“god, He’s Just So…ugh Fuck…you Know?” You Curse Through Gritted Teeth, Hands Held Before You

Ichigo Kurosaki — BLEACH Tybw ep40

no talking stage I pull u towards me by our red string of fate and then we kiss on the mouth

just as a general reminder

learn how to fact-check for yourself, cause soon enough, most online sources won't be reliable

blue lock objectively is insane and probably bad. but the thing about blue lock is that once you watch it youre like holy shit this is peak. its a disease.

other powerpoints ive made: chainsaw man, kagurabachi

Price: What’s your type Y/n.

Y/N: Traumatized men with fat tits that have breeding kinks.

Price: I mean your— you know what never mind.

Simon: *glares*

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

Being bi and watching Arcane is a fucking TREAT ITS A SNACK ITS EVERYTHING

Okay but sitting beside Viktor while he’s working, and he’s casually resting one hand flat on the counter as he ponders his next move. You’ve mostly just been listening to him for the past thirty minutes, nodding your head, and just…listening. Watching. Following the movement of his hands as he works. You do that a lot, but you try not to let yourself think about that. It’s for work, after all—you’re kind of supposed to be watching his hands.

You’re just…also supposed to be paying attention to why they’re doing what they’re doing, and instead, you’re just watching them because you really, really like his hands.

So it’s kind of a long thing coming when something inside you snaps away at your restraint. Maybe it’s the late night. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep from the night prior. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s lowered his voice and spent those last thirty minutes murmuring. You’re closer than Viktor normally gets with people, and you’re already trying really hard not to notice that. Then he has to go and start murmuring. It would’ve put you to sleep if it wasn’t so enthralling.

You’re staring at the small scars left in his hand while he fiddles over with his collection of wrenches. His fingers twitch. A scar catches the light. A bit of oil and ink stains are littered across his fingers and the back of his hand. His nails are a little dirty but surprisingly well-kept. And a slight indentation sits on his middle finger from where he was holding a section in place for minutes at a time while he went through and explained every important detail you should know.

Like an awful apprentice, you still aren’t listening. Not then. Not now, as he tilts his head and says something that just goes in one ear and out the other, the low tingling of the quiet sound of his voice remaining behind.

It’s when he shifts and his hand slides a little closer to you when suddenly you just…you get the urge to feel it. To feel him. You’ve seen him hold countless objects; seen him twist and balance and use tools and pencils and every thick and thin, heavy and light object under the sun. And each time, you feel your stomach flutter as those long fingers work deftly.

You can hear his excited smile in his voice as he aims to point something important out to you. But….

You just really need to know what his hand feels like.

In yours.

Right then.

And the sleep deprivation—which is what you’re officially blaming it on—gets to you. You just reach over and turn Viktor’s hand over.

The rough palm goes up, Viktor says your name all soft and confused, and then you’re a second behind in your head as you trail your fingers over his palm. You feel the thick skin, the scars, the callouses. And then your fingers intertwine with his.

That’s when it hits you. And you blink down as where Viktor’s hand hesitantly closes around yours, his fingers a light grasp. And…you’re holding his hand. For some insane reason, you just reached out and held his hand.

You flick your eyes up frantically, already starting to pull your hand away.

Until you see the pink.

It dusts his cheeks. The tops of his ears. A little down his neck. And he doesn’t look at you—those bright eyes half-lidded with a sudden sleepiness are on your hands. On yours. And his fingers twitch as he clears his throat and continues his sentence with a few stuttered words.

But after a few pauses and word choice adjustments, he’s back to talking about what he’s tinkering with.

His hand’s still in yours.

You scoot just a little closer under the guise of listening to him, of focusing. But when your heart’s a drum in your ears and you can feel the slight nervous warmth growing between your hands—and see just how well they fit together—it’s impossible to even pretend to remember what Viktor’s saying.

His cheeks and ears stay pink for the rest of your time in the lab.

And your hands only part when he needs his to show you something.

But when he’s done? It slots right back into place with yours.

And it stays like that until you part ways at the end of the night without a word said about it.

It happens again the next time you’re working together. And it continues even more frequently after that.

My sexy jesus boyfriend i love u forever #ArcaneAct2

Babe, listen

Your fic isn’t a flop, it’s a cult classic. Only the coolest freaks like it, don’t worry about it, it’s great.