reader has imposter syndrome and they blame themselves for little mistakes. How would Viktor comfort them?

The failed overachiever. | Viktor x Gn!Reader

I'm feeling a little better again healthwise, so I hope this is good, Anon! Thank you for your request and enjoy!<3

Content: Imposter syndrome, pre season 2 viktor, some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Reader is a genius, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

"Ah no, no, no! This just won't do!" You hiss out as you toss another paper filled with prototype scribbles in the trash. Working on your latest projects was already a painful drag, but it certainly didn't help that you just couldn't make up your mind. The equations you have come up with also seemed wrong. And the deadline to the showcasing was coming closer and closer!

Sleep was rare to find these days, mainly as you were stuck trying to chase a perfection you just simply never have found yet in your lifetime. An impossible feat you were unwilling to give up on no matter what. The many endless achievements that littered the walls of your laboratory were a clear statement to your deep desperation. You were practically renowned for your genius innovation and philosophies, but they never reached your mind. To you, they felt undeserving as in every one you could only see the flaws and mistakes you've made.

You couldn't escape the cycle of self hate you've trapped yourself in for years now... but that didn't mean that your dear boyfriend Viktor wasn't going to try and help you anyway.

Viktor narrowly dodged an incoming crumbled paper when he entered your laboratory late into the night. You hadn't left it in days now, and whilst it may have very well been hypocritical of him, he had come to bring you to bed. You used to do this often to him as well, way before the obsession for a flawless project had taken over you, but ever since you've been asked to present your latest projects at a inventors gala, things changed for the worst. He was already familiar with your rather self-destructive behaviors and was deeply concerned by them, another form of hypocrisy on his part, he supposed.

Tilting his head at your hunched over form, he carefully approached you, the sound of his cane making you hum weakly in acknowledgment. "Rough night?" He joked, although you found less amusement in it as you shook your head in disappointment. "I am simply enraged by everything! Every draft is worse than the last, and the deadline is in two weeks, and I have yet to finish a thing, and, and-" You let out a frustrated string of curses, before near swiping everything off your work desk. "I'm just... such a failure... nothing I do is good enough. Every mistake is a testament to how little I deserve my position as a scientist and professor."

Viktor frowned gently at your clear defeat, the tears in your eyes making his heart ache. He knew that feeling all too well. And he never wanted you to feel it, too. You were a genius beyond every measure. People followed your inventions like they were religion, always so eager for the latest news. Yet you never saw that part of your success. In fact, not an ounce of you believed you were successful by your own volition either. Every achievement and reward was just dumb luck to you.

"I don't think that's true." He started as he leaned down with great difficulty to grab some papers you had thrown away in rage. "And no one else does either. You're this generations genius. Everyone knows this... but you. And that's sad, my love." His words were soft and warm, the sweetness making you turn to look at him, whilst he sat down in a chair and flipped through your work intently like he always did. Patting his good leg, he invited you to sit in his lap, something that always made you nervous despite him making it clear that it didn't hurt him. Yet you indulged him this time without protest, desperate for some comfort.

He chuckled when you quickly hid your face in his neck, not wanting to embarrass yourself with the tears that were burning in your eyes. Pulling you close with his unoccupied hand, he pressed a kiss to your head and looked over your notes with a prideful glint in his eyes. "Your work moves and inspires thousands. Everyone knows of it and praises it like its gospel. You should be more kind to yourself... which may be hypocritical of me to say, but it's true nonetheless. Your work is perfection." "I don't think it is. The mistakes are so foolish that they are unforgivable." "Hardly." Leaning away, he made enough room to make you see the papers. "This is a flawless equation, and the design is impressive... may I watch you work on it? It would be an honor, my love." The man hummed, making you blink in surprise before you collected your ego and jumped up with a determined, yet flustered look on your face. "Well! If you really think that, then I suppose you can! But don't expect me to slow down for you!" You huffed out, making his smile widen. There you were. The prideful scholar he fell in love with so many years ago.

You began picking and setting things back up, your head turned away from him as you spoke. "... Thank you, by the way. I really needed to hear that." Viktor's eyes glowed with a warm, loving glow as he watched you, his heart full at watching you do what you loved the most.

"No need to thank me. I'll always be there for you."

[gleolei]

# every move you make (i'll be watching you)

SUMMARY: basically possessive and slightly yan!cale short drabble

PAIRINGS: cale henituse × gn!reader

WARNINGS: probably ooc, obsessive and possessive behavior, breach of privacy, some informations came from the wiki, might have spoilers, possible grammatical and typographical errors

NOTE: i've been missing cale lately and with sooo much stuff going on, i barely have the time to slack off and read part 2, so here's a totally self-indulgent work and also something to let you guys know i'm alive^^ ts actually my first writing in this fandom guys, i'm still hungry after devouring countless of fics on ao3

》 bulletin board

there was never a time you truly felt alone inside this villa.

obviously, this was a good thing. no man would want to be alone (at least you think so). it's better to have company—to have someone to talk to. it's better to share a laugh with someone, to share your concerns, or just simply enjoy the quietness of an early morning with a warm drink between your hands and the presence of the very capable servants under the supreme commander himself going about their routines.

still, your gut feeling screams.

‘something is wrong.’

you can still leave. you can still go out, visit the henituse duchy, the plaza, or say hi to the ever-so-handsome crowned prince. you still have your freedom. the freedom to enjoy the sun against your skin, to feel the cold breeze of the night gently go past you as the moon lights up your path and the stars wink down at you.

but with freedom comes limitations.

cale henituse, for once in his life, never regretted that he made so many connections. though he once thought about some of them as acquaintances, most became a part of his group. he thought there was no need for them anymore. sure, some calls were made to check up on them and ask them how they were doing but…

they know that their young master only calls when he needed something. he wasn't the type to waste his time when he can just lay down and slack off. if it wasn't that important, he could just leave it to his people.

color them shocked when the one and only cale henituse calls them, all serious and all, as if he's going to lay down his plans on how to smack the white star from the back—is only calling them to keep their eyes on one of his people.

ask him why, and all they will hear is:

“to keep them safe.” 

and of course, even with confusion—they will follow their young master. it has always been that way. 

…

no information goes past cale. 

he studies it, records it, and takes his time to think about how he could use it—whether it is to destroy or make someone's life easier. having connections means more eyes. and cale had uses for them.

cale loves knowing where you are. cale loves knowing you're safe. and cale loves it when no other trash besides him approaches you, regardless of their intentions. 

and with you working beside the crowned prince and the heroes, best believe there are people asking for your hand, for your grace and favor. letters, invitations…you name it. it all appears on your desk.

but as the days went by, they decreased and decreased until no letters aside from important matters were left. you were thankful, yes. but you were also left with questions. 

‘did they all got tired and decided not to approach me anymore?’

impossible. even simple business dinners invitations were gone.

‘what happened?’

…

cale scoffed as he read another cheesy romantic line from one of the letters addressed to you. a trashy noble bastard was asking if you could be their partner for an upcoming birthday celebration. 

“when will these end?” cale groaned, tearing the letter apart and throwing it at the trash can ron provided him. raon shook his head before he smacked the wooden table. “human! let's loot them!”

cale sighed, reaching for another letter. “no, we're rich enough to buy their entire household.” he replied, casually opening the envelope. “it's not worth it.”

ron poured cale some tea, placing it on the table with a benign smile. “there are more letters, young master.” he says. cale glanced at the butler with exasperation.

‘fuck.’

ron chuckled. even though his puppy young master hates seeing those kind of letters addressed to you, cale reads it carefully, recording every information about the sender.

as ron leaves the room to fetch more cookies, a thought appeared in his mind. ‘i guess i'll have more foxes to scare then.’

[pomefioredove]

hi hi there! I'm not sure if I'm doing this correctly, but can I request vil comforting the reader through a breakup? (totally not self indulgent comfort) I love your writing so much and you write vil so well. Thank you!

anon this isn't related to any exes but I have a bunch of highly specific reaction images in my gallery to use when I describe a person (usually a man) I personally think vil schoenheit would hate

summary: vil has always hated your ex type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: implied romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, hurt/comfort

There are very few things Vil Schoenheit is ever wrong about.

Even when he wants to be.

There are a million and one ways he could have said I told you so.

He might have even given himself a little pat on the back if the timing was better, but this was about you, not him and his excellent judge of character.

He never liked that person.

Thus, when you had turned up at his door not too long ago, looking like a kicked puppy, that was his very first guess.

And now, he dabs at the corners of your eyes with a silk handkerchief, trying to salvage the lovely makeup look he'd recommended earlier while you talk.

Another cascade of tears fall down your cheeks as you describe the nature of the emergency. He winces.

"Oh, dear. Please tell me you dumped them,"

You shake your head.

One part of Vil is aghast. The other is offended. Not only on your behalf, but at the simple fact that anyone could break up with someone he held in such high regard.

Are they ignorant? Stupid?

How could anyone be so foolish as to let you get away...?

"It's for the better," Vil says, tilting your chin up to prevent any more tears from falling down your pretty cheeks.

You sniffle. "I know you never liked them, but..."

"This isn't about that," he says it plainly, even though it's half a lie. "This is about the fact that you had ever entertained such a character. They're not worth a second of your time, do you hear me?"

You're quiet for a moment, not sure how to respond to his sudden attempt at boosting your confidence.

"It's just complicated,"

"Relationships tend to be. Hold still for me, dear," he picks a stray eyelash off your cheek.

Vil doesn't believe in things like wishing on eyelashes, but even as he blows it off the tip of his finger, he's thinking of you.

"You will survive," he turns back to you, smiling slightly. "Even with your terrible taste in partners."

"If you had it your way, you'd interview every person I liked,"

He rolls his eyes. "Tsk. You say that like it's a bad thing,"

Even now, you can't help a small, weak laugh. There was something rather impressive about the way he could lift your spirits without even trying.

The same thought seems to occur to him, and he smiles, delicately wiping away another tear with the tip of his finger.

"I just don't think I'll meet anyone up to the Vil standard,"

"Good thing you don't have to," he smiles, almost teasingly. "I'm right here, after all."

Another eyelash is wiped away along with the tear, though this time, as he blows it away, he makes a wish.

[violetsrxse]

Just Tell Me When | Vi x fem!reader

Listen while reading - The Christmas Song: Nat King Cole

Summary - A cozy night in with Vi leads to you both deciding to take a big step in not only your relationship, but your life.

Word Count - 1,778

CW - Modern AU, very self indulgent, so fluffy your teeth are gonna rot, the smallest sprinkling of angst (if you squint), reader is a bit shorter than Vi, no use of 'Y/N', written in 2nd person

A/N - It's been snowing in my area the past week or so and when I was admiring the beauty of it this fic idea hit me and I just had to write it down. I almost want to make this a part of a collection of one-shots, as I have a lot of motivation to write for Vi right now. Anyways... I hope you enjoy, because I'm so so happy with how this turned out! <3

Modern Chef!Vi Masterlist

~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~❅❆❅~

It’s a perfect night, fat snowflakes falling softly from the heavens, blanketing the rooftops and the calm street in a soft embrace. Every house is set alight by Christmas lights of every hue. The sun has long set and everyone has found themselves settled comfortably into their homes, spending the evening with close friends and family. But for one specific couple, it’s a very special night. Even if they don’t know it. 

In one particular house at the end of the street, this one too set alight by light blue and white Christmas lights, a freshly baked pan of cinnamon rolls sits warm on the kitchen counter, accompanied by two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The only sounds throughout the home being the soft crackling of the fireplace and gentle humming of a familiar Christmas tune.

Vi padded into the kitchen, her fuzzy socks muffling the sound of her steps as she strides up to you and sneakily snakes her arms around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“Whatcha up to, angel?” Her voice is soft as she eyes the pan, inhaling the sweet scent of the icing. 

“Thought I’d make us a sweet treat,” you smile as you feel her begin to sway the both of you back and forth, hands resting over Vi’s on your abdomen. “I know how much you love these.”

She hums with a grateful smile, pressing a featherlight kiss to your neck. It wasn’t often the two of you got to just relax and spend time together like this, but the recent snowfall has proven to be an issue regarding transportation. Meaning that the both of you had scored a day off of work and an opportunity to just relax together. 

You stand there for a moment, enjoying the calm atmosphere and the warm feeling of being in your girlfriend's arms. A moment too long seems to have passed in silence as you find yourself getting lost in your thoughts, it’s proven to be so when the sound of Vi’s voice startles you and breaks your train of thought. 

“Y’know… you’re really good at all this romantic stuff,” she pauses, taking a deep breath and releasing it with a sigh, her arms tightening around you. “Sometimes I worry I’m not good enough for you, that I don’t do enough.”

The thought is absurd to you. How could she of all people believe she isn’t good enough? After everything she’s done for you, all of the happiness she has given you that you hadn’t even been sure was possible. It’s outrageous that she would think herself not enough for you.

“Don’t say that,” You turn in her hold, arms looping around her neck. “You’ve been nothing but perfect to me since the day I met you.” Your eyes are locked on hers, voice firm.

Vi searches your face for any sign of insincerity, even if she knows she won’t find any. Why would she? You’ve always been genuine and sweet to her, it’s why she started calling you angel. Because in her eyes, you are one. 

“I just- I know I may not be as sweet or romantic as you deserve,” a deep breath “But I really do try to be everything you need.” She’s rambling and she knows it, but she wants you to understand, needs you to see how hard she’s trying for you. 

Her heart stalls when you just look up at her with a smile, because you already know it. You see it in the way she remembers the little things you tell her. The way she’s always making sure you’re comfortable and happy, regardless of her mood or how stressful her own day was. She always puts your needs above her own, even if she doesn’t have to. Even if you’ve told her countless times she doesn’t.

“You are everything I need.” The words are a whisper, but they hit her right in her very soul and she can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips when you nestle further into her embrace.

“You mean that.” It’s not a question, because she can see the honesty in the way you look at her, the gentleness in the way you hold her.

All you respond with is a smile, your head dropping to rest on her shoulder as you resume your soft humming, your bodies continuing to sway, but now to the rhythm of the melody.

It’s amazing the way you disarm her, make her feel all fuzzy inside. But she isn’t complaining, because why would she? She has everything she could ever want, all of the happiness and contentment she could ever ask for. 

“I love you.” It’s hushed, whispered against your skin as she plants a soft kiss to your temple. And even though you’ve heard the phrase leave her lips a thousand times over, it will never fail to make your stomach erupt with butterflies and turn your legs to jelly.

“And I love you, Violet.” The words are spoken just as softly, like it’s the most treasured secret to ever be shared. And it might as well be, because no one else gets to know her like this. No one else will ever know what it’s like to love her and be loved by her this way. To kiss her or to be kissed by her, because only you possess the privilege of experiencing how completely unraveling it is. 

She smiles sweetly against your shoulder, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back as she holds you.

“Have I told you lately how much I adore you? How right you make everything feel?” Her voice is a hushed whisper, music sung only for you to hear. “Because even if I were standing out in the cold, just knowing you’re mine would make me feel warmer than I’ve ever been.”

A soft giggle escapes you at her words, your cheeks heating at her confession.

“Never like this,” You pull back to glance up at her with slightly raised brows, taking in the way her beautiful blue eyes sparkle when she looks at you. “You’re more of a poet than you seem.” The sentence is finished off with a chaste kiss to her jaw.

Your words have her face lighting up, her smile so sweet you’d have to brush your teeth just for witnessing it. 

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she responds.

“I guess you bring it out in me, angel.” There’s more she wants to say, it’s evident in the way she nibbles on her lip and her gaze flickers over your features. “I have something to ask you.” She sounds almost hesitant, or maybe nervous. But either way it has you curious.

You hum, fingers brushing through the longer strands of hair at the back of her head.

“Ask away.”

A moment passes before she takes a deep breath and says, “If I told you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, would you think I was crazy?” Her gaze is adoring, punctuated by the slightest furrow in her brows.

“No,” You pause, lips pulling into a smile. “Because I would tell you that I feel the exact same way.”

It’s jarring how fast her eyes widen and well with tears, her lashes fluttering as she rapidly blinks them away. 

“You’d… really want to be with me forever? Like, get married and grow old together?”

“I want everything with you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she can’t keep it at bay this time, a lone tear tracking down her cheek and to her chin. But she doesn’t care, because she’s cupping your cheeks like you’re the most delicate piece of art and she’s pressing her lips to yours.

Your response is instant, your fingers brushing her cheek as you rid her skin of the salty moisture, her lips fitting perfectly with your own. 

It’s not long before she’s pulling back and she’s speaking again.

“Will you marry me? Like, right now?” Her voice is soft and hopeful.

When you only blink for a good few seconds, she begins to feel discouraged before your own eyes are welling with tears and you’re nodding.

“Yes,” A soft sniffle. “I would love to marry you. Not right this minute obviously but definitely yes.”

It’s then that the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her brightens her face and she’s wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She repeats like a mantra, several tears breaking her waterline and tumbling down her cheeks. “I’m gonna make it perfect. You’ll see.”

You laugh softly, your own arms banding around her and pulling her close.

“I don’t doubt it, my love.” You take a deep breath. “But I will say, it doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

Vi pulls back, cupping your cheeks and gazing into your eyes with overwhelming love and adoration.

“That’s alright… the fanciest part is already standing right here.” Her calloused fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear before lingering on your cheek.

It makes you laugh, the way she looks so proud of the comment cracking you up. But it still warms your heart, knowing that behind the cheesy jokes, it’s all said out of love.

Even as you laugh, her expression doesn’t change.

“It doesn’t matter to me if we have a big fancy wedding or we just go down to the courthouse and elope. I don’t care if we have fancy flower arrangements or if we just pick some up from the local flower shop.” She pauses, catching her breath. “As long as I get to look in your eyes and say ‘I do’, I’ll be happy.”

Your eyes widen as her words sink in, lip trembling with overwhelming emotion.

“You have no idea how much that means to me.” You whisper, taking her hand and lacing your fingers together.

Vi uses her free hand to brush away a stray tear from your cheek, her touch featherlight as she gives you an adoring smile.

“I think I do.”

With a trembling lip you press into Vi’s embrace once more, breathing in the familiar scent of her and using it to ground yourself. 

It’s when you pull away that Vi smiles again.

“There’s my sweet girl.” She murmurs, her warm hands framing your face as she speaks again. “I don’t have a ring for you yet, but I couldn’t wait any longer to ask you.” Another pause. “But I’m ready, I want to be with you forever. So whenever you’re ready, whether it’s now or in a few years, just tell me when.”

[silentsneezes]

The View From 3B - Chapter 3, Part 1

this fic is almost entirely self indulgent nothingness, and it's not entirely finished yet, but it's over 7k words and i wanted to post what i've got so far (fic is under the cut if you want to skip my rambling)

summary/info: J/ayce and V/iktor get stuck in an elevator together while J/ayce struggles with one of the worst colds he's had in years. It takes place about a month after V/iktor moved into the apartment complex, so it's their first "real" introduction to one another.

It's from J/ayce's POV (i'm an awkward, nervous J/ayce believer -- also an audHD J/ayce believer). I haven't written from his POV in a long time, so if anything feels OOC feel free to let me know :)

CW for mess!! I don't describe it in a lot of detail, but it's definitely present in this fic, so be warned! Warning for contagion as well, I plan on writing a followup where V/iktor catches J/ayce's cold

I don't love the introduction/first page (I was impatient to get to the snz and rushed through it), but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :3 anyways, if you read all this ily, here's a treat:

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. It’s felt endless, obnoxiously long in that particular way that makes every small inconvenience feel personal. Jayce is running on fumes, his head aching, throat raw, and nose so stuffed he can barely draw a full breath. He’s been impatient to get home for the past hour, but his bus had been delayed three times, it had started to rain, and his plans to pick up more tissues had been entirely forgotten. 

By the time Jayce steps into the lobby of his apartment complex, he’s running on autopilot. His limbs are aching and heavy, his body having forgotten how to function without discomfort hours ago. He barely manages a nod towards the security desk; he’d usually stop to chat, especially with the woman working tonight, who always engages in friendly conversation. He must look as shitty as he feels because she just gives him a sympathetic look and allows him to pass by in silence. 

Jayce quickens his pace as he notices the closest elevator shutting, just barely managing to slip through the narrowing gap in time for the doors to shut with a loud PING! Once inside, he lets out a stuffy breath of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing them slowly. It’s not the most hygienic move, sure, but considering that he’s already sick, he allows himself the small comfort. That is, until he registers a presence beside him, immediately dropping his hands to his sides and glancing over. 

‘Just my luck.’ Jayce thinks as he recognizes the man standing beside him, their eyes meeting for the briefest second before both of them glance away. 

He should’ve just waited and taken the other elevator, another minute of standing there wouldn’t have hurt him. But it’s too late now, especially after slipping in at the last second and making direct eye contact with none other than his next-door neighbor. They’d only ever had a few brief conversations – polite, out of necessity, and highly-performative on Jayce’s end. Afterall, he’d been taught to put on a well-mannered mask and adapt, so he did exactly that; at least he tried to, but his anxiety makes him far less calm and collected as he’d like to think he appears. 

‘Thank God we live on the third floor and not the sixth’ Jayce thinks, trying his best not to sniffle audibly as he feels an unwelcome trickle of moisture slip over his upper lip, ‘And thank God I’m wearing a mask.’

PING! They pass the first floor. 

Jayce is certain that he looks worse for wear, even with the bottom half of his face covered with not one but two medical-grade facemasks. It might be overkill, but his mom had raised him with the understanding that “just because you’re sick doesn’t mean everyone else has to be”. Besides, he doesn’t find it all that inconvenient to wear a mask, aside from those moments when he can no longer deny the itch that constantly lingers in his sinuses whenever he’s congested. 

He’s no stranger to sneezing in masks, but he’s certainly not a fan of it. The sensation alone is enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort, not to mention the either disgusted or pitying looks he receives from anyone nearby. 

Jayce feels his nose continue to run, the moisture beginning to collect on his upper lip and risk slipping further down, but he knows if he sniffles, it'll sound disgusting. The last thing he wants is to gross out his neighbor, who’s politely ignoring him and focusing instead on a loose string dangling from his sleeve. 

Jayce chances a glance at Viktor, feeling his heart thrum a little at the sight of him. He looks tired too, but Jayce ignores the prominent eyebags of the shorter man, drawn instead to the light freckles cast across his face. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his moles, but still, Jayce finds himself rather endeared by them – light, small, decorative things. He only realizes he’s staring when Viktor turns towards him, meeting his gaze wordlessly. 

Jayce blushes crimson, his mind stuttering to a halt as he’s caught staring. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking anywhere aside from Viktor. First it's his scuffed sneakers, then the wristwatch his friend had recently purchased for him, then the smudges on the elevator door. 

Is the elevator moving slower than usual? Jayce swears it is, time dripping by like molasses as he tries to ignore the embarrassment swelling in his chest. ‘Great job Jayce’ he thinks sarcastically ‘what a stellar impression you’re making. Why don’t you just go ahead and–’ his internal spiral screeches to a halt as he feels the buzzing in his sinuses shift, prickling up to the tip of his nose and making the sensitive appendage twitch. ‘No… no no no no no–’

“hh–,” his breath hitches before he can do anything to stop it, the prickling swelling to a full on itch. Desperate for a solution, Jayce decides to do the thing he’d been dreading the entire elevator ride. He sniffles, feeling the moisture that had slipped over his lip shoot back into his nose and cram itself in his sinuses with a loud SNRKkk! 

For the second time in just two minutes, Jayce feels his face burn scarlet. He does his best to swallow his embarrassment, silently reassuring himself that a little sniffle was much better than him sneezing into his mask. Still, that thought does very little to dissuade the anxious voice in his mind. He stares fixedly at the elevator doors, trying to will them to open fast. Anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Jayce glances at Viktor again, only for a split second, and to his surprise, this time he catches Viktor staring at him. ‘Oh God.’ Jayce’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusions: ‘This is it. Caitlyn’s never going to let me hear the end of it if I lose a chance with my crush before we even exchange more than five sentences.’

His fever’s certainly not helping with his mind’s anxious ruminations, causing him to spiral illogically without any end in sight. He barely registers the feeling as his nose begins running again, intent on making a mess inside his mask. 

PING! Only one floor left, Jayce can handle that. He glances at his watch again… odd… he must’ve misread the time before, but he swears, it’s been almost three minutes since he first entered the cramped elevator. It shouldn’t take more than two minutes for him to arrive at the third floor… he must’ve misread it. Afterall, he’s feverish and hopped up on dayquil and–

THHHHUMP! 

Without warning, the elevator jolts violently, lurching with a mechanical groan. The sudden motions throws both of them off balance, tossing Viktor straight into Jayce’s side. There’s no time to react, no chance for either of them to brace themselves, just a blur of motion. 

Jayce reaches out reflexively, arms wrapping around Viktor as the floor seems to drop beneath them. The two of them topple over, Viktor landing half on Jayce’s chest as Jayce hits the floor with a dull thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but he barely notices. His only thought (aside from ‘What the Fuck!’, that is) is that somehow he’d managed to catch Viktor before he could hit the floor too hard. Realistically, he would’ve tried to help anyone in that situation, but the fact that he can feel Viktor against him makes it a bit more satisfactory. 

Viktor’s breath is short with surprise, his body tense as it registers the impact. For a second, neither of them move, staying frozen in place as they listen to the elevator groan. Neither of them dare to move and risk plummeting down to the ground level. 

Jayce blinks up at the flickering light overhead, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He can feel Viktor’s hand pressed awkwardly against his ribs, the unmistakable pressure of the smaller man’s weight on top of him. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor detangles himself from Jayce, doing his best not to make any sudden movements – both due to the elevator's instability and an aching in his hip. He’s only semi successful before the elevator groans again, and he stills. 

As Jayce’s mind finally catches up to reality, his voice stumbles over itself to fill the shocked silence, each word more useless than the last, “Sorry! I didn’t– I wasn’t–” His face burns, heart racing from both adrenaline and the sudden proximity. His flustered apology grinds to a halt as his breath catches painfully in his throat and he jerks forwards with a wet, scraping cough.

It bursts out of him before he can stop it, crackling deep in his chest and forcing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. His nose and mouth are already covered by two layers of medical-grade masks, so whether the action is a desperate attempt to muffle the noise or simply muscle memory, he doesn’t know. 

The cough blooms into a small fit – tight, rattling, as if his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out. His whole body shakes as he desperately tries to muffle the sound, though he knows it���s a useless effort. Viktor is still pressed awkwardly against his side, cautiously leaning away, but remaining still enough that he won’t risk jostling the elevator. 

And Jayce? He’s one humiliating cough away from begging the elevator to just drop him through the floor. 

He finally manages to catch his breath, his coughing tapering off into shallow, shaky inhales. His eyes are glassy, bleary with fever and exertion, but he still forces himself to look over at Viktor. He’s half dazed, half mortified at the disgusted expression he’s sure he’s about to see. But instead, the smaller man looks at him with sympathy… No. That can’t be right. Jayce really must be out of it, because there’s no way Viktor wouldn’t be looking at him with anything but outright revolution at this point. He opens his mouth, preparing himself to stammer out an apology. 

And then the elevator shudders. And not the nice “wow the elevator is fixed!” kind of shudder, but rather the kind that causes the floor to drop a few inches with a dull, stomach-churning THUD!

Jayce freezes, his heart lurching up into his throat. How has his bad day somehow found a new level of awful? He’d already had a parade of delays, illnesses, and public displays of humiliation. But this takes the cake. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything aside from stare wide-eyed at the flickering overhead light and prepare to plummet to his death. He doesn’t even register his hand half-curled around Viktor’s arm. 

Caitlyn has always teased him for his so-called irrational fear of elevators, rattling off statistics about how rarely they actually malfunctioned. Afterall, he’d been in elevators hundreds of times and never had any issues aside from having to make awkward conversation. 

This, however, is starting to make his fear feel very, very rational. 

Jayce takes a little breath, trying to keep his cool. He looks at Viktor, who doesn’t seem to be any happier about the situation than he is, but significantly more calm. There’s no visible tension in his shoulders, no wild look in his eyes. He seems far more controlled than Jayce feels.

Jayce wants that, needs that – or any semblance of calm or comfort. So he takes a shallow breath through his nose, ignoring its congested squeak and focussing on not freaking the fuck out… Even though his chest aches, his fever simmers under his skin, and he’s sitting in a half-crumpled pile on an elevator floor with the guy he’s been admiring for weeks. 

But Viktor isn’t freaking out, so Jayce won’t either. 

He lasts all of one minute before his thoughts start amping up again. One silent, dreadfully long minute in which neither he or Viktor dare to say a word.

‘It’s fine, right? Elevators stall all the time, it’ll start moving again in a few seconds…’

Jayce shifts uncomfortably, trying not to let his anxiety build into panic as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He’s stuck in an elevator with none other than his nextdoor neighbor, who just so happens to be one of the most jawdroppingly gorgeous people Jayce has ever seen. And he has the worst head cold he’s had in years. It would almost be comedic, if it wasn’t happening to him. 

He clears his throat, hesitantly asking, “should we… uh… press a button?” 

In all his years of higher education, not once had anyone covered what to do if you get stuck in an elevator with your ridiculously attractive neighbor while sick and semi-delirious. There’s no syllabus for this, no instruction manual, no messy notes or annotations for him to reference. 

So, the most logical – panicked, deeply flawed, and purely adrenaline driven – solution he can come up with is to press the third floor button again; maybe the elevator just needs a gentle reminder of where it’s supposed to be going. 

Viktor doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he just nods, his expression unreadable as he watches Jayce slowly shift onto his knees and press the bright white 3. And then press it again. And again. And once more for good measure. 

And a fifth time because his panic is gaining momentum and the only thing keeping him from thoroughly embarrassing himself is the vain hope that maybe the fifth time is the charm… No? Okay. What about a sixth?

After Jayce presses the button upwards of ten times, Viktor finally pipes up, “It was probably disabled when the elevator…” he gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure what to say other than “fucking broke,” and that didn’t seem like the most suitable option, given Jayce’s evident panic. So Viktor lets the sentence trail off, doing his best to remain calm in an attempt to ground Jayce. 

Jayce sinks back down to the floor, nodding a little and saying, “Right… so we just… wait.” His voice is strained, resigned to the fact that he can’t do anything aside from sit and do his best not to completely freak out. He leans his head against the cold metal wall behind him and exhales through his mouth stuffily. 

Viktor nods, shifting so he can lean back against the wall and relieve some pressure from his hips. The motion is practiced, subtle, like he’s done this before – and he certainly has, he knows exactly where the strain lives in his body. 

Jayce taps his fingers nervously against the floor, taking a steadying breath and doing his best to ignore the steady thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body. It’s fine. This is fine. Except realistically, it’s anything except fine. Jayce must’ve done something truly horrible to deserve whatever karmic shit the universe was throwing at him today. 

As if the situation just had to get worse, Jayce feels his nose twitch, the lingering itch making itself known again: persistent, teasing. He scrunches up his nose beneath the mask, moving it from side to side in an attempt to lessen the itch, but it only serves to make it run more. He can feel a drop of mess slipping over his upper lip and towards his chin, and once again he attempts to sniff – afterall, it solved his problems last time, why wouldn’t it work again?

SND-RKk! Jayce’s attempt at containing the mess is all but humiliating, halting halfway upon entry into his nose and resulting in a soggy, congested squeak. The sound is deeply unflattering, breaking through the stillness of the elevator and doing nothing to help relieve the irritation in Jayce’s nose. 

His eyelids flutter as the buzzing worsens: a sharp, needling sensation that blooms right behind the bride of his nose. His eyebrows knit together in a grimace, and he clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to stop himself from hitching. 

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, holding his breath and repeating ‘I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze’ in his mind, as if he could mentally block the sensation prickling through his nose. He can feel his nostrils flare beneath the mask, wet and sensitive against the fabric. At the risk of making things worse, Jayce rubs his finger along the base of his nose over the mask, but it barely provides him any relief. 

‘Please. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him,’ He begs internally, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Despite his best efforts, Jayce can feel the itch worsening. He clamps his jaw shut stubbornly, refusing to draw a breath, but his head still snaps forwards with a pitifully stifled runt of a sneeze, “h’nNGKSXgTCHh’uh!”

The stifle (if you can even call it that) is harsh enough to jolt his whole body; his shoulders hunch, his legs twitch involuntarily, and his torso forcibly curls in on itself. It’s muffled into the fabric of his masks, but messy all the same – wet and uncomfortable and clinging to both the fabric and the base of his nose. Within seconds, he feels the heat of it seep through the first layer of the material.

‘Oh. My. God.’

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything aside from sit there dazedly, his eyes fluttering half-closed as the itch lingers. 

Then, a mortifying sense of shame burns through his chest, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He downright refuses to look at Viktor, desperately trying to think of some solution aside from the obvious one. He has to clean himself up somehow, and he has to manage it with the few tissues he has shoved unceremoniously in his pocket… but in order to do that, he’d have to remove his mask and risk Viktor seeing the absolute mess he’s made. 

Jayce’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft, almost tentative “Bless you,” from the man sitting beside him, and he feels his face flush an even deeper shade of red from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

He doesn’t dare try to speak; he doesn’t trust his voice right now – he doesn’t trust anything about his body right now – so he just dips his head in a quick, polite nod. He can feel the mess sitting inside his mask, humid and awful and clinging uncomfortably to his lips and skin. But the thought of taking off his mask, of drawing attention to himself, makes his chest tighten with anxiety. So he just… endures it. Miserably. 

Within seconds, Jayce’s nose twitches again, and this time he doesn’t even have a moment to prepare before a harsh sneeze grates against his throat, “hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

He takes in a shaky breath, realizing in horror that there’s no possible way for him to avoid removing his masks. They’re already soaked anyways, and Jayce is almost certain there’s a visible damp spot where the mess has been clinging to the inside of the fabric. 

“Sorry,” Jayce apologizes sheepishly, holding a hand over his masked-mouth out of habit, “do you mind if I -sNDFf- tagke off my masgk for a secgond?”

His voice is so congested it’s almost incomprehensible, but somehow Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted with Jayce, in fact, he seems almost fascinated by the sickly man. No, Jayce must be misreading the signs… maybe Viktor just happens to be a very good actor, and his disgust is merely hidden behind a neutral expression. 

“Not at all,” Viktor responds, his voice heavily accented and softer than Jayce remembered it, “you seem quite uncomfortable.”

Jayce blushes once again, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly and saying, “Yeah… id’s nodt the ideal scenario,” before realizing how that sounds and quickly trying to recover, “nodt that you’re– idt’s mbe. I’mb… uncomfortable,” he finishes lamely. 

Somehow he earns a smile from the smaller man. An actual, real smile, the kind that makes Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the sides and reveals thin but visible smile lines along his cheeks. 

For just a moment, Jayce’s hatred of the situation lessens. 

But then his body reminds him of the circumstances, forcing him to clear his throat as he feels phlegm start to build at the base of his throat. Now that he at least has Viktor’s permission, he feels slightly more comfortable with the prospect of taking off the masks (and besides, he really can’t handle the sensory discomfort of them while they’re coated in mess). 

He turns away from Viktor slightly, pinching the material around his nose to try and contain as much of the mess as he can as he removes the bands from around his ears with his other hand. He shoves the masks unceremoniously into his pocket, making a mental note to throw them away as soon as possible. 

As soon as he takes off the masks, his nose twitches, apparently upset at being exposed when it's in such terrible condition. With the barrier removed, Viktor can see just how sensitive Jayce’s nose is: bright pink, chapped, and twitching in irritation. 

Jayce fumbles to pull a mostly-intact travel pack of tissues from his pocket, noting that he only has a few left. He can’t quite sum up the confidence to blow his nose, so he just does his best to wipe away the residual mess while sniffling wetly against the tissue. 

He knows he’s being gross. He feels gross, but he seems to have caught a cold that downright refuses to be tamed. Usually, he’d hole himself up in his apartment with a bottle of NyQuil and do his best to sleep it off, but the universe decided otherwise.

Viktor, who’s been respectfully quiet, shifts slightly beside Jayce before saying, “I don’t think anyone looks particularly dignified when they’re sick.”

Jayce glances at him in surprise, the dampened tissue still pressed to his septum. Viktor doesn’t look directly at him, instead choosing to pick at the same loose thread on his sleeve again. Neither his tone nor expression reveal his intention in saying that… but Jayce has a feeling it wasn’t meant to be an insult, though it certainly could’ve been interpreted that way. 

“Whadt, you don’d thingk this is dignified?” Jayce tries to joke, tucking the used tissue into the same pocket as the soiled masks and offering Viktor a tired grin. 

“Do you?” Viktor replies, his lips curling up ever so slightly – just enough to reassure Jayce that it’s okay, he’s not intending to be an ass, he just comes off a bit harsh. 

“Ndo…” he admits, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat again as it protests against its use, “so… we’re neighbors.” Admittedly, smalltalk isn’t one of Jayce’s strongsuits, not with strangers anyways (especially strangers who he happens to be attracted to). But Viktor seems to find Jayce’s awkward blunders amusing, huffing out a little breath and agreeing, “yes. We are.” 

“Righdt. I mean, you already knew that.. Because of the teas and–,” Jayce internally groans, thinking ‘why am I still talking’ as he tries his best to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. Between his fever, his anxiety over the elevator’s malfunction, and his infatuation with Viktor, he can’t quite compose himself. His voice trails off, letting his sentence hang in the air unfinished. 

His nose gives a sudden, traitorous twitch and he presses the back of his wrist beneath his nostrils, sniffling thickly in an attempt to stop the mounting itch. Instead, it worsens, buzzing up through his sinuses and causing his nostrils to flare against his sleeve. His brows furrows, his eyes starting to shut as his breath catches in his chest, “hh-”

He barely manages to stutter out, “S’cuse mbe,” before sucking in a desperate breath, “hhHHHh–” and pivoting into his elbow, “hhHG’GDSXCHhew’hgh!”

The sneeze tears out of him, wrenching and wet, his shoulders jerking forwards with the force of the expulsion. He snuffles wetly in the aftermath of the sneeze, turning away from Viktor again as he fumbles to pull another tissue from his pocket with his free hand. His pocket resists him, the crinkled plastic of the tissue pack catching on the fabric, so by the time he manages to get a tissue free, he can already feel a damp splotch forming on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Blushing crimson, Jayce removes his nose from his elbow, quick to fold the tissue over his nose in an attempt to clean himself up. To make things worse, his nose doesn’t seem to be done yet. 

A slow, unmistakable tickle crawls up through the bride of his nose, and he draws a breath through his mouth as his eyes flutter half-shut again. 

“hhHHhh… huhh-HHh’…”

He pauses, waiting. His nostrils flare. His lips part. The tickle worsens into a full blown burning, testing his already worn patience. 

“hhihh… huhh’HHhh—”

Within seconds, he goes from wishing he wouldn’t sneeze to wishing he could just let it out. Embarrassment eats at his chest as he feels Viktor shift next to him, reminding him of his close proximity. 

Jayce attempts to rub his nose through the tissue, pinching it shut with a squelch before moving his fingers up and down. It only results in another desperate series of hitches. 

“huh-hHhhuhh…! H-hhhHHh-huhhh… hhHHH–” and then nothing. “Oh c’mbon,” he breathes hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t even care that he’s humiliatingly desperate to sneeze right now, he just wants to get it over with. His chest swells with another inhale, “HHHhhuhhhh–!”

By this point, his eyes are watering, his mouth hanging agape, and his brows pinched tight in pure, itchy suffering. The tissue sits uselessly between his fingers, fluttering as each hitching breath catches its surface. 

After what feels like ages, Jayce sucks in a shaky breath, “hhHHHihHh-” before he finally snaps forwards, “hh’HGZZSCHhtCHhuh!” and a second follows right on its heels, “hhRRZZSCHhh-uh!”

He stays there, bent at the waist and keeping the soaked tissue pressed to his nose as he sniffles experimentally, letting out a breath of relief as the itch dies down. 

“Gezundheit,” Viktor murmurs breathlessly from beside Jayce, watching as Jayce holds the mess of a tissue to the base of his nose. 

“Thangks,” Jayce rasps in response, doing his best to wipe his nose and snuffle back the moisture threatening to drip from the appendage, “Sorry… thad was preddy gross.”

He cringes at just how congested his voice is. He desperately needs to blow his nose, but he only has two tissues left and there’s no way in hell he’s using them now. They’ve barely been stuck in the elevator for five minutes, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll start moving again any time soon. The tissue he’s currently holding has lost all structural integrity, and he resigns himself to shoving it into his pocket along with the other. 

“It’s fine,” Viktor dismisses simply, “you’re sick.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. Jayce had tested for the flu and strep just to be safe, and both tests had come up negative, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Whatever cold he’s managed to catch is doing a number on him. 

“Yeah, budt thad was excebtionally–,” his breath stutters out of nowhere, catching him by surprise and barely giving him enough time to half-cover with a hand before, “Hh’DTSSZCHhgh’uhh!” 

Despite his best efforts, some of the spray makes it past his broad hand, glinting in the luminescent light before falling lamely onto his lap. He snorts back as much mess as he can, certain that Viktor is getting a full on view of the most humiliating moment he’d experienced in years. His palm glistens with moisture, uncomfortably wet and probably less sanitary than the floor of a New York subway. 

Jayce groans softly under his breath, his chest twisting in embarrassment as he weighs the pros and cons of using his second-to-last tissue. He lowers his dripping hand, fishing in his pocket for another tissue as he admits defeat. He’s absolutely fucked. 

After taking a minute to clean himself up, Jayce resigns himself to apologize again, sounding a bit like a broken record at this point – sneeze, apology, sneeze, apology, and so on. 

“I’mb so sorry,” he mutters, his voice even thicker with congestion now, “Thadt was… I swear, I’mb usually a lod less digdusting thand this…” He doesn’t dare look up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, instead dabbing his nose with the sodden excuse of a tissue held in his hand. 

“I’m sure you are,” Viktor replies, almost sounding amused by Jayce’s predicament. Jayce can’t even begin to fathom why Viktor isn’t entirely disgusted by him, especially when they’re trapped in such a small, confined space. 

Viktor breaks the silence with a blunt, but not unkind suggestion, “You should blow your nose.”

Usually, if anyone had suggested that to him, Jayce might feel like a child, but something about Viktor makes him appreciate the comment slightly. It’s obviously not coming from a place of judgement, but rather much needed advice (Jayce doesn’t even notice that his nose has begun to run over his upper lip again, but Viktor has a clear view of it). 

The sick man gives a pitiful laugh, which turns into a short bout of coughing, before admitting, “I only have two tissues lefd… and I clearly need themb. I don’d wanna -sNNFf- use themb yet in case we’re stugk here for hours.” 

“That is… an optimistic estimate, is it not?” Viktor replies simply, casting a doubtful glance at Jayce, knowing the tissues won’t last another five minutes. Again, he’s not rude, but upfront. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in dancing around the subject of Jayce’s illness. 

Jayce tries to come up with a response as his ears burn bright pink again, but he’s interrupted as Viktor shifts, reaching into his coat pocket. There’s a quiet ruffling of fabric before Viktor wordlessly extends his hand, holding a neatly folded dark-gray handkerchief. Its edges are soft with wear, but it appears to be well maintained. 

Jayce blinks, “Waidt… seriously?” He’s always surprised when people extend small kindnesses to him, despite Caitlyn reassuring him that he’s just as deserving of them as anyone else. 

“Well,” Viktor finally meets his eyes, “You seem to need it more than I do.”

When Jayce hesitates to accept the fabric, Viktor adds, “I wash it frequently. It’s clean.”  It’s a simple gesture, small and likely insignificant, but it unspools something knotted in Jayce’s chest. 

He grins, enough as to wear Viktor can see his tooth-gap and dimples, and says, “thangk you, really. I owe you one.”

Viktor shrugs, politely averting his gaze as Jayce wipes his nose with the cloth, “technically, I owed you for the tea. We’re even.” 

Jayce settles for nodding in response, unfolding the handkerchief and wiping at the moisture clinging to his septum again. No matter how much he tends to the appendage, it seems intent on running. Thankfully, the fabric of the handkerchief is soft, but it still does little to soothe his raw, irritated nose. 

Jayce glances down at the cloth in his hands, folding it carefully along the seams out of habit. He usually carries a handkerchief, especially when he’s sick, but he’d managed to soil all of his in the past two days since catching this cold. It’s not like he’s been in any condition to do laundry, so he’s been surviving off of whatever half-empty tissue packs he could find around his place. 

Jayce’s breath suddenly catches mid-thought, his chest swelling with a loud hitch, “hhHh’h–” and he tents the handkerchief over his nose just before he shudders forwards with a poorly muffled, “hhH’HMPDTSCSHHuhh!”

He doesn’t have time to mutter another apology; the elevator lurches, stuttering down a few inches before there’s a mechanical whirring. The two men stay perfectly still, Jayce’s hands still holding the handkerchief over his nose. The whirring continues, but the elevator doesn’t move, for better or for worse. Jayce wipes his nose against the dark-gray hankie and snuffles once the coast seems clear. 

“If we’re going to die in an elevator, you might as well blow your nose first,” Viktor suggests again.

Jayce can’t decide whether to laugh or panic at Viktor’s comment, so he just settles for swallowing his pride and blowing his nose. It sounds pathetically clogged, but it allows some of the congestion in his sinuses to shift, giving him a moment of relief. 

A very, very short lived moment of relief. 

His nose twitches, the sensitive appendage downright revolting at the congestion having moved, and Jayce barely has time to cup the handkerchief over his nose again before his breath catches, “hhHh!”

“hhhHHR’DZSSHh’CHhgh!!”

The sneeze bursts out with a damp, desperate force, caught into the folds of the hankie, which is quickly becoming wet from overuse. Jayce draws another uneven, desperate breath, another sneeze already building, “hhHHhh’ihhh… hh’DZGXTshhhuhh!! Huh’GXSSHHhhuhf!!”

The second part of the double takes him completely by surprise, leaving him breathless. A quiet groan slips out before he can stop himself, and despite his breath hitching again, he mutters, “Hh’uhh… fuhhck– I’mb–I’mb s–hhhhhuhhh… sorhhh.”

His voice trails off, his eyes fully closed as his breath hitches in uneven, pitiful gasps, “hehh–hhHHHHuhhh… hhh-” his head tilts back, his adams apple bobbing with each desperate breath, “hh’DdZZSSCHHguhh!!” 

Jayce can’t remember the last time he’s sneezed like that, and it takes him a second to catch his breath. He winces as he swallows, his throat aching as a result of the fit. Despite the handkerchief having caught all of the mess, Jayce is still beyond mortified. If he had thought he had no chance with Viktor before, he sure as hell doesn’t now. 

He sits there, stewing in his embarrassment as he blows his nose as quietly as possible. Once he’s cleaned himself up, Viktor offers a “bless you. Again.”

“Sorry… againd,” Jayce replies, trying to offer Viktor an awkward grin, but it ends up as more of a grimace, “I shouldn’d habve lefd mby apardmend today, bud -snNFf- I had to tagke an exam and… and you don’d ndeed to know this… Sorry.”

Viktor shrugs, once again playing with the loose string on his sleeve as he dismisses the apology, “You said that already. Several times.” 

Jayce feels a bit of the anxiety sitting in his chest dissipate, and he nods a little. He’s generally talkative, and he tends to ramble when he’s anxious, but it doesn’t seem like Viktor minds all that much. 

He rubs the nape of his neck, noting the way his skin seems to radiate feverish heat, trying to change the subject away from his incessant apologies, “So.. you jusd moved in a few weegks ago?”

Viktor nods, shifting his position once again, wincing ever so slightly with the movement, “Yes. Almost a month ago now. This complex is much closer to my university’s campus than my previous one,” he explains conversationally. If it was anyone else, he’d probably ignore any attempt at smalltalk, but Jayce is… an exception to that. 

“Universidy?” Jayce asks, perking up a little, “Where do you go?”

“Piltover Technological Institute,” Viktor answers, glancing at Jayce and noting his smile. How someone so sick still manages to smile like that is beyond him, “I take it you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah!” Jayce’s voice catches in his throat, a bit too enthusiastic and forcing him to cough into his elbow. After taking a second to catch his breath, he continues, “I’mb a junior there. I’mb sdudying engineering with a fogcus on Aerospace engineehhring … hhh- and thhihhermo–” he blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring outwards as his breath starts to catch, “thermodynamihhHihcs–” he barely manages to stutter through the word before, ““hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

Luckily, he covers the sneeze with the handkerchief, catching the splurge of mess and muffling the sound as best he can, “Ugh, sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor interrupts him, waving his hand dismissively and leaning back against the elevator wall again, “it’s rather redundant at this point.”

Jayce swallows, nodding and trying to ignore the growing fondness in his chest. Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by him, or irritated with his ramblings and blunders – maybe his chance at becoming closer with his neighbor isn’t completely blown. 

“Right. So uhmb, whadt are you studying?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going, if anything just so he can hear Viktor’s voice. He wants to ask where the other man is from, he assumes somewhere in Russia, but there’s an aspect of Vitkor’s accent that he can’t quite place. 

“Chemical engineering and biotechnology, though I prefer the ladder. It has more opportunity for innovation,” even from the simple response, Jayce can tell that Viktor’s passionate about the subject. He has subtle, but noticeable mannerisms that give his interest away – a slight upturn of his eyebrows, a glimpse of smile lines along his cheeks, a little shift in his posture, as if he’s drawn in by the topic. 

“So you’re – sNDDFf’gh – inderesded in STEM?” Jayce’s question is dulled by congestion, but sounds excited nonetheless, “we habve thad in common.”

He’s forced to press the handkerchief against his septum again, wiping away a bit of moisture that was threatening to drip over his upper lip. He tries to find a relatively dry section of the cloth to clean himself up, though most of it is already sodden. 

Viktor nods in response to Jayce, “We do,” he agrees as he looks over at the sick man again, “so Aerospace engineering, this is what you want to have an occupation in?” he asks. Jayce grins at the way he phrased the question. His grammar isn’t wrong by any means, but after growing up in Piltover Jayce had become well accustomed to the “speaking-norms” – norms which Viktor seems unaccustomed or uninterested in. 

“Yeah, I thignk so ad leasd. It’s the mosd realistigk field I can go into,” he pauses, swiping his wrist against his septum, “budt we’ll see. I always wandted to be an invendtor.”

Why exactly Jayce is telling Viktor he wanted to be an inventor, he’s not entirely sure, but once it comes out of his mouth, he realizes just how childish it sounds. He opens his mouth to try and say something, anything that makes him sound like a functioning adult when Viktor notes, “me too.” 

“Really?” Jayce’s surprise must be written all over his face because he earns a little laugh from Viktor, making his chest flutter. 

“Yes, really.” Viktor sits up straighter, correctly his posture with a quiet, concealed breath of discomfort before continuing, “Biotech is very interesting, but I would like to have my own lab. Unrestricted research, without the guidelines and paperwork.”

Jayce grins, finding Viktor’s evident dislike of paperwork amusing. 

“I mean it is useless. Why waste time with regulations?” he continues, his accent a bit thicker as he grows more comfortable around Jayce. In an attempt to impress Viktor, Jayce desperately tries to remember a quote he’d read from one of his coursebooks. His fever-addled brain takes a moment to piece it together; he knows it’s from Iven Maren, one of the founders of the Piltover Institute for Radical Inquiry (PIRI). 

Something about disobeying rules… science knows no limits. It's from Maren’s most recently published book; he tries to remember the page he’d read it on, vaguely picturing the image of the founder beside the quote. 

“You kdow, Iven Maren said that “science isn’t meant to be polite, or convenient. It’s meant to – hhhh –” his breath hitches, but he tries to continue, “to ask the hHihh– thhhheh– hh’DZSSCHhhuh!!” He catches the sneeze against his wrist, keeping it held there as he stubbornly keeps talking, “the questhhhions – hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!”

The second one is considerably messier, and he keeps his wrist pressed against his septum to contain the mess. The fabric of his sleeve dampens, clinging unpleasantly to his skin as he fumbles to grab the handkerchief off his lap and clean himself up. He gives a wet little groan in the back of his throat, blushing crimson once again. 

“I do not think he said that,” Viktor teases, his tone dry, “bless you,” he adds, his lips curling into a grin. Despite his blushing embarrassment, Jayce laughs, feeling a sense of comfort at Viktor’s teasing, “thangks.” 

After a moment, Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, “it’s meant to ask the questions no one wants answered, especially the ones that threaten the rules.” He finishes Jayce’s quote with ease, grinning at Jayce’s impressed expression. 

“You’ve read Theoredical Pathways ind Modern Engineering?” Jayce asks excitedly, his tooth gap once again making an appearance as he smiles. 

“Who hasn’t?” 

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of them talk about the various texts they’ve recently read. Jayce does most of the yapping despite the aching in his throat, but he can’t help it. His wallowing misery over being so sick is temporarily put on hold, replaced with an opportunity to talk about his interests. Viktor is equally as engaged in the conversation, noticing when Jayce wears out his voice and taking it as a cue to talk more so the sick man can rest his throat for a moment. 

Jayce listens intently whenever Viktor speaks, making a mental note of every new thing he learns about him: he prefers natural sciences over mechanical engineering, he recently conducted an experiment with the aid of a professor, he’d like to design his own experiment in the future… and there there are things like the fact that his eyes have little golden specks throughout them, making them change color ever so slightly as the lights flicker. Or that his hands absentmindedly play with the bit of threat hanging from his sweater sleeve, twisting it just enough as to where it won’t fall off. 

His internal observations are interrupted as he feels the itch in his nose return, interrupting Viktor with a sudden, “hhhHHuh–”

Viktor pauses, recognizing the sound and knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Despite it being rather obvious, Jayce insists on stuttering out, “shhsorry I’mb gonnahhh… hHHHh snhhehH– sneeze– hhH’RRSZSCHhhuh!! hhhK’TSSCHhh’uhgh!!”

The expulsions come back to back, spraying the already sodden handkerchief and leaving Jayce a little breathless. “Whew,” he exclaims quietly, 

“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor murmurs, the Russian blessing slipping out without him fully intending.

i know it ends suddenly, but there will be more!! if anyone has any ideas/requests for the second part feel free to send me a message or DM :) i plan on keeping them trapped in the elevator for quite some time... sorry J/ayce...

as always, any comments or tags are so so so appreciated!! thank you to anyone who read it, i'm doing my best to spread the j/ayvik agenda

[stevenose]

👋 Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

tucks hair behind ear… ok here are my top 5:

untitled series - no explanation needed. my fave fic i have ever written ever. cannot believe this stemmed from a random dream i had. just love them so much

disarm - the one where steve heavily flirts with you when he's drunk. i think the dialogue really popped off and i am very happy with it :)

i get what i want - this one was really self indulgent and i once again think the dialogue is good here. i have always thought audrey horne and steve would be the power couple of the century. or maybe they would be really good siblings. i'm not sure and we won't be unpacking that

body to flame - one of those fics that randomly hit me (high in the tub as previously said) and i wrote really fast and i am just proud of it!!

fatalist palmistry - i don't write whiny needy steve like i should. but this one may have been my peak so <3

thanks for asking!! this took me on a trip down memory lane!!

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Reading Rooms

SORRY I'M LATE! These come around so fast each week 😅 I really need a better system! I haven't read nearly as much as usual this week, I've been away with work for 3 days so it's eaten into my routine a little and I feel super disorganised and erratic. Ahh well, we ball.

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

One of my mini-series The Menu well and truly exploded this week, I'm talking like 100 followers in just over a week exploded. It's insane and wonderful and I'm really so proud 🥰 By the time you see this, there will have been three chapters posted this week. It's all I've worked on! It means For Your Consideration has been a little neglected, but I'm going to be allll over that in the next few days! I'm also completely self-indulgently writing a little Chris Beck fic so look out for that!

Onto the reading...

Bucky Barnes

First up is The Trouble with Saturdays by wonderful @vunblr. The pining! The argument with John! The tracksuit! I am SQUEALING!

Fake it Til You Break My Heart by @angellily920 is off to a super start, I can't wait to read more!

Different, This Time by @marvelstoriesepic - I could literally recommend their entire Masterlist tbh. A genius! This is a Part 2 to In Too Deep, which I can't believe I forgot to reblog sooner. These are both EXTRAORDINARY. Heated, intimate, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Sharp Dressed Man by @navybrat817 - just... need. All of him. Forever. Perfection!

Flame and melody by @daxisyzz - beautiful, lyrical, magical. I adore this 💕

Pregnancy Scare by @maevedoodle was super sweet, I love everyone looking out for each other. God I'm such a sucker for found family!

DECLASSIFIED CHAPTER FOUR by @dreamwritesimagines. This fic is literally crack. I cannot get enough, I jump on every notification for crumbs and snippets. I never want this to end!

The Zipper by @mrsbarnesblog is insanely, ridiculously, gloriously hot and I need it injecting into my veins please and thank you.

Pinned Down by @lolab4t - Oooh I love sparring Bucky so much 🥵🥵 This was yummy!!!

Neighbourly Advice by @firingstars is a super cute series, I love the additional characters and the premise 💕

Jealous Bucky by @fanficgirl429 - I loved this so much. So sweet 😭

Best Gift by @societyfolklore - so beautiful and sweet, the absolute peak of domestic fluff. Adore 😘

Leaked by @leighlalouu - this was so good! Quick and sharp. Excellent!

Overheard by @alisonsfics - phewww, this was hot! I am not your strongest soldier, I would be tripping over myself to offer a hand 👀 I'm off to read your whole masterlist....

Wife Speak by @tallaennatargaryen - so cute, so domestic. I loved this so much, really funny - her game is strong!

John Walker (I know... I don't know, I just needed to read it, ok?!)

A black eye and two kisses by @swordgrace - the only John Walker fic I've read so far and ... kinda won't be the last?! This was chef's kiss!!

Happy reading my loves! 💕