#LUN Partners

[may8chan]

The Sparring Partner - Ho Cheuk Tin 2022

[readenheim]

my half-japanese partner saying he wouldn't really consider our (future) kids Japanese because they would only be a quarter VS me who would consider anyone with as far as great ancestor who has smelled Algerian olive oil as a full blooded Algerian citizen if they wishes to identify as one .fight

[runa-falls]

imagine convincing steven to let you suck his dick for 'practice' so you'll know how to do it when you get a boyfriend. but the whole time, the only boyfriend you want is him.

suddenly, he's thinking about you 24/7, craving your messy mouth and the painful dig of your nails against his thigh when he pushes in too much. he falls in love with the way you take care of him, how you can go from eagerly swallowing him down to cooing soft praises when he's coming down from his high.

so when he's reminded of why you're really doing this, he becomes a tad bit possessive. he holds you closer, kisses you harder, and keeps you in his arms a little longer. in his mind, he should be the only one tugging at your hair and staring down at your glistening eyes as he drives himself against your face again and again.

one day, he finally says it.

your lips are still plump and red, the only evidence of the activities that you were doing just a handful of minutes ago. he fiddles with his hands as he watches you search around his flat for your things.

this is one of the few times he hasn't held you in his arms afterwards. he feels empty. alone. he wants to reach out, stop your frantic searching, and tug you onto his lap. he wants to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and breathe you in. he wants you to stay.

you said were meeting up with someone for lunch. you didn't specify who and you didn't seem like you wanted to. his heart dropped at the mention of someone else and there was only silence between the two of you. it was a piercing needle of reality popping his lovesick bubble.

you seemed disappointed by his silence, a slight frown pulling at the corners of your lips. you merely returned his silence and stood up to look for your shirt.

you're tying your shoes when he finally speaks up.

"don't go." you don't look up, but he knows you heard him because your hands are frozen above your shoes with your laces pinched between your fingers. "stay...here. with me."

you huff out a sigh, finally looking up with inquiring eyes.

"what are you saying, steven?"

"i don't want to do this anymore." you drop your laces and turn your body to face his. everything just spills from his lips, "i know you just wanted help to please your next partner, but i can't stand the idea of seeing you with anyone but myself."

"steven..." you stand up and walk over to the bed where he sits, carelessly leaving your one shoe untied. you rest a hand on his shoulder, urging him to meet your gaze. dark lashes frame his warm brown eyes. "there isn't anyone else."

he blinks as a dusting of pink rises to his cheeks, confused and a bit embarrassed. "...there isn't?"

"no."

"then who are you seeing for lunch?"

"there is no lunch." you confess, "it's selfish, but i just wanted you to tell me not to go..."

gentle fingers wrap around your wrist, "then don't."

"steven, i already told you, there is no lun--"

you yelp when you're abruptly pulled against him, your chest meeting his. "don't go. ever." his other hand cradles your jaw and pulls you in until your lips are nearly touching his. "stay with me." his voice lowers to a whisper, but you swear you can feel the vibrations flood through your body.

"ok."

[ruified]

❝ a much needed 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 ˎˊ˗ — pt. 1

warnings - fluff, skk . characters - pm! dazai, chuuya, mentioned mori . synopsis - mori sends the young double black on a mission without specifying what for . a/n - here's part 2 and the fic on ao3 !!

A boy dressed in black, his body embraced by bandages, with shaggy dark brown hair sat in the back of a car. His knees were bent and pressed against the back of the passenger seat in front of him, which was unoccupied. His dark eyes watched the scenery outside fly by with very little interest, it was hard to tell if he was even looking outside or just spacing out. Beside him sat a smaller boy, yet a few months older than him, his ginger hair tied back in a small ponytail and a black pork pie hat on the seat between him and the other. He had his head tilted back against the headrest, his eyes shut—he may be sleeping, it was hard to tell.

The dark haired boy let his eyes wander and eventually they landed on the dozed off boy. He slowly reached for the hat that sat between them and picked it up. He leaned over from his seat towards the ginger and placed the hat over his face very gently, so as to not awake him. There was silence for a few moments before the ginger’s gloved hand reached up and lifted the hat off his face, revealing squinted, piercing brown eyes that shot his partner a glare.

“Oi, Dazai, ‘the hell do you think you’re doing?” He cocked a brow, the right side of his upper lip tugging up into a scowl. The dark haired boy, Dazai, huffed and shook his head, his shoulders lifting as if the ginger had just asked him such a stupid question. “Well, Chuuya, I was trying to help you block the light out of your poor little eyes.” He pouted mockingly at Chuuya, batting his lashes a few times. “Sleeping beauty over there needs his rest.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, setting the hat back down between them. The hat almost served as some sort of boundary between them, and Dazai had tried to cross that boundary, just as he always does. “I wasn’t even asleep, smart ass.”

Chuuya sat up straight and stretched, letting out a lengthy yawn—for someone who didn’t fall asleep, he sure was acting like he had just awoken from a long nap. His voice carried a gravely tone, different from how he usually sounded, likely because he was tired. “Are we gonna be there soon or what?”

Dazai and Chuuya had been assigned a mission earlier by Mori to go to some town in the mountains. The town wasn’t super crowded or anything, it was small, more like a village really. It had a bath house run by a family and a few restaurants as well, it was certainly described as cozy—a weird place for two mafiosi to be sent to. Mori had never specified why he sent the two there, he said they’d know once they got there.

Dazai shrugged. “Dunno, but from the looks of outside I’d say we’re getting close. We’re pretty far out from the cities and I believe we’re already in the mountains.” Dazai turned around in his seat, reaching behind and digging through the stuff in the trunk. He sat down once again, holding a scarf in his hands which he folded in his lap.

Chuuya tilted his head after watching Dazai, a brow raised and a frown tugging at his lips. “You cold or something?”

The dark haired boy looked at him like he had lost it then sighed heavily, he shook his head. “No, but it’s going to be cold when we get out of the car so I’m getting ready.” His eyes scanned Chuuya up and down, then he grinned mockingly. “I sure hope you’ve brought things to keep you warm because there’s no way I’ll share my scarf with you.”

Chuuya scoffed and turned his head away, looking out the window now. “As if I’d ever want to do something as corny as that with you of all people.”

The car came to a slow stop and the driver informed the two boys that they had arrived. Dazai wrapped his scarf around himself while Chuuya just got out of the car, not bothering to bundle up—he regretted that. The air stung his cheeks, it felt sharp in his lungs as he inhaled. Shit, it was freezing. However, he did his very best to hide any reaction he was having as Dazai came around from the other side of the car to meet him, adjusting his gloves. Chuuya pushed his hat down further onto his head, hiding his face a bit.

The two scanned their surroundings, looking for signs of what they should be doing. They found themselves rather confused though, there were no other members of the Port Mafia there. There didn’t seem to be any sort of business going on or anything, it just looked like a regular day in this small village in the mountains.

Dazai and Chuuya exchanged glances, blinking a few times. Dazai was the one to take action, he turned to the driver and asked, “What is it exactly that we’re supposed to be doing here?”

The man who had driven them up here simply smiled as he looked down at the young man before him. “Your instructions are to relax. The boss wanted you two to head to the bath house and check yourselves in, everything should be ready for you there according to him.”

The two boys were left with their jaws hanging open, speechless. A break? With this guy? They turned to each other and both recoiled at the thought of trying to relax around one another.

Dazai waved the driver away and sighed, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck. “He seriously couldn’t have given us separate vacations? How am I supposed to relax at all with a dog barking in my ear?” He pouted.

Chuuya snarled and started walking towards the bath house. “Whatever. Let’s just go.” Dazai stood there for a minute then followed behind. He caught up to Chuuya and remained close behind him.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Hello, my sweetest Penny.

Tell me… how would Marcus react if he caught you using your vibrator when you were supposed to working at home to “catch up with some paperwork” away from the office.

He comes home to surprise you with lunch and it’s him who gets the real surprise.

Cristina, you absolute menace, you.

I wrote this in a fever dream in two days AT MY DESK AT WORK in the world's teeniest, tiniest browser window with the text as small as possible. I am UNHINGED. I hope you like what I came up with >:)

Again, Again

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader (wife)

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Overstimulation, multiple orgasms, CNC, D/s vibes, use of vibrators

Summary: Marcus comes home to surprise you with lunch. In the end, who's the most surprised?

A/N: This fic contains CNC (consensual-non-consent). All parties are enthusiastically consenting, there is a safeword system in place that is explicitly mentioned. I've ALWAYS wanted to explore this, but I must give all credit to the amazing @leslie-lyman, who has shared some absolutely underwear-destroying snippets of her own CNC!Marcus with me, and I consider anything to do with CNC+Marcus Pike to be her intellectual property. Thank you, darling Leslie, for the beta and for letting me play around with this trope myself :D :D Title is from a Lady Gaga song of the same name.

Masterlist

Marcus listens intently as the handcuffed man sitting opposite him in the cramped interview room feeds him name after name, single-handedly dismantling a massive art theft operation in exchange for a lighter sentence. 

Every so often, Marcus nods thoughtfully, prompting the other man to continue. He writes observations in his field notebook, reminders to look into one thing or the other, although the recorder beside him is picking up every word (which he’ll go back over in detail several times in the next several days). 

Marcus Pike is nothing if not thorough. He’s careful, methodical, and patient in his job, giving him an advantage over other, more hotheaded Agents who are too eager, too reckless in their pursuit of law and order that they miss important details. He might get sidelong looks from those who are reluctant to slow down and think for a damn minute, but his case record speaks for itself. He’s put more art thieves, forgers, and crooked dealers behind bars than anyone in the department.

At a lapse in the other man’s monotone delivery of names and places, Marcus looks up expectantly. “Is that everything?” he asks.

“That’s all I know, man,” the criminal responds. “I told you everything.”

Marcus nods and thanks him politely and graciously–speaking to him as if he were a colleague and not a man who was about to return to a holding cell. 

“You did a good thing,” Marcus assures him, turning back once more as he leaves the room. “This will give you years of your life back.”

Walking down the corridor back to his office, Marcus pulls out his phone to check the time: 11:45. Perfect. He pulls out his phone and sends a text.

How goes the paperwork situation? 

Your response comes almost immediately:

I’m fucking buried! But it’s getting better. Glad I stayed home to work on it.

Marcus smiles to himself. He usually types up his case notes as he goes, but you’re terrible about leaving all of the administrative stuff until it piles up and you’re forced to spend a day doing nothing but writing paperwork. He types out another text.

Miss your pretty face, though.

This is why I have to work from home! You’re a tempting distraction.

Marcus is sure he’s grinning like an idiot now, but he can’t stop. 

Be good and do your paperwork and maybe I’ll show you just how much of a distraction I can be ;)

The message is marked as ‘seen’ almost immediately, but it takes a few minutes to respond. Marcus watches the three little dots appear, disappear, and reappear, before a new text appears.

MENACE. Go away. <3

Marcus laughs to himself and puts his phone away. He taps on his partner’s office door. “Popping out for lunch,” he announces. “Gonna grab something and take it home for my wife.”

He picks up some Thai on his way, from the spot just around the corner from your house that you both love. He hums to himself as he walks the remaining block, happy to get a little break from work to see you.

Marcus unlocks and opens the door as silently as he can, wanting to surprise you. The house is quiet–as he would expect. He slips off his shoes and pads over to your shared office with the bag of lunch to surprise you, but he’s the one who receives the surprise: you aren’t there. Before he can wonder where you’ve gone, though, he hears a soft sound from the bedroom. Marcus cocks his head to the side. It had sounded like–

Another sound comes, this one unmistakably a small moan of pleasure. It’s then that Marcus notices the low hum of your vibrator. A slow, devious smile spreads across his face.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Your hips shift up as your orgasm approaches. God, you love working from home. This is the perfect break from endless paperwork. The tension in your shoulders, the eyestrain from staring at a computer screen, all of it is forgotten as you writhe on the bed. You’ve allowed yourself the decadence of being totally naked, taking your time, sending yourself higher at a leisurely pace. It feels as if it’s been ages since you’ve had the time to yourself like this. It’s not that Marcus doesn’t keep you incredibly satisfied (oh, God, he fucking does), but there’s something different about doing it yourself. It’s for you, and only for you. 

You’ve been teasing yourself for long enough–forcing yourself to make it through a fifteen-minute video before allowing yourself to come. Finally, you stop the meandering path of the vibrator and press it directly on your clit. You come almost immediately, bucking your hips and arching your back with a little gasp. 

“So much for paperwork, huh?”

You shriek at the unsuspected voice, damn near throwing the vibrator across the room. Marcus goddamn Pike is standing in your bedroom doorway carrying a bag of takeaway and wearing a positively devilish expression.

“Marcus!” you cry out in a combination of shock, embarrassment, and exasperation.

“I was going to bring you some lunch, give you a break from all those case notes,” Marcus explains in mock-innocence. “But it looks like you’re already taking a little break of your own.”

You throw one of the little decorative pillows at him. “A girl can get herself off in the privacy of her own–”

“I know, I know,” Marcus interrupts, chuckling. “I just didn’t realize you were so tightly wound, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you protest with a petulant scowl.

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “I think you are,” he says softly, deepening his voice as he drops the bag of takeout and stalks toward the bed. You have to stifle a gulp. “You must be–ignoring that mountain of paperwork to lay in bed naked, watching dirty videos and touching yourself.”

"I–" you begin, but you trail off, not really knowing what to say. The look in Marcus's eyes is downright predatory, and it's making your pussy throb despite the recent orgasm. 

“Since you’re all worked up,” Marcus continues, setting one knee down on the bed and leaning down to your level, “why don’t you do it again.”

“What?”

Marcus picks up the little bullet vibrator and places it back in your hand. “Do it again,” he repeats with a glimmer in his eye.

You meet his gaze with a coy, challenging stare as you switch the toy back on and press it to your clit again. Marcus has made you come undone in so many ways, but he’s never just watched like this as you do it yourself. You watch him watch you–lips parted, eyes burning coals and laser-focused on the sight before him. 

You don’t bother teasing yourself this time, rubbing your clit in the most efficient way to get you off quickly. You make it a point to be a little louder than you typically would be by yourself, not holding back any gasps or moans, purely for the purposes of giving Marcus a show. Before too long, you’re coming again with a violent arch of your spine, oversensitive after doing it twice in quick succession. You shoot Marcus a saucy, self-satisfied look, as if to say “How was that?”

“Again,” Marcus orders quietly. 

Again? You blink dumbly at your husband, but his expectant expression doesn’t change. You swallow thickly and press the little vibrator against yourself again with a hiss of oversensitivity. You’re still throbbing from the last one, and it’s hard to keep going. You give Marcus a little whine of frustration.

“Keep going,” Marcus murmurs. “I want to see it again. I want to see that pretty pussy shake.” His fingers swipe through the mess that’s starting to drip down your folds, threatening to stain the sheets.

You gasp at the soft touch; you’ve come twice, and this is the first time Marcus has even touched you. His hand stays there, index finger gently sliding up and down your folds in a barely-there caress. It shouldn’t be nearly enough, but against all odds, your hips start to lock into place as your third end approaches.

“I told you you were all worked up,” Marcus teases. “I’ve barely touched you, and look at yourself.” He brushes the hair back from your forehead and lets his fingers linger there, too–caressing your face lovingly as your chest heaves with exertion.

As Marcus’s thumb still strokes your cheekbone, he quietly orders, “Again.”

You immediately start shaking your head. “I can’t, I–” you sputter. “There’s no way.”

“Yes, you can,” Marcus counters. 

Your head thunks back against the headboard. “Tired,” you whine. “It’s too much.”

Marcus gently takes the vibrator from your hand. “If you’re tired,” he begins darkly, “then I’ll do it for you.”

You inhale sharply, looking up at your husband with your heart pounding in your throat. Yes, you secretly think to yourself. Yes, make me do it.

“Color?” Marcus asks, and suddenly you know how this is going to go. That’s what he asks you when he doesn’t plan on stopping. You can say anything–you can beg, plead, scream for him to stop, but he won’t. Not until the word red falls from your lips. 

“Green,” you whisper breathlessly. “Oh, my God, green.”

“Good,” Marcus responds, matching your volume. “Now,” he smirks, “I believe I told you to come again.”

Marcus kneels in front of you and switches the vibrator back on. He teases you at first, barely allowing it to touch your puffy, abused clit until you're squirming underneath him. 

"Greedy little thing," Marcus remarks with a playful smile. “I thought you said you were tired.”

You let out a choked laugh as he increases the pressure, circling around your little bud the way he knows you like. He builds you back up with just the vibrator, and you start to whine softly–you want his fingers inside you, want him to fill you up while he does this to you. 

You cant your hips up, trying to give Marcus the hint. If he understands, he’s choosing to ignore your silent plea. You do it again, lifting up, seeking his hands, but instead of filling you with his thick fingers, his hand lands on your abdomen and pushes you back down on the bed.

“Marcus, please,” you whine. “Your fingers.”

“Not this time,” Marcus admonishes. “If you’re good and come for me like this, I’ll give you my fingers for the next one.”

The next one. Fuck, how many is he going to make you have? The prospect of Marcus fucking you with anything makes you spiral higher until the coil snaps and you clench around nothing for the fourth time. 

Marcus’s tongue instinctively darts out to wet his lower lip as he watches your pussy throb. His eyes are intense and focused, loving the sight of you falling apart for him. Because of him. He switches off the toy and your eyes widen in surprise. Surely he’s not stopping already? But all Marcus does is shrug off his suit coat and loosen his tie. You watch–with the same amount of intensity that he just had while staring at your pussy–as he rolls up his shirtsleeves, exposing his thick forearms.

“Saucy,” you tease. “That’s like, literal porn, what you’re doing right now.”

Marcus laughs as he finishes his task. “They were going to get in the way of what I’m about to do,” he says with a wry grin. He sits back against the headboard with his legs splayed and pulls you into the space between them until you’re resting back on his chest. 

“What are you going to do?” you ask in mock-innocence.

“I promised you my fingers,” Marcus answers. “And you, sweetheart, are going to take everything I give you.”

You nod rapidly in agreement. 

And he begins.

Marcus’s fingers are long and thick inside you as he swirls the little vibrator around your clit again. His breath is hot in your ear, his voice gravelly and deep as he talks you through it, egging you on. When you fall apart again, he growls softly at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him. He doesn’t let up with the toy, keeping it against your clit until you’re bucking against him, trying to squirm away from the feeling of too much. It only causes Marcus’s arm to band more tightly around you, holding you firmly against him, giving you no escape. 

The constant buzz of the vibrator sends you into another orgasm, right after the last, and you sob pitifully as your arousal splashes out around Marcus’s fingers.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” Marcus groans. “Do that again.”

“C-Can’t–” you whimper. “It’s–it’s too much, Marcus, I–” you try to close your legs, giving yourself some relief, but Marcus hooks one leg over yours and pulls you apart.

“I don’t think so,” he tuts. “You were being so good for me, don’t start misbehaving now.”

You gasp at the new position, with your legs spread even wider for him. Your head drops back on his shoulder as you buck uselessly against him again. 

“Color?” Marcus asks softly in your ear.

Your response is automatic. “Green,” you say. “Green, I just–oh my God, Marcus.”

"Then be good for me," Marcus says, a smile coloring his words. He might be literally holding you down, but his voice is soft and gentle and full of affection for you. You know he only does this because he wants you to feel as good as possible. This was your idea, after all. One night, years ago, you had asked him if he would ever keep going even after you begged him to stop. 

"Is that what you want?" Marcus had asked, all wide eyes and earnestness. "You want me to keep going no matter what? No matter how many times you tell me it's too much?"

You had agreed readily, with enthusiasm. Yes. Destroy me until there's nothing left. You always did want to be consumed by him. 

And Marcus, in turn, was all too eager to consume. Once you had given him permission to take whatever he wanted, he didn't hold back. Had anyone ever told him he could have everything, before? Had anyone ever trusted him enough, wanted him enough, craved his touch so much that they wanted it even when it verged on the edge of what they could handle? 

You lose track of time as you're set adrift in Marcus's arms. You lose track of how many times you fall apart for him. As insatiable as you are for Marcus, he never seems to tire of bringing you pleasure. You tremble and shake for him until your clit is puffy and sore and the bed is a mess, but the word red never comes close to falling from your lips. 

Oh, you plead for him; whether it’s to stop or to keep going, you don’t know. It doesn’t make much of a difference, either way–it’s always met with soft, gentle encouragement in your ear, so at odds with the way Marcus has your legs trapped in a splayed position, forcing them open to make room for his fingers, which are reaching something so deep inside you that you think you might break apart. All too soon, you do. You break for him like the waves break against the rocks. You crash against him, all your molecules threatening to disperse but oh, Marcus is as strong and immovable as a cliff.

The little vibrator doesn’t move, even when your hand comes to uselessly try and bat it away. Marcus’s other hand halts your protest with fingers dripping in your arousal. 

“C’mon, you can take it,” he insists. “Take it all for me.”

“No–” you whimper pitifully. “Nonononono–”

“That’s not going to work,” Marcus reminds you. “You know what to say.” 

You whimper again and nod your understanding. 

You still don’t say it. 

“One more for me,” Marcus promises. “One more. Fuck, you’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? Do you know how many times you’ve come already?”

You give him a small shake of your head, and Marcus chuckles.

“Me neither,” he confesses softly into your skin. “Lost count around eight. But you’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you?”

Marcus presses the vibrator against you harder for emphasis, and you sob as you arch your back against him. “I can’t–”

“Yes you can,” Marcus interrupts. He plunges his fingers back inside you and you yelp, squirming in his lap, not sure if you want to get away from them or push them deeper inside you. His legs yank you wider in retaliation and his fingers press up against something devastating, fucking up into you with a ferocity you never would have guessed he would be capable of before you had gotten together. 

When the dam finally breaks, each tired throb of your pussy is nearly intolerable, each clench aching, your entire body spent. Marcus works you through it with murmurs of yes, yes, that’s it, so fucking perfect until the vibrator turns off and you finally slump boneless against him.

Marcus arms encircle you and his lips press against any bit of skin he can reach, over and over, as he whispers to you. 

“Shh, I know. I know, sweetheart. Fuck, I love you. You’re everything, you know that?” Marcus asks, his voice suddenly full of emotion. “I just want to give you everything. I want you to feel good, I–”

“You do,” you sigh tiredly in his ear. “Holy shit, you really do, Marcus.”

“Fuck, I’m aching,” Marcus groans. “Please, I need–”

“Show me,” you murmur. “Take what you need, I wanna see it–”

You find yourself being gently deposited on the pillows as Marcus hastily shucks his suit pants down and fists his own cock as he leans over you. Just as he’d said, it’s nearly purple and fucking dripping with precum, and he jerks himself furiously as you watch with wide eyes. 

“Look what you… fucking… do to me,” Marcus pants, and in no time at all, he’s spilling hot ropes of come on your belly and tits with a broken groan.

Marcus’s eyes soften as he comes down, raking over your spent form with a familiar fondness that only comes from years of knowing someone so intimately. You give him a soft, satisfied smile, reaching up with a still-trembling hand to palm his cheek, and he grins boyishly, showing his teeth.

“What time is it?” you ask suddenly, realizing that the daylight outside your bedroom window has turned golden and the shadows have lengthened.

Marcus checks his phone and presses his lips together in a guilty sort of amusement. “It’s after five,” he announces, and you laugh. 

“So much for our lunch break,” you remark. “It looks like we’re having it for dinner, instead.”

“So much for all that paperwork,” Marcus says, raising his eyebrows playfully. 

“Fuck the paperwork,” you laugh.

“It’s important,” Marcus says with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe you should stay home tomorrow, too.”

[8prcntmilk]

help fund my boyfriend's cat's cancer treatment

my partner's cat has a tumor in her ear. the treatments are expensive, so anything helps.

[squishyandferal]

An interaction that i just had with my partner

*gets an asthma attack* Hey a- *cough* are you L-*cough* *cough* *cough* (out of breath) are you lun*wheeze* *BIG COUGH* *cough* hey are you lung medication, cos i th-*wheeze* *starts laughing* i thin- *cough* *cough* *cough* *inhale* i think i need you *cough* *wheeze cough*

[lemonjelloarts]

lun-ink and splat-ana (splatana real?:!?:?:?) 🐙🦑

an old doodle I did of lunick as an inkling for a warmup months ago, and the octoling solana I did the other day to pair with it! 👍

they meet at grizzco and still have that “what! we’re work partners” vibe (and compete to get more eggs than each other…)

[janetbrown711]

Just a Moment Too Soon

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good”

Ao Lie has planned a very special day to spend with his beloved partner Sun Wukong and surely nothing with go awry. Especially not the burning sensation deep within his chest, that would be nonsense...

(Partly inspired by all of the stableboys art @dr-chalk posts so that's fun :P )

Ao3 Link

Ao Lie meditated peacefully in one of his family’s many, many palaces in peace– although this one was above sea level. There was a reason for that though, as he was expecting a visit from his dearest, dearest partner Sun Wukong. Just thinking about his visit made Ao Lie get a little more excited, ruining his meditation. Not that he minded of course; Wukong meant the world to him.

Slowly, the dragon prince rose to his feet, his knees trembling, but he persisted nonetheless, coming to a full stand all by himself– something that was only getting rarer and rarer these days.

Ao Lie shook his head. His dearest partner was going to visit today, he was not going to get washed up in his sorrows.

Not yet anyways…

Despite the prince’s attempts at composing himself, he still scratched at dry and itchy scales on his hands and arms as he paced the grand entrance– which was ridiculous because this was fine. It was a regular visit; Wukong would arrive and he’d get to talk about his wife and children excitedly and Wukong would talk about his ventures with Sha Wujing or Zhu Bajie or how his grand-monkeys were doing and they’d laugh and have tea and reminisce on old times and it’d be perfect and everything he dreamt of…

It would be perfect.

Another deep breath.

Ao Lie looked down at his hands, seeing how many scales he’d peeled off and sighing. Perhaps if he were in his dragon form this could be seen as him just preparing for a usual shed, but no. There was something much more sinister present and burning deep, deep, deep within his very core.

River denizens were never meant to hold fire.

Just then, there was a strong breeze that shook Ao Lie’s curtains and robes, making him laugh as he saw flashes of orange circle his palace. He raced to the window, seeing the orange flash circle the palace twice more before the creature landed on the railing of his balcony. He didn’t stay for long though, doing a backflip off before running up to the prince and embracing him tight.

“Ao Lie! It’s been too long! How’s the old place holding up? Any new nieces or nephews for me? How’s your uncle holding up? Still mad at me, right? Ah– it’s just so great to see you again,” Wukong hugged him tighter before stepping back with a big grin on his face as Ao Lie laughed.

“It’s good to see you too, Wukong, I’ve missed you,” Ao Lie chuckled, kissing the monkey’s forehead.

“R-right! Yes– it– yes, I’ve… missed you too,” Wukong blushed, which made the dragon laugh as he invited Wukong to a room with pillows and a tea tray set up for the two of them, along with assorted snacks for them to enjoy while they enjoyed the view of the gardens.

“So, how has Flower Fruit Mountain been holding up these last one hundred years?” The prince asked, pouring Wukong some tea he’d set out.

“Ah, the monkeys are doing great– lots of adventuring and trying to emulate their king, of course, but it’s also just a good time all around. The peaches have been especially ripe this century, you should really stop by to try them,” Wukong invited with a coy grin.

“Oh, you know I can’t do that, I’ve a family of rambunctious little dragons to care for,” The prince excused himself carefully.

“Oh. Right, yeah, of course– say, how many of them are there now?” Wukong ate a handful of melon seeds.

“Seven– almost eight,” Ao Lie chuckled, pouring tea for himself now. “There’s Jianwen, Zhengde, Feiyan, Zhi, Lun, Lihua, and Fuling.”

“Geez, I’m a little behind on presents aren’t I?” Wukong scratched the back of his neck.

Ao Lie chuckled. “It’s alright, I haven’t been the best at reaching out these past fifty years or so,” he shrugged as he set down the teapot.

“Hey, at least you’ve been doing better than I have since–... Sanzang,” Wukong scratched his neck.

Ao Lie winced. “You’ve been doing better though, right? After all, you actually came these last three times; you used to refuse my invitations at all until I could get Wujing and Bajie to agree to come over too.”

“Right– I have,” Wukong nodded. “Sorry, I– I still miss him sometimes.”

“We all do,” He offered his hand and the monkey took it, smiling softly, before his eyebrows pressed ever-so-slightly.

“Your… hands– is something wrong?” The monkey king looked up.

“Oh– it’s just been a particularly dry season you know; it’s hard on the skin and scales,” Ao Lie lied, taking his hand back.

“I hope it gets better soon,” Wukong finally took a sip of his tea.

“Thank you, Wukong,” He looked down at his own cup, frowning ever so slightly at his reflection before having a sip.

Relax.

“Sooo… that uncle of yours? He still mad at me or…?” Wukong decided to bring up, making the prince laugh.

“Why do you ask?” The prince chuckled, taking another sip.

“Well– call me crazy, but I was kind of missing some of my old clothes and was wondering if he had anything else similar laying around,” Wukong eyed a candied peach.

“‘Laying around?’” Ao Lie laughed. “Wukong, your clothes were one of a kind– hand sewn upon your arrival because Uncle Guang was so scared!”

“Soooo he still hates me?” Wukong put two and two together.

“I think perhaps he’s come around to the idea of you, but I have a feeling if you’d ever want to ‘pop in for a visit’ you’d need me to be there,” The prince chuckled.

“Bah, who needs that old geezer anyways?” He smirked, his tail twitching playfully.

“You know you could just pay him for the staff and clothes–”

“I don’t have the clothes anymore– why would I pay him for something I don't even own?” Wukong scoffed.

Ao Lie laughed. “You still stole them! And they were one of a kind!.”

“Ah, ‘stole’ is such a strong word, Li-Li,” Wukong shook his head and Ao Lie laughed more, having to set his cup down so he wouldn’t spill it everywhere.

“You’ve changed so much and not a bit, Wukong… it’s nice,” The prince smiled at him softly.

“Yeah, I try,” Wukong smiled too before they both looked out to the garden.

As Ao Lie watched the running water of the small stream, listening to the soft rustle of leaves from trees and other such greenery, and the splashing of koi, he felt something in his chest start to ache– to burn– but the feeling was unfortunately familiar. As carefully and quietly as he could, the prince took deep breaths to help soothe the pains.

“So I’ve told you about my family, what about yours? Oh– and what of the other pilgrims? I do wish I could invite them over more often,” The prince fiddled with the sleeves of his robe.

“Ah, well, the monkeys are doing well– generation… fifteen? Eighteen? I lost track, but either way they’re a great bunch– real adventurous, like I said before,” Wukong sat up a bit with a bit of excitement. “Some of the original adventurers returned too, and all of us swap stories and it’s– it’s just fun. And nice.”

Ao Lie tried to imagine it, and nodded with a smile. “What about Wujing and Bajie? Have you seen them at all?”

“Oh, Wujing visits a lot on his boat. I don’t know how on earth he always manages to traverse the Flaming Mountains but Wujing is Wujing,” Wukong eyed a candied peach again, which Ao Lie gestured for him to take so he popped one in his mouth. “He likes talking about his ventures and whatever heavenly parties he gets invited to that I keep ‘losing’ my invitations to,” the monkey joked about.

“Does heaven still not invite you to things?” Ao Lie asked.

“Ah, they invite me to some things, just not the Peach Festival or wine festivals, which–… yeah, fair,” Wukong laughed and grabbed another candy. “It’s basically like if I have a bad track record with a party, they won’t even pretend to invite me– though Wujing and Guanyin advocate for me on the regular, apparently.”

“That’s nice,” The dragon prince sipped his tea again. “What about Bajie?”

“Psh, that big sap,” Wukong smiled and shook his head. “He writes to me talking about his family sometimes– talks about his new wife a lot too and how she’s the most beautiful pig demon anyone could ever see– apparently he has an infant son, if I remember correctly from his last letter which was–… oh heavens, probably twenty years ago,” Wukong ran his fingers through his fur.

“Not so infant like anymore?” Ao Lie guessed.

“Probably? I’m not up to date on the whole ‘pig demon aging rates’ thing,” Wukong shrugged again. “Anyways, he writes, I sometimes write, it’s nice. We’re busy people though, so it’s… hard seeing each other.”

“He writes to me often about his family too– I had just been wondering if you'd had any luck seeing him in person,” Ao Lie confessed.

“Not since we last talked,” Wukong shrugged. “But hey– there’s always time, you know?”

Ao Lie winced, his chest pain growing, but he took a sip of tea so his guest wouldn’t notice.

Wukong sighed happily, his red eyes glowing softly in the daylight in the way Ao Lie had always admired, even when he was more than a little scared of him. It made him want to reach out, and to braid his fur into a bunch of tiny little braids while the monkey would laugh and wait for him to finish so he could do his hair and it’d be… nice.

But Ao Lie’s hands were weak. Even as he held his teacup, it trembled ever so slightly. He was also sweating like the dogs in the fields, but he was sure Wukong couldn’t tell through all the layers of silk he wore.

Wukong couldn’t notice. He was here to have a good time, a nice chat. He was not here to be reminded of a simple mistake from hundreds of years ago because that’s all that was, a mistake and a sacrifice, nothing more and nothing worse.

Wukong looked back at him and smiled. “You feeling alright?”

“Oh, Wukong, you know I’m always in the best of spirits whenever you visit,” He chuckled, scratching at his scales once again, which his partner noticed.

“I could talk to the weather gods about the dryness if you’d like– get them to get their act together for your sake,” Wukong offered, which just about made his heart melt.

“You’re a peach, Wukong,” The prince leaned and kissed his cheek. “But that isn’t necessary.”

Wukong frowned. “You’re more uncomfortable than you’re willing to tell me.”

Ao Lie blinked. “Is it a crime to not want to focus on such things with company over?” he forced a weak smile, but the burning increased with his anxiety.

“No, but you’re not supposed to be uncomfortable, unless you’re hurt– Are you? Did someone hurt you? Who? What was their name? What did they look like? I’ll find them for you, I swear–” Wukong reached for his staff but the prince quickly grabbed his arm.

“Nobody has hurt me, Wukong, I’m alright,” He mustered up the gentlest smile he could.

Wukong sighed. “I wasn’t going to kill them you know, I know better... if they’re mortal,” He mumbled.

Ao Lie stroked the monkey’s arm with his thumb. “It’s alright, Wukong, really, it is.”

Wukong frowned. “Are you sick? Some kind of–... dragon disease?”

“Moderate shedding is… to be expected around this time of year, especially when I’ve been away from the water for so long,” Ao Lie lied once more.

“Oh, why haven’t you been home?” Wukong asked, seeming to relax, which the prince was thankful for.

“Oh, you know those dusty old bureaucrats. My family don’t really fit in with them– especially the children who take after me,” He waved away.

“Look, I don’t like Ao Guang or Run or Qin or Shun as much as the next guy–”

“You just insulted my father,” The prince pointed out and Wukong’s face turned red.

“Right-! Yeah, no, Ao Run’s great! Love that guy!” Wukong quickly corrected and the prince chuckled. “Well– anyways as much as I dislike your uncles, I wouldn’t say it’s worth your health.”

“Maybe, but I’m not going while you’re here, I enjoy our talks too much to spoil it with all… that,��� He struggled keeping up excuses.

“Fair enough, bureaucracy is the worst,” Wukong smiled, grabbing more candied peaches and stretching out to eat them, which Ao Lie copied.

“You know, my cousin Ao Bing and I used to love terrorizing heaven every now and then– until the whole Nezha incident, of course,” He laughed weakly.

“Man, and they didn’t banish you over any terrorizing? That’s unfair,” Wukong shook his head.

“Well I did end up destroying my father’s pearl from the Jade Emperor, which almost got me killed until Guanyin intervened, and Ao Bing got his consequences when he killed Nezha’s friend and Nezha killed him back, so I’d say it’s a little fair,” Ao Lie pointed out, playing with his hair a little.

“Ah, Guanyin… I should really visit her more often,” Wukong laughed a little, rolling onto his side and began playing with the prince’s long white hair too.

“It’d be nice to visit her. Maybe she could tell me where my sister is and why she keeps forgetting to write back,” The prince joked.

“We could plan it! You said you should be free again in… twelve years, right?” Wukong got excited.

“A-ah, um– I don’t think I’ll be free then,” Ao Lie struck down.

“What about fifteen?” The monkey offered. Again, the prince shook his head.

“I’ll think about it, Wukong.”

“Why? I thought you adored your sister,” Wukong was getting suspicious again.

“Wukong, please– let’s just enjoy each other’s company… please?” He was forced to beg, which made the monkey’s face go from anger, to confusion, to a soft smile.

“Of course. I can understand how a family like yours is complicated,” Wukong apologized and calmed himself.

“It’s alright,” Ao Lie sighed and rested on his back, which made the heat rise in a way that was hard to ignore. “I just… I hate this busyness we carry, you know? Oftentimes I envy how well and long you lounge about on that mountain of yours.”

“It’s easier when you don’t have kids or a wife,” Wukong laid on his back too.

Ao Lie glanced at him. “Do you wish you had a wife or children?”

Wukong laughed. “A wife? You kidding me? With what we have, I’ll never need a wife.”

“Ah, I’ll have to tell my missus that,” He teased.

“Oh please, what we have is different, you know that,” Wukong went back to his side.

Ao Lie chuckled. “Maybe~”

“Oh, shut up! You are such a tease!” Wukong grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

“Hey! This is my palace!” The prince struggled to protect himself from the pillows but also wasn’t trying that hard– laughing way too much.

Wukong hit him three more times, but as he went for a fourth, he moved the pillow last second and kissed Ao Lie on the lips, which the prince quickly returned.

“If I’m a tease, you’re a scoundrel,” The prince cupped the monkey’s cheek with his hand.

“Alright whatever– as long as you admit you’re a tease,” Wukong kissed the prince’s cheek.

Ao Lie laughed as Wukong got off of him and stood before offering a hand to help the prince to his feet, which he accepted.

However, the second the dragon prince was on his own two feet, the burning in his chest went from mild to excruciating, and quickly he fell to his knees– his hand clutching his chest in a flash as he gasped in pain.

“What the– Lie, what’s wrong?!” Wukong’s eyes darted around the room (no doubt searching for an attacker).

“I– I don’t feel so good,” The prince confessed, sweat dripping down his forehead, as the burning feeling continued to grow and grow at rates it never dared to in the past.

“You’re hurting–! What happened–?! Who did this to you??? I’ll bring them to justice, I promise–”

“Wukong, no– I-I can’t– I won’t let you– ngh–” The prince grabbed his partner’s leg and leaned against it best he could.

“Holy– You’re burning up so much I can feel it through my clothes– we need to take you underwater, and fast–”

“NO!” The prince quickly objected as Wukong scooped him up.

“I don’t care if you protest, we’re going to fix this– you’re going to be okay, okay?” Wukong was defiant and didn’t meet his eye, though the prince could see tears threatening to fall.

“N-no, Wukong, th-they’ll imprison you, th-they’ll–” Ao Lie stopped himself, but Wukong picked up what he was implying.

“Li-Li, why would they imprison me? Is it because I’d be the one bringing you? I-if so, I can get Wujing or your wife or someone– I-I can fix this,” Wukong pleaded.

“W-Wukong, this isn’t your fault– please–” The prince gripped Wukong’s shirt with trembling hands.

“Your temperature is only rising, Lie, what the fuck is going on?” Wukong pleaded with him, but the prince looked away as he curled in agony.

With a frustrated huff, Wukong set the prince down on the pillows they’d used for fighting just a happy second ago, then vanished on his cloud before returning with a bag full of chunks of ice he pressed against the prince’s forehead, though it was useless as it began to melt in seconds.

“W-Wukong please, i-it’ll pass, I promise,” he tried forcing a smile again.

“You know what this is, don’t you?!” Wukong looked angry. “Why won’t you tell me what it is? Why won’t you let me fix this?!”

“B-because you don’t need to fix anything, qin qin,” He weakly lifted his arm to tuck Wukong’s fur back.

“Don’t ‘qin qin’ me, this is serious!” Wukong protested.

Ao Lie winced, every muscle in his body beginning to feel like a flaming, aching inferno as he sweated through all of his five layers of silk.

“I-it’s not your fault, Wukong, i-it’s just mine, okay?” He gave a weak smile as droplets of sweat began to roll nonstop down his forehead.

“What are you talking about?!” Wukong shouted. “What could possibly be my–”

The monkey king froze.

“Wukong… Wukong, please–” The prince whispered, desperately trying to grab his arm, but his partner stood and began to pace the room.

“I– It– No– You’re immortal– Th-that– A-and master– A-and– it was centuries ago– i-it can't–” The monkey king’s voice cracked as his tears were finally allowed to fall.

“Wukong, stay with me, please–!”

“How long has this been going on? Since we left the Mystic Mountain??? Have you been hiding this from me for– for centuries???” Wukong turned around, furious.

“W-Wukong, please– I-I’d never–”

“You won’t even give me the chance to help you– is it because I did this? Is this your– your punishment for me?!” Wukong could barely look at him.

“Wukong, I love you–” The prince reached up again.

“W-well you shouldn’t! This is all so– so fucked up– I-I–” The monkey sobbed, falling to his knees and covering his eyes with his hands.

“Wukong, it’s not your fault! I-I chose to jump in front of master, I-I took on the burden– ngh– willingly,” He managed to grab his hand, and Wukong held it up to his cheek.

“There wouldn’t have been anything to jump in front of if it weren’t for me, it’s my fault you’re suffering– that you’re–”

Wukong’s eyes widened.

“Y…you’re–... you’re dying, Li-Li,” he gave into his sobs once more, pressing the scorching hands even closer to him.

Ao Lie weakly stroked his partner’s cheek with his thumb. “I-I… I think so too… I dreamt of this for… for a long time, but… but never was it so… so sudden… I’m so sorry, qin qin…” he apologized and explained but Wukong wasn’t listening.

“I can’t be alone, Lie– I need you– I love you so, so, so much– I can’t– I can’t lose another person because of my stupid, stupid mistakes,” he shook his head furiously.

“We don’t have a choice, my love,” Ao Lie forced a weak smile, a chill shaking his whole body so Wukong brought him into his arms, making the prince sit half up so it was easier to see and embrace his lover. “I didn’t think it’d be tonight. I-I’ve known the flame’s presence for so long, but the pain– it only grew with time a-and this past decade it’s– it’s been almost unbearable,” Ao Lie laughed through tears that sizzled and turned to steam.

“I can imagine,” Wukong laughed and cried too.

“I didn’t want it to be like this, Qin-qin– I wanted to have a nice day with the person I love. I-I’m so sorry. it isn’t your fault,” Ao Lie grabbed the monkey’s robes tight.

“It should’ve been me– it was my fault– I don’t know why I didn’t even try– I–”

“You could’ve disrupted the spell entirely, and that poor, poor baby would’ve died, don’t be foolish, my love,” The prince pointed out.

“N-no– no, you know what? I’m going to get the others! I-I’m gonna get Nezha and DBK a-and Wujing and Bajie too– w-we can fix this together! You’ll be better in no time!” Wukong smiled at Ao Lie, who just shook his head weakly– the prince finally taking notice of the crimson flames that were starting to leak from his scales.

“Master is gone, Wukong, and I’m going to have to join him,” The prince hated saying it as much as Wukong hated to hear it.

“NO! I-I don’t care what you say– I’m not losing you too,” Wukong stood in protest once again.

“W-Wukong, I’m not mad, really– I forgive you,” The prince smiled, the arm grabbing his robe beginning to shake and tremble violently as a painfully numb feeling spread through his limbs as he noticed the flames growing bigger, and parts of himtransforming to ash.

Wukong fell back to his knees, sobbing as he held Ao Lie closer. “I-I love you, Lie– please don’t go,” He could barely get words out.

“W-Wukong, I need you to promise me– promise me you’ll forgive yourself?” Ao Lie urged, watching his feet start to disappear in terror.

Wukong shook his head. “I can’t… so please– stay so I don’t have to,” He tried wiping away some of Ao Lie’s sweat, but the heat was getting intense even for him.

“T-the fire– i-it won’t die with me– It’ll be passed down– Wukong– Wukong please protect them– my baby– th-they’ll carry the fourth ring– make sure no one knows, o-okay? Protect my kin, don’t let anything bad happen to them, okay?” Ao Lie attempted a second promise.

“Wh-what? A fourth–? There wasn’t supposed to be– oh Lie, I’m so sorry,” Wukong apologized again for the millionth time and held Ao Lie in a way that he could bury his head into his shoulder.

“I-it’s okay, Wukong, i-it’s okay, I forgive you, o-okay? So don’t hate yourself– it’s okay,” His voice cracked weakly.

Wukong sniffled, shaking his head a bit. “I… I can’t–”

“Wukong… I’m dying. I’m sorry, but I-I am,” He smiled weakly again. “I love you so much– but I’m going… promise me you’ll be okay, okay? And that you’ll take care, a-and– and you won’t forget me, okay?” The prince chuckled weakly, trying to lift his arm again, but his fingers were fading too.

“I could never forget you, Li-Li, y-you’re my everything,” it was Wukong’s turn to stroke his cheek, and the prince kissed his hand.

“I’m sorry it had to end like this, my love– but that’s– that’s just how it goes sometimes, isn’t it?” He let out a weak laugh as numbness spread through his legs.

“I-it’s okay– I f-forgive you too,” Wukong struggled repeating his words back to him, but the prince smiled.

“Good,” The dying dragon smiled and Wukong suddenly kissed him, which the prince quickly returned twice as passionately and desperately, feeling the numbness complete take over, despite his desperation to stay in that moment forever.

But he didn’t get a choice, and in a matter of moments Ao Lie, Third Son of the Dragon King of the West Sea, was dead and gone.

[marvelousmrm]

Power Man and Iron Fist #75 (Duffy/Gammill, Nov 1981). A shocking double issue! The bulletproof hero of Times Square discovers that his partner’s magical city of K’un Lun is founded on genocide. I’ve read the more recent Fraction run of Iron Fist and I feel like this lore must get retconned at some point?!

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 5]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warnings: temporary illness Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: Your relationship with Viktor progresses to a point that you might even call each other friends. Even though you spend a lot of your time arguing with each other. But there comes a time where you both need to be honest about how you’re feeling.

The weeks pass quickly now that you and Viktor are on better terms. 

Well…

You’re on speaking terms, at least.

The two of you still argue nearly every day, though there’s rarely any malice behind it. You’re different people, and you both have big ideas and different ways of doing things. It’s a little bit frustrating, to have something cut to clearly in your mind, only to have someone question every single aspect of it on paper.

You’re sure that Viktor is in the same frame of mind, and you’re sure that you irk him just as much as he does you, but…

You kind of enjoy butting heads with him.

Most of the time, you end up sassing each other until you have a new, better idea that you both can make sense of. You like how he challenges your way of thinking, and encourages you to think bigger and broader - you’ve never had that kind of experience with V.

Though as of late, it has been tiring to keep up with him. 

After you’d handed in your first project and received a grade, Viktor had taken the reins on your next assignment.

The two of you had gotten the highest mark in the entire class, and while you don’t really care if you were at the top of anything, he seems hellbent on maintaining that status.

You wouldn’t mind such a sentiment, had your partner actually learned something from the last assignment.

Simple and to the point, you’d told him, emphasizing how you didn’t need to go over the top in order to appease your professor.

But did he listen?

No.

The first sketches he’d shown you had been so detailed that it took you almost ten minutes to walk yourself through the entire thing and figure out the functions.

Admittedly, you do think that he’s tried to simplify the design. You can see in his notes where he’s crossed things out and removed bits and bobs from the final product - a lot hadn’t made his final cut. 

You wonder if he’s physically incapable of making anything easy, both for himself and for other people, because you’re sure as hell having a hard time with him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if not for the fact that your other classes had started gaining traction over the semester. As the lessons had begun to grow more and more complex, you found yourself having to take more and more notes - do more and more studying, stay up later and later each night - all while trying to keep up with Viktor and his impossible machines.

But you had promised him, all those weeks ago. You’d given him your word that you’d make whatever he wanted for this assignment, and you weren't about to go back on that. You’d just started getting into friend territory with him, and you’re not about to jeopardize that by speaking out.

You’d just have to deal with it,

—

On Wednesday, you wake up more exhausted than usual.

You’d only gone to bed at five thirty that morning, but you’re used to that by now. You’re used to the all encompassing drowsiness, staved off only by several cups of delicious coffee. You’re used to be cranky and sluggish, used to your eyes burning every time you blink, and your vision going fuzzy at random intervals throughout the day.

You’re used to it!

You’ve powered through it before, and you can do it again.

You weren’t about to let it get the best of you, or stop you from going to class and getting an education!

—

It gets worse on the way to your lessons.

The moment you start walking towards your first classroom of the day, your head begins to throb - behind your eyes and right through the middle of your skull. It’s nothing particularly bad at the moment, though - just a quiet knocking in your brain. As long as you made sure to eat lunch and have a large glass of water with it, you’d be fine.

You could hold on until then.

—

By your second class, you feel as if someone has shoved cotton puffs into your ears.

The world is muffled and subdued around you, yet at the same time, too violently bright against your eyes.

You trudge into the room as quiet as you possibly can, and will yourself to look normal as you take a seat beside your partner.

“Morning,” you softly bid him, and begin pulling out the books you’d need that day. Textbook for referencing, two notebooks for separate details, yesterday’s homework and everything you’d written down.

“Good morning,” Viktor replies, glancing towards you with a polite smile, not noticing how his expression falls slightly when he takes you in.

That was something that had improved between the two of you, as well. Though you argued to hell and back with each other, and could probably find a way to knock your heads together about any possible subject, you were…tentatively friendly.

You were cordial and warm, and even went so far as to ask each other about your respective days, when the interest arose.

“Are you alright?” he asks, tilting his head slightly as his gaze darts all over you - the puffiness around your eyes, the crease between your brows, your crooked posture and your inside-out blouse that you hadn’t yet noticed. “You look…off.”

But still, you smile back at him, trying your best to look cheerful and awake, even if everything in you was screaming the exact opposite.

“I’m fine,” you say, “but thanks. I had a hard time sleeping last night, is all. I might go to bed early tonight.”

Viktor doesn’t look entirely convinced, but whatever he’s about to say is swiftly interrupted by your professor striding into the room and immediately garnering the attention from the entire class.

With one last glance at you, he turns his attention away.

—

The rest of the class is a nightmare.

You struggle to pay attention to anything your professor says, all his words blending together into some kind of indecipherable verbal soup. You make as many notes as you’re able to, but your handwriting is sluggish and messy, and whenever you look at the blackboard, everything that’s laid out is blurry.

“Are you certain you’re doing well?” Viktor’s voice startles you from beside.

You whip your head around a little too quickly, the motion causing a wave of nausea to crest over you, but still you nod. Albeit unconvincingly.

“Really,” he continues, “We can reschedule tonight if you need to. You…look like you’re about to get sick.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him again, but you can feel your resolve waning. “I promise, I’m just tired. I’ve never coped well with a lack of sleep, so my whole system is off kilter. I’ll be fine once I rest.”

His brows pull together ever so slightly, and you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“I’ll be in the library at six, as we decided,” you say, and toss your bag over your shoulder to hurry out of the classroom.

—

You know, deep down, that you should have taken Viktor up on his offer to pick another time to meet. When you stumble into the library at quarter past six, it’s with great personal effort.

You know you look a mess, if you look even a fraction of what you feel. Your head pounds with every quick beat of your heart, and you drag your feet with each step. Your limbs are full of lead, you suppose, with how heavy and pulled down you are - you’re certain your legs are going to give out beneath you at any moment, and you’re going to crumble into a heap on the floor.

But you promised him.

Your partner had said he was busy all throughout the rest of the week - this was the only day either you had available to see each other and go over what you’d been working on. If you rescheduled, and you’d messed up on anything, you wouldn’t have enough time to fix it.

You can’t let his plans fail like that.

You won’t.

“Hi,” you squeak, when you find him tucked up at your usual spot in the back of the library. Surrounded by books and illuminated by the dim glow of an overhead lamp.

He turns to you as you all but collapse into your chair, and you can see as his pleasant demeanor slowly morphs into concern. You watch him from your peripheral as you unpack, watch him eye you up and down in utter disbelief.

“Y/N…” he trails off, and you already know what he’s going to say.

You don’t want to hear it.

“I’ve brought everything I’ve completed so far,” you tell him, setting several bits and bobs on the desk, “as well as what I’m currently working on. Hopefully it’s where we’re supposed to be at - and that it works.”

His gaze flits momentarily down to the parts that you’ve nudged in front of him, and for a moment you think you’ve gotten away with it - until his honey brown eyes pop back up to you.

“You wanted to assemble everything yourself, so I did all the components you needed this week,” you continue, hoping to distract him from your general state of dishevelment. “I was up until like fi- one in the morning, trying to get the springs into the shock coils! I have like three holes in my wall now from where they jumped out.” Tacking on a quick I’m fine! when his eyes widen in shock.

He turns the small contraptions over in his hands, running his fingers along the edges to test that everything is in place. He knows just by looking that you’ve done it correctly -all of it- but that is not where his worries lay.

“How much sleep have you been getting lately?” he asks you, trying to keep the brunt of his concern quiet. He knows how you are - how you have gotten defensive on a handful of occasions when you’ve been questioned like this.

You’re much too similar in that regard, he thinks.

“Like. I dunno, seven hours?” you reply, slouching back in your chair.

Viktor relaxes for a moment at the admission - maybe, he thinks, you had been telling the truth when you’d said you were just getting used to fewer hours.

“I got like nine hours last week,” you continue, regaling your truly horrific schedule without so much as batting an eye. “But! It’s not friday yet, so I still have a chance to catch up.”

Viktor leans towards you, catching you by the shoulders as you start to wobble sideways. You almost seem intoxicated, with the way you’re swaying back and forth, but he can’t smell an ouch of alcohol on you.

“You’re sleeping less than two hours a night?” he questions again, making sure you’re giving him the correct information.

Though, with how you’re acting, it’s not difficult to believe.

And for more than two weeks now?

“When else am I supposed to get everything done,” you laugh, though it’s dry and humorless. “I’m a slow learner, Vik. I take longer to study and retain information - it’s been like that my whole life. It’s fine, and I’ll get used to it.”

By then, though, your words do nothing to soothe his uncertainty.

He removes one of his hands from your shoulder, and reaches up to set the inside of his wrist on your forehead - sticky, trembling, and far too warm for his liking.

“You’re hot,” he sighs, steadying you as you once again dip to the left.

“That’s very forward,” you giggle, grinning at him with a dazed smile, “but thank you. You’re quite lovely yourself.”

“I didn’t mean-” he starts, the tips of his ears burning scarlet, “you’re pretty, yes, but I mean- temperature! Y/N, you have a fever.”

You hum quietly, your head falling to the side.

As if you’re not comprehending what he’s saying, as if you’re about to…

“I’m taking you back to your dorm,” he tells you sternly, earning the vaguest of your protests as he starts packing your things up. He’s not certain he’s going to be able to actually get you back to your room, but anything would be better than leaving you in the library to suffer.

But much to his anguish, you fight him on it.

Despite barely being coherent, you routinely unpack everything he slides into your bag, whining throughout. No matter how quickly he moves, you match him with unsolicited dexterity.

“Will you- stop that!” he hisses, pulling your bag away from you and setting your hands off the various project parts. “You’re sick-”

“So?” you grouse, reaching out to make your most childish grabby hands. “I can work through it jus’ fine.”

“We can meet up another time!” he argues. “Next week works just as well as-”

“But what if I do it wrong,” you huff, throwing yourself away from him to slouch back in your seat, arms crossed over your chest in an image of pure drunk petulance. “If I make the things bad, and we only see each other next week, we’re not gonna have enough time to fix it!”

All at once, Viktor’s will to argue with you dissipates.

Is that why you’d been working so hard? Pushing yourself past your limits, and then some - because you might fail?

“Y/N,” he says with a sigh, trying to think of how he can phrase himself to make you listen. Would you even listen, in such a state? Bleary and disoriented, and about ready to pitch over-

No. Actually pitching over.

“Y/N!” he calls, but his voice is far away, drowned out by the sound of your blood roiling in your veins.

The world fades to black.

—

Something tickles your nose.

A hair, perhaps, floating by on the soft current of your breathing.

Or maybe a bug.

What if it’s a bug?

In a blind panic, you bring your hand up to swipe the assailant away…but instead you unceremoniously slap yourself into the waking world.

You don’t recognize whatever room you’re in, so you lay there while you wait for your eyes to adjust. But even once everything comes into focus, you’re still…lost.

It’s notably more daytime than the last thing you remember, the sunlight from outside filtering in through a translucent white curtain that’s been pulled over the window. It casts a pleasant, sleepy glow all over the room, making it feel warm and inviting.

Where are you?

You don’t remember much, save for a few tidbits of your last day. You remembered feeling like complete ass when you’d woken up, and you remember feeling worse throughout the day. You remember skipping lunch because you felt nauseous, and you remember walking into your third class of the day. But beyond that…?

Nothing.

What happened?

You sit up in the bed you’re borrowing, pulling the fluffy blanket up around your shoulders, and give yourself a once over.

Your joints and muscles ache significantly less than they had before, and your vision seems to mostly be alright. You’re nowhere near as tired as you had been, though you can still feel a lingering downward pull.

The only thing that still seems to be in a state of upset is your head, though not as all-encompassing as earlier.

You debate going back to sleep for a little while, since you still have the urge. If someone were to find you awake, you might be evicted from such a comfy spot, and that would mean having to face the real world again - all your problems and stresses and anxieties. The things that had probably brought you there in the first place.

So you wiggle back down under the covers and get cozy.

But right before you close your eyes, a knock on the door.

Whoever it is clearly doesn’t expect you to answer, because said door immediately squeaks open wide enough to let a person in. Viktor, you realize, as you see his telltale mop of brown hair enter.

He doesn’t realize you’re awake - not right away. He quietly steps into the room and closes the door behind him to keep the sound out, still wearing his uniform. Though…you’re fairly certain he had been wearing a different button up when you’d last seen him. 

How long have you been out?

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, with his back turned to you. As soon as he has privacy, his shoulders fall, and he heaves a deep sigh - weighed down by whatever thoughts are running through his mind.

“You look tired,” you croak, corners of your mouth pulling into a smile when he freezes. “When was the last time you slept?

He turns to you with wide eyes, round and startled like some kind of frightened deer. Once, twice, thrice, his mouth opens, as if to speak to you - to say anything. But the silence permeates the room, and he seems unable to break it, opting to instead find a seat in the chair beside your bed.

He slouches -the worst posture you’ve ever seen on him- and he purposely avoids eye contact. He doesn’t entirely look away from you, though, his gaze catching on your chin, your hair, your neck, your shoulder.

Why won’t he look at you?

“Are you…feeling better?” he finally inquires.

You think for a moment.

“Mostly,” you tell him honestly. “Kinda feels like I took a sledgehammer to the skull, but…I’m better than before, I think.”

He nods, as if your words make sense to him. “I did not have enough warning to stop the impact, I’m afraid. No last damage done, but eh…perhaps a bruise.”

You stare at him for a few seconds.

And like he can read your mind and all the questions you have, he continues, “You passed out in the library, and knocked your head quite loudly on the way down. Your doctor would not tell me much about your condition, since we’re not related, but…”

And there comes the heaviness again, the guilt in his expression and the hard downward curve in his shoulders and spine - weighted by his own thoughts.

“Everything was likely brought on by a combination of viral illness, stress, and lack of sleep. Something I…have no doubt played a part in.”

“Viktor,” you begin, but he holds up a tired hand to shush you while he considers his words.

“I have not been considerate,” he murmurs. “I have been so deep in my own head, that I did not take into account your wellbeing until it was too late.”

“Vik, it’s not your job to take care of me-”

“But I have put you in a position where you feel you need to give up your health in order to accomplish my whims!” he contends, voice rising in volume by a fraction. “I could have simplified our project! I could have followed the guidelines you offered me! But did I? No. I bit off more than I could chew, and I made you take the brunt of it. Now you’ve paid the price for my actions.”

You pull yourself back up into a sitting position, tucking your legs up and letting your hands fall loose in your lap. “You’re right,” you tell him, watching as his expression falls further into sadness. “But you’re not the only one at fault here, okay? I had every chance to take a step back and tell you how I was being affected, and I didn’t. So you don’t get to take all the blame.”

Somewhat pacified by your words, he leans down onto the bed and crosses his arms, letting his chin rest comfortably on them.

“Why didn’t you say something, then?” he wonders, finally sparing a glance up at you.

You’re the one to freeze this time.

You don’t want to tell him why - not really.

Or do you?

Are you just reluctant? Are you scared he might judge you? Are you afraid of letting him in? Are you afraid he might see you at your barest, and decide you aren’t worth the trouble?

But what if he decides to stay? you wonder to yourself.

What if?

“It’s…it’s kind of a long story,” you begin, staring down at your hands. “But I guess I feel like I’m not good enough, a lot of the time. I have to work twice as hard just to get the same results as most of the class, and sometimes I feel like I’m running in circles.

You pick idly at your nails.

“You’re so smart, Viktor,” you tell him, “You have big ideas, and you know how to bring them to fruition. I didn’t want to complain and like…I dunno. Bring you down to my level. You shouldn’t have to lower yourself just because I can’t keep up.”

Quieter, “ Honestly I…I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of this. I want to learn, and I want to help people, but I….” 

You sniffle softly, and wipe at your eyes. “Sorry.”

He stares at you for what seems like an eternity, awe unspoken but palpable, while you try in vain to control your budding tears.

“Lower…myself…?” he utters, in pure disbelief.

Reaching out, he takes one of your hands and knits your fingers together. “ I am constantly having to prove myself - to our peers, to our teachers, to everyone, and you think…so highly of me?”

You peer at him with glossy eyes and wet cheeks, and offer him the tiniest of nods - nearly invisible, but he catches it. 

“ I have spectacularly misjudged you,” he despairs, “You’ve been kind to me, and patient, and you have worked yourself raw in order to make sure I was heard.”

“Viktor-”

“I’m sorry.”

And then, all at once, the niggling feeling that has been in the back of your mind for weeks bursts: blooms into dazzling colours of warmth and excitement - butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, so vivacious and lively that they float all the way up your throat.

And no matter how you try to digest them, they only persist harder.

“Like I said,” you squeak, swallowing hard, “Neither one of us is free from guilt. So…”

You glance down at where your hands are linked together.

“I’m willing to put it in the past, if you are?”

The smile he gives you is subtle - soft and contained and gentle.

And entirely dazzling.

“Deal.”

[may8chan]

The Sparring Partner - Ho Cheuk Tin 2022

[catinasink]

ok im feeling kinda sappy rn so im just gonna.

ughhh ollie. i could talk about them for hours tbh. i love her so much and he's always there for me and its just. god i love faer so much and <333 i just want to hug them and tell him its going to be okay, you know? like. god i love her. i just want to take away all of its pain and i just love xem so much and luns just always i <3333 i want to fucking murder his mother but im not gonna go into that- i just. aaaaaaa i love zer so much and <333 i just want to hug him and i want to kiss her and i want to cuddle them and i cant wait for when i can move in with it and i love luns voice and i want to i just <3333333 and buns so pretty btw i just <333 gay panic whenever i see him or whenever she talks to me tbh

aaaa crispy. i love it so much and i could ramble about it for long too. its voice is honestly so pretty?? and its so fucking <33 i love talking to it and i want to get rid of all its pain too and i just wanna hug it and give it a kiss on the forehead and shit and i want to cuddle it and i want to talk to them both for hours and i want to hug them both and i just i love it i love god i fucking love them both so much and its so silly and i love talking to it so much and i keep saying that but its true and i fucking aaaaaaa i love it <3333 i love talking to it i love interacting with it and its so pretty though and its voice is so pretty and its so funny and <3333333 god i love it so much

and umm miles. yeah hes just. ik we dont talk as much as i do with my other partners but i love talking to xem, yk? theyre so silly tbh and i think he and i should interact more :3 xes so funny and idk . yeah. him.

and god theres a couple more people i could rant about but this post is getting long and im so sorry this is probably kinda annoying so if you read this aaaaaa thank you-

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

uhmm asher he's so silly an I love talking to them :3

percy is so cool like kelp is definitely the cool mutual. love that for sea

nico !! rots so silly and also ghosts a fellow it/its user :3 I love xem

umm leo . gears neos are really cool :3 also flames name is really prettyyy and also they're really pretty so it matches

thalia :3 !! whoag he's like. really cool like honestly she's just awesome. so glad I became moots with spark :3

will is so silly i love him and their blog

piper !! I love doves pronouns like actually faer so cool for that. she's really fun to talk to too :3

octavian. octo's literally so cool for it's loser tboy swag like .trust

luke whoag he's so real for taking pjo chars names

jason literally deserves all the gender euphoria in the world chat give spark some euphoria mayhaps :3 they deserve it :3

astro !! moons so cool an this name of his suits them really well methinks :3

venus . planet names my beloved but also it my beloved yeahg she's super cool I love them an love talking to lun

mars :3 he's so silly i love it

apollo has that tboy swag though . an sols pjo autism is what draws all suns partners in trust /silly

icarus. this name of his is actually so cool chat like ?? they're so !!!!

umm caelus I wanna bring them to my silly date spots in my teapot :3 shes so cute I love him

helios whoag sol is so cool for taking like. three greek gods names I think? I'm not entirely sure but fndnsk yeah it's so cool for that

eros !! faer so cute an I love talking to it an xer literally so fun to talk to though I love talking to them and stalking his blog n shit

teal is so silly i love blue sm

corvus . crows literally so pretty :3 I love it an I hope this helps him

tyty mwah ily <3

[theyanderespecialist]

An Artists Obsession Yandere Jhin X Listner (League of Legends) (5/5 Lun... #Yandere #YandereJhin YandereLeagueOfLegends #YandereHeadcanons #YandereTraits #StoryTime #Headcanons #Traits #LeagueOfLegends #LeagueOfLegendsJhin #Jhin #JhinXListner #Listener #JhinXReader #reader 

Base Yandere Jhin: An Artists Obsession (League Of Legends)

[Hello My Sexy muffins and welcome back to the last update of the Chinese lunar new year 2023! This one is Jhin from League Of Legends, yes he is not any type of Asian but the fictional character is kind of based on a culture from Asia. So we are going with this. Anyways this is his base trait and maybe a scenario with him at the end. Yes this was a request, anyways please enjoy this update here all of my sexy muffins!] 

(Disclaimer: This character is not yandere in canon, this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all. Simping for fictional characters is fine, as long as your separate fiction from reality. Also, you do not be gross and or illegal about it, we are not that type of channel. Yanderes and serial killers are NOT GOOD PARTNERS TO HAVE! You should not want to be with a real-life serial killer. Again this is fiction and is just for fun not to be taken seriously. Simping for bad people in fiction is fine as long as you do not carry it over to real life. And again are not illegal or gross about it.) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Jhin from Leafue of Legends- 

.Jhin is a psychopath to his very core. 

.In his youth he had started out small but went bigger and bigger and it what lead him to end up caught. 

.He has a love for the arts and his kills are works of art. 

.Of beauty and gruesome pieces of art in murder. 

.In his art he is very theatrical! 

.Though that does not carry to his day-to-day life. 

.He can very much blend in the crowd and not stand out at all. 

.So this is how he met you, you were a street performer dancing barefoot and he caught site of you. 

.You were doing what you could to get by and he was enraptured by your beauty. 

.People who have gotten to know him called him weird and he was very much someone to get obsessed with things. 

.So with his feelings for you, it is no surprise that he ended up becoming obsessed with you. 

.He also loved to watch you move to the music your father would play in the streets. 

.He wanted to move with you and to make you his. 

.Of course, he shows his yandere side, by making songs for you, writing you beautiful love notes, and painting portraits of you. 

.He is obsessed and you are his muse in a way. 

.His paintings and songs and love notes will change over time. 

.From sweet nothings and just simply works of art. 

.To the declaration of desire, obsession, and love. 

.The paintings becoming lewder of you and him making passionate love, of you taking him, lost in pleasure as he claims you. (and will not go into more detail there) 

.He would also be stalking you very soon after meeting you, he needs to know everything he can about you. 

.Becoming hyper-fixated on you and need to know every detail about you like he is peeling back your skin and becoming one with you. 

.That is how much he needs to know you. 

.He may even become unstable and would like to court you by sending you, love notes, artwork of you, and the hearts of his rivals with a note that says they wanted to give you their heart, so I helped them do it. 

.Would make works of art from his kills dedicated to you announcing his love to you and the world. 

.He would deal with rivals by making them into art and sending their hearts to you. 

.That way you know he was the only one who could love you. 

.When he does confess you have a very deadly choice to make. 

.IF you accept his love he will embrace you and mark you as his. 

.If you turn him down his fragile state will snap and if he cannot have you NO ONE CAN! 

.He will of course make you an immortal work of art that he will cherish to his finally days. 

.So you better accept his love and you will be safe. Everyone around you tho? Yeah, you have to be selfish because otherwise, your life is at risk! 

@thepoweroffiction

[usaigi]

💕🏳️‍🌈 For the media hyperfixation asks!

YES THIS IS THE ONE I WANTED ILY TY

💕 tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

Mateo Murdock 🥺 He's cute, angsty, funny, a hot mess, witty, mommy and daddy issues and has the mental illness sparkle ✨ Something about a character so filled with rage and hurt and so dedicated to help others. Mhm martyrs.. He and Loki were my first MCU blorbos and while I still like Loki, he's lost his blorbo status in my heart. He's my number one.

🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you? (I got this one twice so I'm going to split up my response, here's the other half)

Heroes for Hire + contractors MK and Layla & Kingpin Felicia Hardy

Colleen - Her mom is Okinawan w/ connection to K'un-Lun/the mystical cities/Seven Capital Cities of Heaven and dad is born and raised in Hawaii with chinese, filipino, korean, japanese, white, hawaiian ancestry. Colleen being Okinawan and growing up in Hawaii exposed her to how indigenous people are treated like second class citizens on their own land and how outsiders/colonizers exploit the land and its resources and that why she's so protective of the K'un-Lun/mystical cities. Also she's a lesbian for Misty

Danny - Half white, half chinese. Some family and business partners and other rich people from Rand's side thought Danny's mom was a foreign gold digger but her family is China Rich™ British boarding school, met Wendell at fancy Ivy League etc. and still not "like them" So when Danny was born, he got exposed to a lot of racism and specifically Sinophobia/anti-Chinese comments all through childhood

And ADHD King 🏃 undiagnosed though, all his sifus thought he just liked to jump.

Claire - Afro-Latina (canon) Did I make this up or does Claire talk about experiencing a lot of anti-blackness growing up? Anyways, if that's canon, cool!(not that anti-blackness in the latine community is cool but for Netflix to acknowledge that's something afro-Latinos often experience) If not, it's canon now.

Matt - Mexican Matt etc etc. i know u know this by now but also trans masc Matt who thought he used to be a lesbian and is now a straight cis passing white passing guy despite being disabled poc and queer and the identity and religious meltdown he must have had when he went to college. Also I changed my mind, I do like BPD Matt

Jessica - wonder bread white but she's like self aware about it. She brings a store bought cake to the office potluck. She keeps her mouth closed when the others wash their chicken in the sink. PTSD is canon but I also think she has DPDR. Also Bi.

send me a ask about my media hyperfixation