#4934

[tippysattic]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Wynonna Judd CD.

[nosehair]

Day Four Thousand Nine Hundred Thirty-Four　4934日目

Sunny, 11.0 C Measured the length and poured water. Probably 1.1 cm long.

晴れ　11.0℃ 長さをはかり、水をやる。おそらく全長1.1cm。

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #4934:

When you get into a new fandom or ship and want to hold of on going into AO3 because you want to give time to "save up" stuff to read because you don't want to run out right away, finally checking it months later ready to spend your whole weekend doing nothing but binge reading fics and... it's empty. There's nothing. A one-shot drabble from 10 months ago, and one of those "massive crossovers a thousand different fandoms" fics. That's it.

[3416]

girl fuck the oilers...

[reouine]

someone be switch friend w me

[aspenmissing]

ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 4934 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ, ꜱɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ.

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

JAYCE

The sun had long dipped below the Piltover skyline when Jayce finally saw the door to the hospital swing open. His heart jumped to his throat as Y/N stepped out, her arm encased in a pristine white cast. She looked exhausted, though she offered him a small smile. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing to her side.

"Y/N," he breathed, his hands hovering near her as if unsure whether to touch her or not. His warm brown eyes were flooded with concern. "How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?"

"I'm fine, Jayce," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "It’s just a broken arm. I’ll live."

But that didn’t stop him from looking her over like she was made of glass. He took her good hand gently in his and began walking with her, his free hand instinctively moving to the small of her back to guide her. When they got home, he made her sit down immediately, fussing over pillows, blankets, and a glass of water she hadn’t asked for.

That night, when he finally sat beside her, he moved in to hug her but paused halfway, his arms hovering.

"Jayce," she teased lightly, though she couldn’t help the warmth in her tone. "You’re not going to break me."

"I just don’t want to hurt you," he murmured, closing the gap slowly and pressing a careful kiss to her forehead.

=

The weeks passed, and while Y/N grew used to her cast, Jayce never stopped treating her like she might shatter at the slightest touch. His constant doting was both endearing and exasperating, and Y/N found herself looking forward to the day her arm was healed if only to spare him the worry.

No matter what she tried to do, Jayce was always there, hovering, ready to take over before she even had the chance to begin. If she so much as reached for a glass of water, he was there to grab it for her.

"Jayce," she said one morning as she shuffled into the kitchen, her good hand brushing through her hair. "I think I can pour myself some juice."

But before she could even pick up the carton, Jayce swooped in, grabbing it with his usual efficiency and pouring it into a glass. He turned to her with a satisfied smile, holding the glass out like a peace offering.

"I’ve got it," he said cheerfully.

She groaned but accepted the juice, muttering under her breath, "I’m not useless."

Things only got worse when it came to her daily routines. One evening, as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror with her toothbrush in hand, Jayce appeared behind her, arms crossed.

"You shouldn’t be twisting your wrist like that," he said, his tone dripping with concern.

"Jayce," she replied, her tone flat, "I think I can manage brushing my teeth."

"Sure, but what if you accidentally put too much pressure on your arm?" He leaned forward, reaching for the toothbrush.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You are not brushing my teeth for me."

"Just let me help—"

"Jayce!"

He backed off, though he still watched her like a hawk until she finished, muttering something about how she was being "too stubborn for her own good."

The same scenario repeated itself with nearly everything else. When she tried to brush her hair, Jayce would gently take the brush from her hand, insisting, "I’ll do it for you. You shouldn’t strain yourself."

When it came to meals, he practically insisted on cutting up her food. One time, she tried to pick up a fork, only for him to gently but firmly take it from her hand.

"Jayce, I can feed myself," she protested, her voice tinged with exasperation.

"But it’s easier this way," he replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "Just let me take care of you."

"You mean ‘smother me,’" she muttered, though she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

By the end of the third week, Y/N was ready to scream—or laugh, depending on her mood. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Jayce’s care; it was just that his over-the-top devotion made her feel more helpless than her injury ever had.

Still, for all her frustration, there was no denying how much he loved her. Late at night, when he thought she was asleep, he’d press the softest kisses to her cast and whisper, "I’m so sorry this happened. I’ll take care of you, I promise."

And despite everything, Y/N couldn’t help but smile in those moments. As maddening as Jayce’s overprotectiveness was, his heart was always in the right place.

=

The day finally came. When the doctor removed her cast, Y/N sighed in relief as she flexed her fingers, revelling in the newfound freedom. Beside her, Jayce stood like an overbearing guardian, peppering the doctor with an endless stream of questions.

"How long until she’s fully healed? Is there anything she shouldn’t do? What about heavy lifting—can she—?"

The doctor smiled patiently. "She’ll need to be cautious for a while. The arm’s still regaining strength, so no overexertion or high-impact activities just yet."

Jayce nodded solemnly, taking every word to heart as if it were gospel.

=

Back home, the mood was lighter. Y/N was thrilled to have her arm back, stretching it gingerly and revelling in the small victories of brushing her own hair or pouring her own drink without interference. Still, Jayce couldn’t entirely suppress his protective instincts, hovering nearby like a nervous parent ready to jump in at the slightest sign of trouble.

That evening, the playful energy between them sparked into a full-blown argument when Jayce made a cheeky comment about Y/N’s cooking skills. Her response was swift—a cushion hurled directly at his chest.

"Oh, it’s on now," Jayce declared, his tone mock-serious as he lunged towards her with comically slow movements.

Y/N shrieked in laughter, dodging to the side, but he caught her waist, pulling her down onto the floor in a tangle of giggles. They wrestled half-heartedly, their laughter echoing through the room.

But then it happened.

As Jayce shifted his weight, his knee accidentally pressed against her recently healed arm. The sharp snap that followed was like a thunderclap in the room. Y/N’s laughter cut off with a pained gasp, her face twisting in agony as she clutched her arm.

Jayce froze, his eyes widening in horror. His face drained of all colour as he whispered, "Y/N?"

"Oh, no," Y/N groaned, her tone a mix of frustration and pain. "Jayce, I think you—"

"I broke it again," he finished, his voice cracking with panic. He scrambled off her, his hands flying to his head. "Oh, gods, I broke it again! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I—"

"Jayce," she hissed through gritted teeth, trying to sit up despite the searing pain. "Stop panicking and help me!"

Her sharp tone snapped him out of his spiral. He was at her side in an instant, carefully cradling her as he helped her to her feet, though his hands trembled with guilt.

"I can’t believe I did this," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I’m the worst. I’ll carry you to the hospital. Or, no, I’ll call someone—"

"Jayce," Y/N interrupted, her voice firm but soft. She reached up with her good hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "It’s fine. It was an accident. Let’s just get to the hospital before you spiral any further, alright?"

He nodded mutely, swallowing hard as he supported her out the door, his face a picture of guilt and worry.

=

By the time they reached the hospital, Jayce’s panic had given way to quiet determination. He sat by her side the entire time, holding her non hurt hand tightly and murmuring apologies under his breath as though the words could undo the damage.

When it was all over and they were finally heading home, Jayce couldn’t help but glance at her sheepishly. "You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Y/N chuckled despite the dull ache in her arm, her tone filled with teasing warmth. "Not a chance, big guy. But for now, maybe stick to hugs instead of play fights."

Jayce grinned, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "Deal," he said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked home. This time, he’d be careful. No more play fights—at least not until she declared herself ready.

VIKTOR

The shimmer of Piltover's golden hour streamed through the lab's wide windows, painting the room in hues of amber and gold. The soft hum of machinery mixed with the faint crackle of an experimental device on the far side of the room. Workbenches were laden with blueprints, half-assembled mechanisms, and jars filled with odd-looking components, all arranged in a chaos only Viktor could decipher.

At his desk, Viktor was hunched over a delicate contraption, his hands deftly twisting a screwdriver into place. His cane leaned against the table, but he occasionally reached out to tap it against the floor, the sound rhythmic and faintly metallic. It served as a subconscious metronome to his thoughts, a steady reminder of his focus.

Across the room, Y/N sat on a stool, her leg propped up on a haphazard stack of thick books, including a dusty tome on hextech theory. Her foot and leg were encased in pristine white bandages, stretching from her knee to her toes. A sleek crutch leaned against the workbench beside her, catching the light from the window as though mocking her injury.

“You know,” Viktor drawled without looking up from his work, his accent laced with wry amusement, “I did not think you’d try to match me in this way. I must admit, it’s flattering.”

Y/N raised a brow, reaching for a pencil from the cluttered table. She lobbed it at him with precision, and Viktor tilted his head just enough to let it sail past him. It clattered harmlessly to the floor, and he smirked, finally glancing at her.

“Flattering?” she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re lucky I can’t chase you down right now.”

“Lucky indeed,” Viktor replied, his tone thick with mock sincerity. “Though, I would have out-walked you anyway. My cane, you see, has years of experience. Your… crutch?” He motioned to it with a small flick of his fingers. “It’s still in training.”

Y/N let out a scoff, adjusting her position on the stool as she folded her arms. “Oh, we’re doing this, are we? For your information, I’ve already mastered the art of moving with this thing. Observe—grace in motion!”

She grabbed the crutch and pushed herself to her feet, balancing precariously as she exaggerated a swing of her body. She wobbled almost immediately, the crutch slipping slightly on the polished floor, forcing her to grip it tighter to avoid tumbling.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. A soft chuckle escaped him, low and smug. “Graceful indeed. Perhaps we should call it The Dancing Crutch.”

“Ha-ha,” Y/N deadpanned, planting the crutch back on the ground with a firm thud. “Alright, show-off. What makes your cane so much better, then?”

Viktor lifted his cane from its resting spot, twirling it lightly in his hand. “Ah, where to begin?” he mused, inspecting it with exaggerated reverence. “It is perfectly balanced, the weight distributed just so. It is an extension of myself—functional, elegant, and entirely superior.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N retorted, rolling her eyes. “Your cane squeaks when you walk too fast.”

His brow arched. “Squeaks, you say?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her grin widening. “And don’t act like you don’t know it. Every time you sneak up on me, it gives you away.”

“Ah, but that is my plan,” Viktor countered, leaning forward slightly, the mischievous glint in his amber eyes growing brighter. “The squeak is a distraction. By the time you hear it, it is already too late.”

Y/N snorted, unable to hold back her laughter. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, standing with deliberate slowness, testing his weight on the cane before stepping forward, “I am still better at this than you.” He moved to the centre of the room, spinning the cane deftly in his hand like a sword. Twirling it once more, he planted it firmly on the ground with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly as though he’d just performed for an audience.

“Precision and flair,” he declared, looking at her expectantly.

Y/N burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh, Viktor, that was brilliant. You’ve missed your calling as a circus performer.”

He gave a mock bow. “Your turn, of course. Let us see the power of The Dancing Crutch.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Y/N said, determination glinting in her eyes. She grabbed her crutch, rising carefully to her feet and grimacing slightly as she adjusted to the weight on her uninjured leg. She turned to Viktor with a mock bow. “Prepare to be amazed.”

She swung the crutch around with wild enthusiasm, attempting to mimic Viktor’s movements. Unfortunately, her lack of balance and unfamiliarity with her "weapon" quickly caught up to her. The crutch wobbled, tangling her up as she flailed to keep from falling. She nearly toppled over before Viktor darted forward—well, as quickly as he could—catching her by the arm and steadying her.

“Impressive,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “A technique I call The Flailing Crane.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t suppress her grin. “Alright, fine. You win this round. But I’m still faster than you, even with this thing.”

“Is that a challenge?” Viktor asked, his lips curving into a lopsided smirk.

“It’s a promise,” Y/N shot back, the same spark of mischief in her eyes that had lit their banter since the day she got her crutch.

=

It had been weeks since then, and now the crutch was gone—relegated to the corner of the lab, collecting dust alongside failed prototypes and forgotten tools. Y/N flexed her leg, testing the strength in it, the faintest twinge of discomfort reminding her of how far she’d come. She grinned at Viktor, planting her hands on her hips.

“Well, you’re in trouble now,” she said smugly. “No more crutch. No more excuses. I could outrun you without breaking a sweat.”

Viktor leaned against his cane, arching an unimpressed brow. “Ah, yes. Because speed has always been my greatest strength,” he said dryly.

“I’m serious!” Y/N laughed, rolling her shoulders like a runner preparing for a race. “You’d better keep that cane close, because you’re going to need it when I leave you in the dust.”

Viktor tilted his head, considering her for a moment. Then, the smirk returned, sharp and calculated. “If you are so confident, perhaps we should test this theory.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You want to race me? You’re on.”

He nodded, limping to the middle of the room with his cane tapping lightly against the floor. Y/N stretched her legs dramatically, shaking them out like she was preparing for a marathon. Viktor watched her antics with quiet amusement, adjusting his cane in his grip.

“Alright,” Y/N said, standing beside him and glancing towards the lab door, which would mark the finish line. “First one to the door wins. No excuses when I beat you, alright?”

“Of course,” Viktor replied, his voice smooth and innocent. Too innocent.

Y/N didn’t notice the subtle glint in his eye as they both readied themselves. She crouched slightly, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. Viktor shifted his grip on the cane, his posture deceptively casual.

“Ready?” Y/N asked.

“Always,” Viktor answered, and the moment the words left his mouth, he swung his cane sideways with a quick flick, the handle knocking into her ankle just hard enough to unbalance her.

“OW!” Y/N yelped, stumbling back and clutching her ankle. She shot Viktor a look of betrayal, her mouth agape. “Did you just—?”

But Viktor was already hobbling towards the door as fast as he could, a triumphant laugh escaping him. “Forgot to mention,” he called over his shoulder, “it doubles as a perfect weapon!”

“You cheater!” Y/N yelled, still holding her ankle as the sting faded. “I can’t believe you!”

Viktor glanced back with a lopsided grin, his pace unhurried but victorious. “You said no excuses. You never said no strategy.”

Y/N groaned, finally shaking off the lingering pain and starting after him, though the head start he’d gained was enough to keep her behind. “When I catch you, you’re going to regret that, Viktor!”

“Catch me first,” Viktor teased, his voice light with laughter as he reached the door and leaned against it, tapping his cane against the floor with a flourish.

By the time Y/N reached him, she was laughing despite herself, glaring at him with mock indignation. “You’re lucky I don’t have my crutch anymore, or I’d be using it on you.”

Viktor chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Ah, but that is why I struck first.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, his smirk softening as he straightened up, “you still cannot resist our games.”

Y/N huffed, shaking her head but smiling all the same. “Next time, no tricks.”

“Next time,” Viktor agreed, though the glint in his eye said otherwise.

Their laughter filled the lab once more, echoing off the walls as they walked back together, bickering and teasing all the while. And though Y/N silently vowed revenge, she couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed these little moments—moments where the weight of life felt a little lighter, shared with someone who made the world infinitely brighter.

JAYVIK

Y/N sighed, leaning heavily against the counter in the lab, her brow furrowed as she twisted a particularly stubborn component on the device Viktor had been fine-tuning all morning. Her frustration simmered just beneath the surface, every failed attempt to adjust the mechanism pushing her closer to snapping. Across the room, Jayce was humming some jaunty tune, his movements rhythmic as he tinkered with his own project. He seemed utterly oblivious to the quiet chaos brewing at her station. Viktor, however, stood nearby, his sharp golden eyes flitting between the blueprint and the device, his cane propped securely against the worktable.

“You’re twisting it wrong,” Viktor remarked casually, his voice tinged with that characteristic dry amusement.

Y/N groaned, throwing him an exasperated glance. “I’m not twisting it wrong!” she retorted, the irritation in her tone undercut by playful defiance.

“If you keep at it like that, you’ll break it,” Viktor warned, leaning slightly closer to observe her handiwork, his expression almost smug.

From his corner of the lab, Jayce chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. “Come on, Y/N. Viktor’s always right about this stuff. You know he’s been doing this since before you even stepped into a lab.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shooting a mock glare in Jayce’s direction. “Oh, please. I’m not going to break it. I’ve got this under control.”

She glanced back at the device, her grip tightening on the delicate mechanism. She wasn’t about to let either of them have the satisfaction of being right.

“Y/N,” Viktor began, a faint note of warning creeping into his tone, “you’re applying too much—”

CRACK!

The sound reverberated through the lab, sharp and unmistakable.

It wasn’t the device.

Pain exploded up Y/N’s arm, sharp and unrelenting. Her breath hitched, and for a split second, she froze, willing herself to stay calm despite the agony radiating from her wrist. Viktor’s eyes snapped to her, his expression shifting from bemusement to alarm, while Jayce immediately looked up from his work, a frown creasing his features.

“That... wasn’t the device,” Jayce said slowly, his brows knitting together in confusion. He set down his tools and took a step towards her, his gaze scanning her face.

“It’s fine!” Y/N blurted, panic rising in her chest as she quickly shoved her injured arm behind her back. She forced a tight-lipped smile, hoping they couldn’t see the faint sheen of sweat forming on her brow. “I just—uh—dropped something! No big deal!”

“Y/N,” Viktor said, his voice low and sceptical, “what did you—”

“Nope! Totally fine! Nothing to worry about!” Y/N interrupted, her words rushed as she started backing towards the door.

“Wait, what—” Jayce began, his confusion deepening as he took another step forward.

“Don’t worry about it! Be back soon!” Y/N called over her shoulder, practically sprinting out of the lab before either of them could protest.

==

Hours later, Y/N returned to the lab, her arm encased in a pristine white cast. The nurses at the clinic had been kind—almost too kind—and had taken it upon themselves to decorate her cast with bright doodles and cheerful messages like “Get well soon!” and “Stay out of trouble!” While the colourful scribbles added a bit of charm, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as she stepped into the lab, hoping her absence had gone unnoticed.

She was wrong.

The moment Y/N crossed the threshold, Viktor and Jayce’s heads snapped up in unison, their eyes locking onto her cast.

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Jayce’s face twisted into a mix of confusion and disbelief, while Viktor’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as he leaned on his cane.

“What the hell happened to your arm?” Jayce demanded, his voice sharp as he strode towards her, his large frame looming.

“Nothing!” Y/N said a bit too quickly, holding up her injured arm as if to dismiss their concern. “It’s just a minor mishap. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Viktor repeated, his tone flat and disbelieving as he limped closer, the soft tap of his cane punctuating each step. “Y/N, you are wearing a cast. How exactly is that ‘no big deal’?”

Jayce folded his arms across his chest, his stern expression doing little to mask the worry in his eyes. “You left here perfectly fine, and now you come back with that? What aren’t you telling us?”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing under their dual scrutiny. She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s nothing, really. I might’ve... twisted something earlier while working on that device.” She gestured vaguely towards the workstation, her voice trailing off.

“Twisted something?” Viktor echoed, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Y/N, that is not a twist. That is a fracture.”

Jayce’s eyes widened in realisation, his voice rising. “Wait—are you telling me you broke your arm working on that? And you didn’t think to tell us?!”

“I didn’t want to worry you!” Y/N shot back, her voice small and defensive.

“Not tell us?!” Viktor’s cane tapped the floor sharply as he gestured at her arm. “You left the lab injured without explanation! Do you know how reckless that is?”

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, his earlier frustration giving way to something softer and far more concerned. “Y/N, we’re your partners. We’re supposed to look out for each other.” His voice gentled further, the warmth in his tone almost disarming. “You’re not just our colleague—you’re family.”

Viktor’s gaze softened at Jayce’s words, and he nodded. “Exactly. Next time, do not hide these things. Let us help.”

Y/N hesitated, guilt twisting in her chest as she looked between the two of them. Their worry was genuine, their affection undeniable. Finally, she nodded, offering a small, sheepish smile. “Alright. I promise.”

“Good,” Jayce said, a mischievous grin breaking across his face. “Now, let me see that cast. I’m claiming the first signature spot!”

“No way,” Viktor interjected smoothly, already reaching for a pen on the nearest table. “I have far better handwriting.”

“Oh, please,” Jayce scoffed. “Your handwriting is completely illegible. Let me do it!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as the two of them immediately began bickering, their usual competitive nature coming through. She raised her arm slightly, giving them a glimpse of the colourful scribbles already covering the cast.

“Well, you’re both too late,” Y/N said with a grin. “The nurses beat you to it. They practically had a race to see who could sign it first.”

Jayce blinked in surprise, his hand faltering mid-air. “Wait, they signed it already?” he asked, eyes widening as he inspected the lively messages and doodles that covered the surface.

Viktor leaned in as well, his golden eyes scanning the signatures. “Well, I suppose we’ve been beaten to the punch,” he remarked dryly, though there was a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t blame them for getting in first.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling the warm, familiar weight of their presence. “Guess you’ll just have to wait your turn.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, giving Viktor a pointed look. “Alright, fine. I’ll let Viktor sign it next.”

Viktor shook his head with a smirk. “I’m not signing last. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Oh, come on,” Jayce protested, folding his arms. “Your handwriting looks like a scribbled mess. I’ll go next.”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor said firmly, giving Jayce a playful but stern look. “I’ll make it look presentable. You’re just going to make it worse.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head at the bickering. “Alright, alright. How about this—both of you sign it at the same time?”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, both sizing up the situation. After a brief moment of silent deliberation, they shrugged in unison, reluctantly agreeing to her suggestion.

“Fair enough,” Jayce said, handing Viktor the pen with a mischievous smirk. “But just so you know, I’m still going next.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

And so, despite their playful bickering, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of comfort wash over her. They were arguing over something as trivial as whose signature went where on her cast, but in this moment, it was clear how much they cared. She couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have such devoted, genuine people by her side.

=

A few weeks later, Y/N’s cast was finally removed. As the doctor carefully sawed through the plaster, Y/N’s thoughts wandered to the signed messages left behind by Viktor and Jayce. She couldn’t help but chuckle as the doctor handed her the cut cast.

“You know,” she said, “I’m pretty sure this cast must be worth a fortune by now. I mean, it’s got both of your signatures on it. It's practically priceless.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get any ideas, Y/N. I’m not buying it back.”

Viktor smirked from where he stood, tinkering with one of his machines. “Well, if we’re going to charge for it, we’d have to factor in the quality of our handwriting. Mine’s worth at least double.”

“Oh, please,” Jayce scoffed. “Your handwriting looks like a series of chaotic scribbles. No one’s paying top dollar for that.”

Y/N laughed, the weight in her chest lightening as she watched the two of them bicker. It felt good to be back, to be doing something familiar again.

=

The three of them got back to work, the familiar hum of the lab filling the air once more. Y/N had barely started picking up where she left off when she felt the familiar, irritating tightness in her wrist as she tried to twist a particularly stubborn piece into place. She applied more pressure, gritting her teeth as she tried to force it.

And then—CRACK!

The sound was unmistakable.

Viktor and Jayce both froze. For a brief moment, they exchanged a panicked look before their eyes snapped back to Y/N, expecting to see her wincing in pain or clutching her arm in distress. But instead, Y/N stood there with a wide grin, her arm outstretched, and her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Before either of them could speak, Y/N burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “You should have seen the look on your faces!” she exclaimed, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t break it again!”

Jayce blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What? Then what was that crack? Are you telling me you didn’t—”

Y/N held up her hand, still laughing. She reached into her mouth and pulled out two perfectly raw pasta strands, holding them up for both of them to see. “I just bit into some pasta,” she said between giggles, “and it snapped! You two looked like you were about to faint!”

Viktor, clearly relieved, let out a deep breath and shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, still trying to process what had just happened.

Jayce, on the other hand, was still staring at her in disbelief. “I swear, I’m going to need a second to recover from that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You seriously got us again.”

Y/N winked at him, still grinning ear to ear. “Just keeping you on your toes. Besides,” she added with a mischievous gleam in her eye, “I needed to remind you both that I’m still the one in charge around here.”

Jayce rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

As the three of them returned to work, the air was light, filled with the easy camaraderie of old friends. Y/N was just as capable and spirited as before, and as long as she kept them guessing, Viktor and Jayce were more than happy to keep her around—broken arm or not.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

ahhh i read all of your works they are so good. also may please request a "how can you still trust me after everything i've done" with an fem!reader with either 🩺 and/or "i've never met someone as infuriating as you and i can't stop thinking about you" with ⚔️? thank you so much! have a good day!

Hi @beachaddict48 ! Here's the second part of your request! I do hope you like this one! Thank you for asking!

Source for pic

Trust

Word Count: 4934

Tags: fem!reader; modern world AU; mafia; blood; threats; torture; slight angst;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Doflamingo thinks Law is betraying his trust, and what better way to make him confess than by torturing you?

Notes: Ooff, I feel like I need to really get to these requests, but everytime I start to write one I go: oh well, I'll keep this short, around 1k words, or so... IT'S NEVER SHORT! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, even though I'm so not happy with the ending...

|Masterlist|

“He's not going to give you what you want, Doflamingo. He's not a traitor, you're just wasting our time.”

You have only been in Donquixote Doflamingo's office once. That one time, you noted the opulence of such a room. The tidy desk, the vintage whisky bottles in the corner, some more expensive than a car, the sleek, glistening leather of the chairs. You also noticed that the room exuded something other than opulence: danger. You didn't quite know why, apart from the presence of the man who owned it, but the air was thick with it. 

But now you know. 

The ropes binding your wrists seem to get tighter by the second, your heart pounds against your chest in such an erratic way that you're almost positive the blond man can hear it. The leather chair has been replaced by a cold metal one, with plastic beneath its feet. At first, you didn't understand why he needed the plastic, but once he took out his knife, it all made sense. 

Doflamingo doesn't want to make a mess in his office. 

And it seems you're about to become one. 

“See, that's where you're wrong, princesa. In my book, the time spent setting out a trap to catch a rat is time well spent.”

Doflamingo caresses your cheek with long, cold fingers. His crimson eyes glint behind tinted glasses, and the mixture of the sweet scent of his cologne and the metallic tang of your blood makes your stomach churn with revulsion. 

“Law's not a rat.”

“We'll see about that.” He straightens, his lips curling into a thin smirk as he opens the door to his office to let his nephew in. “Come in, Law. I have a surprise.”

You stifle a gasp behind your teeth, your wrists twisting instinctively as you try to reach your boyfriend, to touch him. The effort only makes the rope’s bite harsher. The plastic beneath your bare feet sticks to them, the blood trickling down your leg, creating swirling patterns and tiny pools. 

Law's golden gaze falls on you, and you see it. His control silently slipping. It's something quite small, barely noticeable, but it's there. It's in the slight clenching of his jaw; it's in the way he opens and closes his hand; and it's definitely in the flicker of anger that flashes in his eyes as he directs his gaze back to his uncle. 

“What is the meaning of this? Why is she under questioning?” At least his voice still carries its edge and calm composure, though you, who know him like the back of your hand, can detect the barest trace of hate. 

“Oh, but she's not, Law. You are.” Doffy's chuckle is low and unnerving, his chest trembling slightly as he places his hand in the pocket of the trousers of his perfectly pressed pink suit. 

“I'm not following, Uncle.”

Law shifts, his gaze searching yours again, a shadow of pain darkens the gold, and you take a deep breath, trying to smile through your suffering as to reassure him. He's assessing your wounds, but Doflamingo was merely playing with you before: a slash on your leg, a shallow cut on your arm, a trickle of blood on your collarbone. Law takes it all in, his throat bobbing up and down as he tries to steady his own breathing. He needs to be strong for what's to come. 

“You see, Law, it has come to my attention that I am being betrayed. Someone is spilling my secrets to the police, and we can't have that, can we?” You focus on the glint of the knife tapping against Doflamingo's chin, using the rhythmic motion to try to steady your uneven breathing. 

It doesn't work. 

“I'm going to assume you’ve exhausted all other options before deciding that I should be the one under scrutiny and my girlfriend the one under torture?” He can't disguise it now, even though you know he's trying to stay controlled, you can hear the growl behind his words, the leashed anger, ready to snap. 

“Believe me, Law, I wish it weren’t like this.”

You know Doflamingo is a master deceiver, but the way he delivers his words almost makes you believe he actually regrets this. 

With a heavy sigh, the intimidating Donquixote steps closer to you, and each tap of his expensive shoes sounds like another nail in your coffin. 

“I trust you, Law.” You whisper. 

-*-

It was a freaking deluge. The rain was pouring nonstop, the light and blissful pitter-patter having turned into heavy, merciless drops in mere seconds. Your hands held your purse above your head, trying to shield some of the relentless rain away as you rushed to find shelter. 

You heard it before you felt it. The screeching tires, the wet sound of soaked concrete. And then blinding pain as you were hit before collapsing on the ground. 

Everything hurt, and you barely registered as the car drove away, its driver giving no thought to what might happen to you. 

You remember thinking this was how you would die. Having a lifetime of regrets and barely a handful of life achievements. 

This was how you'd go. 

“Hang in there, help is on the way.” His voice sounded distant, but it was so measured and gravelly that it managed to ground you enough for you to focus on his eyes. 

The most hauntingly beautiful eyes you've ever seen, an amber light in the darkness that enveloped you. 

“Am I going to die?” It wasn't fear that brought up the question, it was deep-seated regret. 

“Not on my watch.”

And he was right. He didn't let you die, he helped you before the ambulance arrived, disturbing the rain with its blinding lights and filling the night with its echoing sirens. 

But all you could hear was his voice, and all you could see were his eyes. 

-*-

The tip of the knife presses against the hollow of your throat, Doflamingo's fingers hovering over your pulse point, feeling how scared you are. 

Little does he know, you're not frightened for your life. 

It's Law's life that worries you. 

“Stop this, Doflamingo. I'm not the one you're looking for.” Law's voice trembles slightly, and you hope his uncle blames it on his anger rather than on him being on the verge of confessing. 

“Sadly, I don't believe that. And I also know how much you care about your little charity case here.”

Law bares his teeth as blood starts dripping from the small puncture wound on your neck. You lock eyes with him, silently pleading for him to be strong. 

“You do know what I do to traitors, don't you, Law? It doesn't even matter if they're family or not…”

Law's breath shudders as he closes his eyes, and you know he's reliving the worst moment of his life: the moment his other uncle, the man who raised him, who made him believe in love again, was murdered in cold blood right in front of him. 

And how that broke him. 

“You're unstable, Doffy. Deranged and delusional.”

Doflamingo removes the sharp tip from your skin, and you let out a deep breath. But then, his fingers grip your hair as he pulls and tilts your head back with enough force to draw tears, the knife now resting horizontally against your throat. 

Yet you don't release a single sound. 

“Ohhh, I'm so much more than that, Law!” His cackle is maniacal, and the grip on your hair tightens. “I'm insane! But I have a reputation to keep and a business to maintain. I will not tolerate traitors!” He says it with such rage that you can feel drops of spittle hitting you in the face, making you flinch. “Are you the traitor, nephew?”

“He's not.” You answer for him, too afraid he'll let his heart take over and confess just to save you. 

“Shut up!” Doffy growls and yanks on your hair, making you gasp as the knife digs into your neck, crimson droplets spilling out and marring your collarbone. “I'm not talking to you, princesa.”

Law takes a step towards you, and you can see how coiled-tight he is, every movement restrained and controlled. 

“Doflamingo…” There's danger in Law's voice. The type of danger that would make lesser men flinch in fear and hesitate. But not Donquixote Doflamingo. 

He revels in it. 

“Just say the words, Law. Either prove me wrong and make me proud, or prove me right and be the same disappointment my brother was.”

Tears gather in the corner of your eyes, your heart clenching at the pain Law must be feeling. You can't let him say anything. 

You can't let him die. 

“Law, I trust you!” There's not much more you can say. 

You hope it's enough. 

-*-

“I can never trust you again, Law! I thought we were becoming something. I thought you were the one. I just… I never expected you to have so many secrets.”

You had been dating Law for almost a year, had practically moved into his flat. You loved him, and though he had yet to confess the same to you, you knew he loved you back. He was a man who showed his love with actions rather than words. 

But these actions spoke louder than any words ever could. 

“Are you going to explain what this is?” The high pitch in your voice almost made you flinch, and you could see your own hand trembling as you pointed to a wad of money, a burner phone, and a gun. All things you had found hidden in the back of a cabinet while looking for treats for Law's dog, Bepo. 

Law lowered his gaze, looking defeated and ashamed, two things you would never associate with him. 

And it nearly broke you. 

“I don't have a good explanation.”

“How about the truth, then?” 

Law groaned as he took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing for you to do the same, only to be met with a huff and your arms crossing in defiance. 

“My uncle belongs to the mafia. Owns it, actually. All sorts of shady businesses you can imagine.” He chuckled darkly, a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And then some.”

“And you?” You couldn't believe what you already knew to be true. Law was a doctor, he saved lives. He couldn't be taking them as well. He couldn't be part of this. He couldn't. 

Your eyes fell back on the gun, on the phone, on the money… 

“I…”

He didn't seem able to say anything else. And you had heard enough. You would never be able to trust him again. 

-*-

“I trust you, Law.” You hope he understands. He can't say anything. Not even if Doflamingo kills you. Law needs to be strong. 

Law grinds his teeth, his eyes locked with yours, burning with fury and determination. You smile at him. He's so strong. 

“I am not the traitor you're looking for, Uncle, but maybe I can help you find them. When you release my girlfriend and stop hurting her.” He takes a step towards Doflamingo, and you see the way his hands flex, like he wants to grab the man and yank him away from you. 

Doflamingo pauses for a moment, his grip loosening slightly as he seems to be lost in thought.

“It's not enough.” He whispers as he finally lets go of your hair. 

Law releases a breath and you gasp for air. 

Then Doflamingo stabs the knife into your shoulder, the blade coming down in a deliberate, arching motion, puncturing your muscle with a sickening sound. The pain is blinding, like nothing else. It radiates down your arm in waves, turning everything too bright and seemingly far away. The wound’s shallow and the knife doesn't seem to have hit anything critical. It’s meant to taunt, not kill. 

You taste blood as you bite your tongue to keep from crying out. You won't give him the satisfaction but mostly, you don't want Law to lose control. 

“Fuck! Doflamingo, stop this nonsense immediately!” Law takes a step forward, determination setting his pace as fury takes hold of him, but Doffy simply uses his other hand to reach for the gun on his back and point it at Law. 

“You stop right there, Law.” Law grunts and halts. You take deep, ragged breaths as your eyes focus back on him, on his gaze, on his pursed lips, and on his clenched jaw. 

“I'm fine…” You stutter. The knife still stands on your shoulder and you're bracing yourself for another wave of blind-hot pain when Doflamingo decides to pull it. 

“You're brave, little girl.” Doffy seems annoyed. “Not. One. Scream.” He emphasizes each word with a slight twist of the knife, and you can't stop the tears. Frankly, it's a miracle you're holding back your screams. “Are you going to speak, Law?”

“I fucking told you all I had to tell you, already! I'm not the one you're looking for! Release her, fuck!”

“You're lying!” Doflamingo shouts, his nostrils flaring in anger as he pulls the knife away from your shoulder, and you finally let out a scream. 

Law calls your name frantically, an urgency in his gaze and you force your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine, Law. I'm fine.” You manage to sputter between deep breaths. 

“FUCK!” Law kicks the chair in front of him and it rolls twice before hitting the desk and stopping. He's clearly seeing you're not fine. “Let her go, now!” He takes another step forward and Doflamingo clocks the trigger of the gun, the barrel still pointing straight into Law's head. 

The shiver that assaults you doesn't come from the blood loss. The small whimper that leaves your lips doesn't come from the pain. The tears marring your cheeks aren't for yourself. 

And Doflamingo knows all of this. 

His laugh starts slowly. A low rumble behind your head that crescendos to a manic chuckle, then to an outright insane cackle. 

“Oh, this is precious. This is so good!” Law's hands clench into fists, and he sways unevenly, both wanting to lunge forward and stop your bleeding and forcing himself to stay still so he doesn't anger his uncle anymore. “I've been doing this all wrong.”

Then he steps away from you, sidestepping the plastic so he doesn't get blood on his expensive shoes. Your breath comes out in shallow gasps, each one making the pain in your shoulder travel through your arm in painful throbs.  

Yet you have no time to consider whether the blood you're losing will kill you, because Doflamingo places one arm above Law's shoulders, the gesture familiar and taunting as he smiles at you. 

“She's very brave.” He says, pointing at you casually with his gun. “And you're a tough nut to crack.” He tsks as he turns his head towards Law, one finger pushing against Law's temple. “I can torture her all night, and she'll barely scream. And you're wound up so tight, she could be on her deathbed, and you'd still be in control of your emotions.”

Law's gaze never leaves you, and you're sure he's watching as you wince every time you breathe, as your breaths grow shallower and shallower. 

“Now, what happens if you're the one being tortured, Law?” The barrel of the gun presses against Law's temple, and your breath hitches, your brows furrowing tightly as you trap a gasp. “You won't scream, I know that, but look at her. Look at your little princesa. I bet you don't even need to scream for her to spill all your secrets. Am I right, mi querida?”

You stay silent, lips pursed and eyes locked on Law. 

“I trust you with my life, Law.”

-*-

“Please, just hear what I have to say.”

“You have said enough, Law.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you tried to close the door to your flat. Law’s foot remained wedged between the door and the doorframe, and you pushed further, not caring if you hurt him or not. “Oh, no, wait. You haven’t said anything. You didn’t deny my accusations, which, in a way, was worse.”

You stopped trying to close the door on him, the gesture futile because he was stronger than you. Lacing your arms around your body as if to shield you from his lies, you took two steps back, expecting Law to burst inside your house. Yet all he did was pry the door open, his hands resting on the doorframe as he slumped his shoulders, his head falling forward in such a defeated way you struggled to keep your heart in check. 

“That’s why I’m here. I want to explain it all to you. But I need you to be ready to listen to me.”

“Have you killed people, Law?”

His sigh was soul-shattering, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn't know him, you didn’t know him at all!

“Can I come in?”

A ragged sob left your lips as you turned your back on him. “Fine.”

You didn’t turn to look at him, but you didn’t have to. The soft click of the door told you he had entered, but his presence always seemed to overwhelm everything else in the room. He hovered near you, yet he didn’t touch you or push your boundaries.

“I never killed anyone. But I never did anything to save them either. So, in a way, I’m an accomplice to those deaths.”

You could almost hear regret tinging his words. He sounded bitter, wounded, and grieved. But was he? 

“How many deaths?” His silence should tell you all you needed to know. “How many, Law?”

“Too many to keep track of.” 

You lost strength in your legs, your trembling hands finding purchase on the nearby table. No more trust, no more love. Could everything be over just like that? 

“Just… please, listen to what I have to say.”

You didn't answer him. But you didn’t stop him either. Instead you took a seat at the table, your head bowed down so as not to look into his hypnotizing amber eyes. 

He had already told you how his family died and how he was raised by his uncles. But he had never told you that his uncle Doflamingo had killed his own brother, Rosinante. You heard every word that Law decided to share with you, trying hard to keep your emotions at bay because you found it hard to hate the man you loved so much. Especially when he was baring his heart, his pain to you. 

He shared all about what his uncle did, the drugs he sold, the people he threatened, the high-profiled VIP’s he kept in his pockets, ready to be played like puppets on a string. Then he got into detail about what he did in the organization. And though he never killed anyone with his own hands, he had tortured and maimed enough to be haunted. 

“Why?” You asked, getting up and ready to throw him out of your house, out of your life for good. Even if you loved him with every fiber of your being. “Why are you still working for him when you know everything he does is evil?”

You watched as his throat bobbed up and down, his hands fidgeting with his phone: a burner phone.

Then his eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t look away. Not when pain was so evident in them, but that was not what held you trapped in his gaze. It was hope.

No… it was…

“Because I’m spilling all his secrets to the police. I’ve been gathering evidence against him since he killed Cora. I’m going to bring him down, destroy his empire, destroy his mafia, destroy him.”

It was revenge.

-*-

“Trust? Trust is such a wasted sentiment, cariño.” Doffy chuckles before leaning in and whispering into Law’s ear. “She trusts you, Nephew, but do you trust her? Because I don’t. What I trust is that she will spill every little secret she holds dear to her heart once I start hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t!” You cry, using your outburst to release some pent-up pain from your shoulder. 

“Wouldn't what? Hurt my own family?” Another maniacal laugh escapes his lips. “You don’t know me at all, princesa.”

Then, without warning, he points the gun at Law’s thigh and shoots.

It all happens too fast, yet somehow, it replays slowly before your very eyes. The sound of the shot still rings in your ears as Law doubles over in pain, his cry trapped between pursed lips and clenched teeth. The smell of blood mixed with gunpowder is intoxicating and dizzying. 

You can’t bear it.

“STOP!” You scream, thrashing against your restraints as Doflamingo kicks Law’s other leg, causing him to kneel on the floor with a dry thud. “Leave him alone, don’t hurt him, please!”

“Look at the mess you’ve made me cause.” Doflamingo seems disappointed as he looks at his pristine carpet, tainted with the blood of his family. “I love it when you beg, princesa, but that’s not what I want to hear. Spill your secrets.”

-*-

“I can’t do this. He’s going to find out. He suspects already, and if he so much as thinks I’m the one behind it…” Law’s hands cupped your face, his eyes weary as they searched yours. “I haven’t hidden you well enough. He knows you’re my weakness. He will come for you, and I can’t–”

“Law…” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the irregular drumming of his heart. “Oh, Law, you’re doing the right thing. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re so close! He won’t find out, don’t worry.”

Your lips found his, and he groaned, pulling you against him in a desperate embrace. “I can’t lose you, I can’t. I… God, I love you.”

You thought you had loved before, but the way your heart somersaulted, the way your breath hitched as you tried to breathe, was proof enough that you had never loved as deeply as you did Law. 

“And I love you, Law.” You held him close, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to brush away his feelings of fear and insecurity. “I trust you. You’re doing the right thing. I trust you, Law.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer to him. “How?” A low grunt escaped his lips and he nuzzled his face against your neck, inhaling your scent. “How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

You smiled against his chest, raising your arms to envelop his neck.

“You’re a good man, Law. I’ve known that since the day you saved me instead of leaving me to bleed in the middle of the street. I see it in the way you help people at the hospital, I see it in the way you want to bring justice for Cora. You’re kind, good, whole. I trust you with my life.”

-*-

“Are you going to talk, or should I shoot his other leg?”

Law grunts, ripping the fabric of his jacket to tie it around his thigh, stopping the blood but not the pain. 

“Maybe I’ll just skip to the head and get this over with. If I kill him and the treason stops, then I was right, if it doesn’t…” He shrugs. “Oops.”

“You’re sick!” You spit, your eyes searching Law’s. He shakes his head softly, a silent warning for you to remain silent, but you’re not strong enough. You know you’re not.

“Nobody fucks with my business!” Doffy shoves the barrel of the gun harshly against Law’s head, and you cry out again for him to stop. “And Law should know that better than anyone!”

-*-

“How much longer? Don’t they have enough proof already? What more do they need?” You paced the kitchen, back and forth, hands wringing against each other as your breathing came out in irregular gasps. 

“They say they’re almost ready. Almost.” Law typed away on his computer, his fingers detailing Doflamingo’s latest business. He was using a burner laptop, something that couldn’t be traced, and it was hiding in your flat.

“Almost is not soon enough! Doflamingo is breathing down your neck already. How long until he suspects something? I can’t… Law… what if he kills you?” Your voice broke, and you heard the chair scraping against the floor before Law’s strong arms wrapped around your body, trying to tether you and ground you back. To keep you from spiraling.

“Almost, love. We’ll be free. Soon. Trust me.”

-*-

“You have three seconds, doll.” Doflamingo’s voice sounds dangerous, unhinged, and maniacal. You sob, locking eyes with Law again and shaking your own head. You were never strong enough for this.

You will never be able to live without him.

No matter how selfish that may sound.

“One…” The barrel presses harder against Law’s head. “Two…”

“I love you.” Law whispers as you cry harder, your head falling forward and your shoulders wracking with heavy gasps, not even the pain radiating in your shoulder is strong enough to stop the tears.

“Three.” 

“It was me! It was me! It was always me, not Law! Don’t kill him, don’t! He didn’t know anything about it!”

It’s desperate. It's a hollow lie. But maybe he’ll buy it.

“You?”

“She’s lying! We don’t know anything about it!” Law rages, trying to move, but Doflamingo grips the scruff of his jacket, forcing him still as he steadies the gun against Law's head.

“Well, fuck me.” Doffy states. “Guess you’re going to have to die, then, princesa.”

“No! It’s not her!” Law thrashes and you whimper. 

“Is it you, then?” Doflamingo lowers his head, his lips hovering near Law’s ear. “After all I’ve done for you, after what I’ve taught you, after I’ve raised you? This is how you repay me?” You can't quite discern if what you perceive in Doflamingo's voice is disdain or disbelief. Either way he's upset. And he's taking it out on Law. 

“It’s not him!” You keep pleading, but neither of the men are paying attention to you now. “Doflamingo, listen to me. Leave Law alone!”

Law turns his face to the side, facing Doffy, the most unhinged and satisfied smirk spreading on his lips, even as sweat beads fall from his temple down his face. “It was always me, Uncle. I've wanted you behind bars ever since you killed Cora. I carried on the mission he started. I finished it.”

It’s clear Doflamingo was expecting that confession, but he still looks taken-aback. His smirk turns quickly into a scowl as he bares his teeth. 

“I hate you, Doflamingo. I loathe you with every fiber of my being. And you will rot in prison like the vermin you are.”

Doflamingo straightens up, his throat bobbing up and down as he fixes his glasses and suit. 

“Not before I kill you, dear Nephew.” He sighs heavily. “This was quite the disappointment. Go on, then, go meet my dear brother.” He raises his gun again, the barrel pointed directly at Law’s head and as he speaks, you know he’s addressing you, even though his eyes are locked with his uncle’s.

“I have no regrets. I would do it all over again.”

“Stop… stop… please… anyone… please…” You plead, your chest hurting, your vision blurring. You can’t lose him, you can’t. “Law…”

The bang is deafening. It reverberates around the space, clinging to the room like thick fog. You don’t have any more strength to cry, to shout or even to speak. So you close your eyes, tears dropping in an endless torrent.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

You just hope you’re next so you can meet Law in the afterlife.

…

……

………

“Open your eyes, love. Let me see your wounds, you’re bleeding too much.”

“Law?” It can’t be. “Law! What happened?” You look around the room, Doflamingo is sprawled on the floor, a bullet wound in his forehead, blood dripping in a very thin line and tainting his blond locks. 

“A sniper, I’d guess. The window’s shattered and I heard screaming outside. The police must be storming the place. They’ll find us soon. Keep still.”

But you can’t. You want to hold him, hug him, find out if he’s real. 

“Untie me, Law!” With a soft chuckle he presses his forehead against yours for a second before kissing the same spot and untying your wrists. You don’t mind the sharp stab of pain that travels through your arm or the swell in your chest as you hug Law tight against you.

“You did it, Law. He’s gone. He’s gone.” You manage to say between sobs and kisses.

“He should’ve spent the rest of his life in prison, but I’m not going to complain. You’re alive, love.”

“You’re alive.” You sigh, cupping his cheek in your bloody hands. “I knew my trust wasn’t misplaced. I love you.”

“I love you too.” And when you kiss it's like the world stops spinning, the commotion outside the room disappears and the pain ceases. All that exists, all that matters is Law. And the way he completes you. 

There was a time where you had a lifetime of regrets and yet you had barely lived. Now you have faced death and the inevitability of living a hollow life without the presence of your other half. You've found the person that makes everything worth it and you helped him in his quest for justice and righteousness.

You've lived. 

And you have no regrets left. Only trust.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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[fredericbrumby]

Les couleurs de la ville

Boulevard des Canuts II

Croix Rousse

69004

Lyon

4934

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

https://medias.tendanceouest.com/photos/galeries/423682/4934-tab.jpg

🥹🥹🥹

adorable 🥺

[szukamznajomego]

Hej wszystkim chciałby się ktoś może poznać popisać o wszystkim i o niczym, wyjść na spacer i pogadać przez telefon jestem bardzo otwarta na nowe znajomości/K21

4934.

[herprivateswe]

(Art.IWM ART 4934) a British soldier leads a horse out of a train carriage, down a wooden gangway. Other soldiers stand near a group of horses, already taken off the train, to the left. An officer stands in the right foreground looking at a list.

[case-of-traxits]

50 Random Character Asks:

Tseng, 1 - 50

You know you had this coming.

50 Random Character Asks: Tseng Edition

I can't even pretend to be surprised here, can I? Well, I got your second ask with your choices as well, so they're in here. 💖

50 questions. Whew. I'll give you guys a sampler on the first one, but the rest are going to be under a cut. This took me SO LONG to do. I've literally been working on it since the 17th! All together, there's 4934 words in this bad boy, excluding the questions.

So uh. Enjoy nearly 5k of meta about Tseng. XD

That said, please keep in mind that all of my answers are specific to how I personally write Tseng. I'm not going to necessarily distinguish every piece of canon from headcanon.

[For this ask game!] || [Still accepting]

1. Canon I outright reject

That Tseng knew Zack was being kept in Nibelheim. For me, it just doesn't work with the rest of Tseng's arc regarding Zack and Aerith and him keeping all of those letters. So. No. Technically, in BC, Tseng is aware that Zack and Cloud are both alive and badly injured, and Hojo orders for him to "prepare the mansion," but never actually says what he's going to be doing there. Tseng sends the Player Turk to clear it out, and then Veld shows up and sends all of the Turks to work on handling the townspeople and everything instead of the mansion. So it's entirely possible that Tseng never knew, according to BC, that Zack and Cloud were placed in those tubes in the basement.

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

Tseng is absolutely capable of slapping Aerith.  I realize that they took that out of the Remake, but I just feel like it's critical for his character for you to know that he is absolutely capable of that level of violence, even against someone he cares about.

3. Obscure headcanon

Tseng is the third (and youngest) son of Kisaragi Godo's older brother, who was emperor during the Wutaian War.  He was brought up in one of the Leviathan Temples to keep him as an effective (and safe) spare to the throne before he defected to Shinra. His forehead marking is a holdover from his time in the Temple, and he'll never admit to a single soul that sometimes, he feels the guiding hand of destiny (or fate or whatever you want to call it) in his life.

4. Favorite line

"It must have been a real thrill for you… Did you enjoy it?" I think this is everyone's favorite canon line.  With the possible exception of the "Mr. President," line from the Remake. That one's pretty damn good, but it requires actual explanation, doesn't it? XD I will say, he also has the canon line of, "I put everyone else at risk because I feared feeling guilty," in BC.  Which is... telling.

5. Best personality trait

Tseng's loyalty is easily his best personality trait, in my opinion.  We see a lot of it in BC, with his dedication to trying to help and save both Veld and the department, as well as in CC, with his devotion to getting those letters to Zack.

6. Worst personality trait

Tseng's devotion to doing things "correctly" is definitely his worst personality trait.  I am firmly of the opinion that this is the thing that's held him back on just killing the President and installing Rufus early. I mean, I have no doubt that there is technically more to it, including the fact that we have no idea what kind of succession clause might have been put in place for Rufus to inherit.

7. Age/height/weight headcanon

Age // Born in 1975, so he is 8 years older than Rufus and Reno, 2 years older than Sephiroth, and 3 years younger than Reeve. Height // I usually go with 5'8", but I'm a little flexible on this. I'll go up to 5'10".  He cannot, however, be taller than Rufus for me. Weight // Eh, I don't really do weight HCs.

8. Unpopular opinion about them

Hm... Do I have an unpopular opinion about Tseng..?  I don't know that I interact with enough Tseng fans to know.  Maybe my insistence on him being fairly easy-going when he isn't at work?  I see Tseng as the sort who can go with the flow to some extent, mostly because I don't think he'd work as well with Reno if he wasn't.

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

Oh man, honestly?  This might be my unpopular opinion, but his "death" scene in the OG.  With Sephiroth.  And no, not just because of my ship goggles. But there's just so much implied trust there, at a point where Tseng probably shouldn't trust Sephiroth.  He just... He talks to Sephiroth like he's still sane, and Sephiroth cuts him down during it, and then he still drags himself back through the entire Temple of the Ancients to get to the entrance so that he can let AVALANCHE in.

10. Best moment on screen (or in the book)

 See above.  I just... I love that scene.  It's easily his best scene.

11. Faceclaim for the role

Satoh Takeru.

12. Crack headcanon

So, I don't think I have a straight "crack" headcanon for Tseng.  I do have some crack-treated-seriously headcanons, including that he doesn't heal well magically (explaining why he spends so much more time in bandages and recovery than basically everyone else), and that if he's not friends with Reeve or in a romantic relationship with a partner who insists otherwise, he would live entirely on takeout. Tseng does not cook, in my opinion.  He's perfectly capable, but why?  He's spent years curating an extensive collection of takeout menus he considers acceptable food, and he eats exclusively from restaurants that have passed his very exacting standards. Ooh! And this: Tseng drives a small black sportscar at possibly dangerous speeds in Midgar.  It also has no plates, but there's not a cop in Midgar stupid enough to try to ticket it.

13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

Possibly trusting Sephiroth when he ran into him at the Temple of the Ancients, but honestly, there was probably no way he was walking out of that anyway, right?  So excluding that... Probably, the actual 'dumbest' thing he canonically does is in BC, when he chooses to rescue a single lone reactor guard instead of destroying a ship full of weapons that Shinra can't afford to let get out.  That's definitely treated as his dumbest choice by the canon.

14. Most heroic moment

When he literally, while dying, drags himself through the Temple to make sure Aerith gets the keystone.

15. Worst thing they’ve ever done

I mean. He canonically murders people for his paycheck.  So probably that? Unless you're more offended by the 'abandoning his country' backstory, of course.

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

He will always wonder if he could have made a difference for Wutai if he'd fought for them instead of going to Midgar. Not that he regrets leaving.  He is fairly sure that he was always meant to be at Rufus' side.  But there's always that small, lingering thought.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

I actually have an old fanmix that more or less I still use. That said, you can also add "Secret (Pretty Little Liars: The Perfectionists Theme)," covered by Denmark + Winter.

18. What they’d go to see a therapist about

I am going to read this is what he should see a therapist about because I'm pretty sure if he had to go see one, he would spend the entire session silent, watching the therapist and making them horribly uncomfortable. (Unless it's Angel, but she's one of @ladykf-writes' OCs that I gleefully borrow whenever I can.  She's a counselor specifically for Turks, and Tseng knows better than to try to argue with her.) Honestly though.  If Tseng were up to date on mental health, I think he'd need to see a therapist about his inability to be settled with anything less than perfection from himself.  And, you know, probably talk to them about the killing people thing.

19. Vices/bad habits

Tseng smokes.  It wasn't a habit he was in before Midgar, but while he was being 'debriefed,' he discovered that asking for a cigarette meant he got to go outside and see the sky and breathe the (admittedly not great) air.  However, due to him not healing super well magically and needing to actually recover naturally, he did eventually notice a cough and slight shortness of breath that he couldn't shake. So he tries not to smoke as much anymore.  Still, he does keep a pack of his clove cigarettes on him at all times.

20. Scars

Oh plenty. All the Turks have them, and Tseng has a few more than most given his difficulties in healing.

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

Alcoholic // Junami sake, served warm.  He has a few brands that he likes, most of which need to be imported from Wutai. Non-alcoholic // Caramel Macchiato with extra caramel and extra whip.  Not that he'd let anyone catch him ordering it.  He has a single barista that he goes to in the coffee shop in the Tower (her name is Peony), and she knows better than to call his order out.  Tseng's sweet tooth is something he keeps very much under wraps.

22. Best physical feature

I mean. How do you pick? He's gorgeous. Maybe his hair, but I have a weakness for beautiful hair.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

Vetiver. But that's probably just because I HC his cologne as having notes of vetiver in it.

24. Most annoying habit

According to Reeve, it's Tseng's uncanny way of reading you.  There's nothing more frustrating to him than Tseng's little, "And is that all?" sort of question because he knows that Tseng means, 'I know there's something else and here's your opportunity to tell me what it is before I go digging.'

25. 3 things they’d want to take with them if they were dropped off in the middle of nowhere

Assuming he is not allowed to bring his phone, and assuming that a backpack full of his usual supplies (he has one in his apartment, one in his car, and one in his office; he finds it unlikely he'd be caught somewhere without it) doesn't count as a single item, and assuming that he's not stripped of his usual clothes/gear when he's dropped off... 1 // A survival radio with a rechargeable battery. 2 // A waterproof map. 3 // A first aid kit. Really, he'd probably be fine even if dropped off with absolutely nothing, but trust me, he would not be happy about it.

26. What they would do if stuck in an elevator with [Lazard]

At first, there would be a long stretch of silence as they both studied the number display and then the elevator panel itself.  Lazard would be the first one to move, leaning forward to punch a few of the buttons, but once it was clear that the elevator was not moving, Tseng would sigh and tip his head back and study the ceiling. He's cataloging everything he needs to do, wondering briefly what he can hand off, what he could text some of the others about to ensure it's done in time.  Then he looks over at Lazard, who is sighing and pushing his hand through his hair. There's another few moments of silence before Lazard pushes the emergency call button, and after they're both reassured by the voice on the other end that maintenance is aware of the issue and working to restore functionality, Tseng slides down to sit.  Lazard looks over at him, then sighs and takes that as an invitation to do the same. "Do you think it's inappropriate to text Reeve?" And Tseng looks up at Lazard, a small, knowing smile on his lips.  "That depends," he murmurs.  "Do you actually want to get to that meeting?" Lazard chuckles, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose slightly, and he looks back down at his phone.  After a moment, he lays it face down on his leg and tips his head back against the glass wall of the elevator, and he looks out over the city on display behind Tseng. Tseng notices he doesn't start texting. The silence is comfortable.  Companionable.  Neither of them have any stake in impressing one another, and there's no need to fill the silence with talking only for the sake of talking. Tseng supposes that they're lucky that it isn't winter.  Else they would have to sit much, much closer. A glance over at Lazard, who has taken off his glasses briefly to rub one of his eyes, and a little smile touches Tseng's lips. Not, he decides after a minute, that it would be a bad thing, necessarily.

27. Their guilty pleasure

Tseng loves sweets.  Basically all kinds, but he does have a particular weakness for good chocolate and good caramel.  His secret indulgence that he'll never admit to anyone who knows him is that sometimes, during the winter, he'll order a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and get a caramel drizzle on it from the coffee shop in the Tower. But only if his usual barista (Peony) is working.  Since she already knows his coffee order is something equally ridiculously sweet, he finds that to be less humiliating than adding someone else in on the loop.

28. How they feel about [Reeve]

Complicated.  On the one hand, Tseng and Reeve are always, always good friends when I write.  One of Tseng's first long, solo missions with the Turks (and I really should rewrite that fic with my current Tseng's backstory and clean up the prose a little) was to function as Reeve's escort on a reactor tour.  That's a minimum of two weeks if they're taking advantage of helicopters periodically, more often three full weeks of travel when Reeve drives the whole thing.  And of course, the driving is definitely Reeve's preference.  Reactor tours are practically the only vacation he takes. But there's no way you don't spend three weeks on a cross-planet roadtrip and don't end up very close to the person you spent all that time with in the car (unless, of course, it's terrible and you just want to murder them).  But at the same time, there are secrets between them that they both know they can't know about one another.  Reeve can't know all the gory details about Tseng's life as a Turk, and Tseng can't know about Reeve's... let's call it his uncanny knack with the reactors. Now, do I ship them? Honestly, yes, sometimes.  I mean, I usually pair off Tseng with Sephiroth and Reeve with either Lazard (if I want canon to happen for something later) or Genesis (if I'm wanting a fix-it), but I can absolutely ship Tseng with Reeve.  Honestly though, that's kind of an unfair question.  I can ship Tseng and Reeve with nearly anyone.

29. Eating habits

 If it weren't for Reeve's insistence on a weekly meal with him and Reeve's occasional order of groceries simply arriving at Tseng's apartment unannounced (he only really sends dry goods these days; produce and dairy get delivered by Reeve himself when Tseng invites him over), Tseng would live exclusively on takeout. Expensive takeout. But takeout nonetheless.

30. Sleeping habits

Tseng slept in a Midgardian style bed for about a week while he was in debriefing after he defected, but eventually, he took all of his blankets and everything and just started sleeping on the floor instead. Now, in his apartment in Upper Eight in the middle of Little Wutai, he's found someone who can make him a gloriously oversized futon, and his one "concession" to the Midgardian way of doing things is that he no longer puts his futon up every morning.  He has four futons to rotate between, with a veritable army of sheets and blankets for them that he's gotten as what he suspects is something akin to 'tribute' from some of the Little Wutai locals. He's done his best to make it clear that he's to be treated as anyone else in the community, but he's hardly going to refuse these things. Tseng sleeps lightly, waking up at basically any sort of unexpected sound, but he has the enviable ability to drift right back off.

31. If the had a tumblr what would it look like?

Honestly? It would be all precisely curated images/gifs of nature. Probably of waterfalls and rivers and creeks. But it would be immaculate. Perfectly tagged and maintained.

32. Something guaranteed to make them smile/laugh

I don't know that it is guaranteed, but Reno's antics often get a smile or a chuckle out of Tseng; particularly so when someone is underestimating Reno in some way.  He has a tendency to find amusement in watching someone walk right into something they should have seen coming. That said, both Reeve and Rufus are also able to routinely get a smile out of him; Reeve because he's just so warm that Tseng can't help but to smile back and Rufus because, well, to be perfectly frank, he's a sassy little shit sometimes and Tseng loves that about him. (For the record, Aerith also often fits in that "sassy little shit" box, but Tseng does his best not to let her see him smile, or else she'll take it as encouragement.) If we're talking about something other than people though, the sort of thing that will routinely get a smile out of Tseng is people watching.  He likes sitting on a bench in the Tower or in Midgar in general and just... watching people go by. It helps him feel grounded in the world.

33. Something guaranteed to make them cry

I don't know that anything specific is guaranteed to make him cry.  He's very much a 'buckle down and take care of things,' sort of guy instead of the emotional reaction sort of guy. That said, he doesn't handle it well after Nibelheim.  Even if he's not in a relationship with Sephiroth, the whole mess of 'handling' the survivors and realizing just how far the President will go to keep himself in power and the uncertainty of what's going on with Veld and with AVALANCHE and just... It's isn't pretty.

34. How they react when they are feeling [excited]

Tseng has, as a general rule, muted outward emotional tells for anything he's feeling.  It was trained into him when he was at the Temple, both as a potential heir to the throne as well as because he was being trained to be a priest.  That said, when he's genuinely excited about something and not just 'looking forward' to it, someone who knows him can tell. He's distracted from other things.  And sometimes, if you're talking to him and he's excited about something, he might ask you to repeat yourself. Not like, "Oh, I didn't hear you, what?" But you'll get a lot more of those little noncommittal "Mm?" sounds out of him. Unless you're talking about the thing he's excited about.  In that case, you'll have his complete attention, and his usually small, amused smiles (the smug ones; you know the ones) are a bit bigger, more genuine and, dare I say it, softer.

35. Their idea of a perfect day

Tseng's idea of a perfect day... well, to some extent, that varies based on where we are in the timeline and if he's in a romantic relationship, but in general, his idea of the perfect day is as follows: Nothing disastrous happens. Barring that, he'll settle for: Anything disastrous that did happen was handled.  Appropriately. In all seriousness, Tseng is very much the sort who focuses on living each day as though he won't have another, and he doesn't let himself indulge much in idle fantasies. He's much more interested in perfect moments.  A good morning run with someone he likes.  An effective training session with one of the other Turks.  Watching someone grasp something that he's been teaching them.  An evening walk with someone he loves.  Sharing a ridiculously rich chocolate cake with them afterwards.  That sort of thing.

36. Their favorite season

Tseng's favorite season in Midgar is fall, when there's a near constant wind coming off the mountains.  It can be difficult to track the seasons in Midgar, since there's not much by way of greenery, but fall means a cool wind that helps disperse some of the excess heat that comes off the Plate under his feet. Back in Wutai, his favorite season was summer.  He liked watching the fireflies in the dusk at the Temple, and no small part of him misses that.

37. What they really think about themselves

Deep down, no matter what else, Tseng knows that he is an oathbreaker.  He can justify it to himself or dress it up all he wants, but he knows that his father, that his brothers, that his country counted on him, and he walked away.  He abandoned everything he'd ever known and walked into the camp of the enemy and swore to help them instead. It's part of why his loyalty is so fiercely held now, and part of why he's so careful to be as pristine and perfect at what he does as is possible. He knows what his family— had they survived the war— would have said.  Once an oathbreaker, always an oathbreaker, and now, he's tied to the oaths he has made in a way that he wouldn't be if he hadn't defected, because he's terrified that they would be right. That puts him in the position of conflicting loyalties, and why he is so careful not to make promises once he's in Midgar.  His first loyalty is to Rufus now, his second to the rest of the Turks, and if there's anything that keeps him awake at night, it's how he's supposed to juggle the additional loyalties that he's found himself collecting (Aerith, Reeve, Zack, Sephiroth, Veld, Reno, etc.).

38. Favorite holiday

Valentine's Day.  Or, to be more exact, the day after.  When Tseng can get a box of very nice chocolates for extremely cheap. XD No, in all seriousness, Tseng quite likes the Midgar celebration of the dead, All Hallow's Eve, with the fixation on costumes and frightening people.  He finds it fascinating for a culture that spends so much of its time not talking about the dead.

39. Favorite game

Tseng likes card games.  He's good at them for the most part, and in fact, when he first defected and arrived in the SOLDIER camp, he realized very quickly that his traditional Wutaian garb was only going to keep him Othered.  So he learned to play poker from watching several hands, and he won himself gil and spare clothing alike off those SOLDIERs who heard his— at the time— thick accent and thought he'd be an easy mark. He still has a soft spot for poker.

40. Favorite book

Have two of Tseng's favorites.  Both titles have been translated from the original Wutaian for your convenience, but Tseng only has the Wutaian copies in his home. "When the Sun Rises in the West," by Yurieva Aiko.  This is a collection of poetry made from the letters recovered from the belongings of Wutaian soldiers after the war. "The Sleeve Cost Me Nothing Compared to You," by Sato Ivan.  This is a collection of short stories and poetry about love and the fleeting nature of romance.

41. If they could have lunch with anyone in the world (living or dead, from any fictional universe or the real world), who would it be?

Before he defects // Tseng would like to have lunch with one of the previous emperors at this point, just to try to get some perspective on what's happening with his country.  Particularly, he desperately wishes he had someone to ask for advice from.  He's torn on what he sees going on, and he wonders what's wrong with him that he seems to be the only one who sees that there's no possible way for them to win this engagement with Shinra. After he defects // During his time in Shinra, given the option to have lunch with literally anyone, Tseng would like one more lunch with someone he loves.  He's very much of the opinion that the best thing to do is to savor every moment you get with someone, no matter how mundane or fleeting. Post-canon // He would like one more lunch with Aerith and Zack.  Just to see them again, and to convince himself to let their ghosts go.

42. 3 comfort items

1 // Tseng has kept, over the years, exactly one kimono from his time in Wutai, and while he never wears it anymore, sometimes, when he's feeling nostalgic, he'll go and run his hands over the silk. 2 // After he completed his training to be accepted into the Turks, before he left the Academy in Junon to go back to Midgar full time, the Acting Director of Operations in The Junon Branch of the Administrative Research, Anya (also one of @ladykf-writes' OCs), gave him an inlaid bone and black alloy knife with a blade cleaning kit.  This is the knife that Tseng wears strapped to his left thigh (the left pocket is cut open in every pair of his pants so that he can reach it). 3 // When Rufus was fifteen, he gifted Tseng a solid black watch with no markers on it besides a pair of mythril white hands and a single mythril accent on the face that marked the twelve.  Rufus never intended for Tseng to keep it as a staple, but while Rufus has gifted him other watches since then, this is the one that Tseng wears as his every day watch.

43. 3 favorite foods and 3 they despise

Favorite Food 1 // Sushi from a tiny hole-in-the-wall place in Little Wutai.  And when he says hole-in-the-wall, he means this woman literally just sells bentos out of her kitchen. Favorite Food 2 // Fiola's in Upper Six is one of his favorites.  They have excellent Mideelan pasta and even better bread.  The bread is, in fact, good enough that while Tseng usually doesn't eat bread with his meals, he'll make an exception for Fiola's. Favorite Food 3 // There is a tiny bakery in Upper Three that sells the absolute best chocolate cake that Tseng has ever had.   Despised Food 1 // The "sushi" for sale in the Midgar cafeteria.  One of them had mayonnaise in it. Despised Food 2 // Pork rinds, a surprisingly popular snack in Midgar.  Tseng suspects it's a holdover from when the area was much more farming-oriented.  As it stands, every sector, Above and Below, has their own 'special' flavoring for them, and Tseng has yet to find anything redeeming about them. Despised Food 3 // Tseng doesn't despise bread exactly, but he fails to find it enjoyable to eat most of the time.  He'd prefer his carbs come in sugar, pasta, or rice, given the choice.

44. Their happiest memory

Tseng has a couple. The first one is of one of the last times he saw his mother. He was about eleven, and he was brought to her rooms so that she could see him.  They spent the evening reading poetry and him showing off his sword forms and her telling him how proud of him she was.  He helped her brush out her hair and braid it for bed, and then she returned the favor and kissed his forehead and sent him on back to his own rooms.  He has a small jade comb that he found in a secondhand shop in Little Wutai that makes him think of her. His second happiest memory is nearly always with Reeve, of their drive around the planet on that first reactor tour.  It was the first time Tseng traveled that he could just enjoy the process, and he has fond memories of the times they rolled the windows down and Tseng could let his hand hang out of the car and just... feel the breeze.  Reeve had been content to talk about nothing or put on an audiobook— and those had been something delightful to learn about, something that Tseng had immediately invested in because that was a great way to listen to the language— and let them just ride.

45. Their favorite celebrity

Tseng is embarrassed to admit it, but when he first arrived in Midgar and Junon, his Standard was not nearly as good as he'd thought it was.  The tutors he'd had in Wutai hadn't been native speakers, after all, and while he'd learned very well from them, there was no way he'd be mistaken for a natural speaker.  So he'd immediately immersed himself, watching the news and reading everything he could get his hands on, and eventually, he'd discovered what were called 'soaps.' He never really followed a lot of the plot lines— he felt sometimes like they had put several novels in a blender and poured the resulting concoction on the screen— but he did eventually decide there was one actress, Gabrielle Cooper, that he enjoyed watching. She had one of the most neutral accents he'd ever heard, and he followed her from show to show faithfully. Even long after he'd stopped watching soaps to help with his Standard, long after he'd more or less shed his own accent completely, he would catch himself picking up a magazine or a tabloid if she was featured on the cover.

46. The person they most admire

For a long, long time, it was Veld.  And then everything with Felicia happened.  And it isn't that he no longer admires Veld, but he certainly seems more human now.  What Tseng admires most about Veld now isn't the seemingly perfect Turk persona that he presents, but his dedication to what he thinks is right. Post-canon, the person he probably actually admires most is Rufus.  Rufus Shinra, who was brought up to rule the world and has been barred from the throne.  Rufus Shinra, who should have had everything and instead has had to cobble something together from the ruins left behind. In that vein, Reeve is an extremely close second. Reeve was never intended to be the one in charge, and Tseng knows that Reeve would like nothing more than to hand it all off to someone else and go back to designing houses and buildings and parks. But there's literally no one else to hand it off to. So he trudges on, running the now-largest military force in the world, making decisions that shape the entire world with almost no oversight.

47. Their dream job

If Tseng wasn't a Turk and hadn't been brought up in the Temple and was just an average Midgar citizen?  He'd be a restaurant critic.  He'd write the most detailed and possibly scathing reviews possible, and restaurants would fear him.

48. Scariest moment of their life

A few months before he defected, during a ritual for Leviathan at the Temple, Tseng nearly drowned.  This was one of his big catalyst moments for abandoning Wutai, as he realized in that moment that no matter what anyone told him about how important he was, they all saw him as expendable. After Advent Children, the scariest moment in Tseng's life was watching Rufus jump from that building.

49. Favorite toy as a child

Tseng was given a wooden training sword very young that he absolutely used to menace every Temple Guardian he ran across until he was big enough for proper training, and he cherished it right up until he left the temple.  He didn't take it with him, but he made sure to polish it and leave it in a respectful place when he left. He is sure that it was broken and/or burned upon discovery that he had chosen to side with Shinra.

50. A memory they’ve blocked out

I don't know that Tseng has very many memories that he's blocked out.  Tseng is very unflinching when it comes to facing who he is and what he's done and what's been done to him.  He believes in facing things head-on and in dealing with the consequences that brings.

Congratulations on making it all the way down here, omg. IT WAS SO LONG!!

All of the love. 💖

[nosehair]

[sophieinwonderland]

I'm so confused on how Blaze works!

How is it 4934 people out of 2500?

I'm not complaining that it's showing to more people than were paid for. But am just very confused.

But if it's going to keep showing to people through the whole week even after reaching the 2500, that's pretty awesome! 😁

[depressionmeal]

Depression meal 4934

Exactly 4 spoonfuls of Nutella

[littlesweetchurro]

Frayed Nerves

Chapter Nine

✨Summary: In the wake of the final battle, Hermione Granger is determined to restore Hogwarts. When she hears about a powerful restoration potion from a mysterious hag in Knockturn Alley, she takes a risky plunge. But after a magical mix-up leaves her and Viktor Krum with matching tattoos, they're forced to confront their growing feelings while searching for a way to reverse the potion’s effects.

✨Content: 18+ Loss of Virginity, NSFW

✨W.C: 4934

✨ Also on AO3

Hermione and Viktor approached the hag's hut. The journey back had been a blur of adrenaline and conflicting emotions. Now, standing on the threshold of potentially undoing the magical bond that had brought them together, she felt a strange mix of anticipation and reluctance.

The hag's cackling laughter greeted them as they entered the dimly lit cottage. "Well, well! Look who's back, and in one piece, too. I must say, I'm impressed."

Hermione stepped forward, holding out the delicate flowers. "We got what you asked for," she said. "Now, about the tattoos."

The old woman's eyes gleamed as she snatched the blooms from Hermione's hand. "Ah, yes. Beautiful specimens, these are. You've done well, dearies."

As the hag bustled about, gathering ingredients and muttering incantations, Hermione stole glances at Viktor. 

Her mind drifted back to their close encounter in the hollow tree. She licked her lips as she recalled the press of Viktor's muscular chest against her body. The memory of his strong arms around her had goosebumps form on her skin.

She bit her lip, remembering how she'd felt his body responding to her closeness. The firm press of his growing arousal against her thigh had ignited something primal within her. Far from being scandalized, she'd found herself thrilled by his obvious desire.

A warm flush spread across Hermione's cheeks and down her neck as her body reacted to the vivid recollection. She shifted restlessly, aware of a growing ache between her thighs. 

Viktor stood mere feet away, his broad shoulders and athletic build on full display as he conferred with the hag. Hermione's eyes traced the lines of his body hungrily. She imagined running her hands over his sculpted muscles, feeling his skin hot beneath her palms.

A daring thought flitted through her mind - what if they'd given in to temptation right there in that tree hollow? She pictured Viktor pressing her up against the rough bark, his strong hands roaming her body as he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. 

Hermione pressed her thighs together, trying to quell the throbbing need building within her core. She wanted - no, needed - more. She craved the feel of Viktor's body moving against hers, inside her. The urge to drag him into the nearest secluded spot and have her wicked way with him was nearly overwhelming.

"Right then," the hag's raspy voice cut through Hermione's thoughts. "The potion's ready. One sip each should do the trick."

Hermione stared at the small vial of shimmering liquid the hag held out. This was it - the moment they'd been working towards. So why did she suddenly feel so hesitant?

"Before we do this," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I need to know. Will this-- will it undo everything? The, the... feelings?"

The hag's wrinkled face softened slightly. "The potion will remove the tattoos, dearie. Nothing more, nothing less. As for the rest..." She glanced between Hermione and Viktor, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Well, that's entirely up to you two."

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath. She turned to Viktor, searching his dark eyes for any sign of what he might be thinking. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Viktor's gaze was intense as he looked at her. "If this is vot you vant, Her-my-oh-knee, then I am ready."

With trembling hands, Hermione took the vial. She raised it to her lips, pausing for just a moment before taking a small sip. The liquid was cool on her tongue, tasting faintly of cherries. She passed the vial to Viktor, watching as he drank his share without hesitation.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a tingling sensation spread from Hermione's wrist, traveling up her arm. She looked down, watching in fascination as the elegant script of Viktor's name began to fade from her skin. Beside her, Viktor was examining his own wrist, where her name was similarly disappearing.

In a matter of seconds, it was done. The tattoos were gone, leaving behind unmarked skin as if they had never existed at all.

Hermione stared at her wrist, running her fingers over the spot where Viktor's name had been.

Hermione shivered as another gust of icy wind cut through her soaked robes. The magical storm had come out of nowhere, transforming the clear evening sky into a tempest of swirling purple clouds and crackling lightning. She squinted through the downpour, barely able to make out Viktor's broad shoulders as he forged ahead.

"There is a village over there," Viktor shouted over the howling wind, pointing to a cluster of lights in the distance. 

Relief flooded through Hermione as they stumbled towards the faint glow of civilization. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, her body trembling from the cold that seemed to seep into her very bones. As they drew closer, she could make out the outlines of quaint cottages and shops, their windows battened down against the raging storm.

A weathered sign swung violently in the wind, creaking on its hinges. "The Drunken Unicorn," Hermione read aloud, hope surging in her chest at the sight of the small inn.

They burst through the heavy wooden door, bringing a gust of wind and rain with them. The warmth of the inn's interior hit Hermione like a physical force, making her skin tingle as feeling slowly returned to her numb extremities.

A portly man with a bushy mustache looked up from behind the bar, his eyebrows rising at the sight of the two bedraggled travelers. "Blimey," he exclaimed, hurrying over with a stack of towels. "You two look like you've been through the wringer. Caught in the storm, eh?"

Hermione nodded gratefully as she accepted a towel, her fingers fumbling with the thick fabric as she tried to dry her face. "We didn't see it coming," she explained, her voice hoarse. "Is there any chance you have a room available for a couple of hours?"

The innkeeper's expression turned sympathetic. "Aye, that I do. But I'm afraid you've stumbled into more than just a bit of bad weather, miss. This here's a Tempest Storm - magical in nature. It'll rage all night, and it's not safe to travel until it passes."

"But we really should be getting back to Hogwarts." 

"I wouldn't recommend it, miss. The roads are treacherous in this weather, and there are all sorts of nasty creatures that come out when the skies open up like this. No, you'd be best off staying put for the night."

Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Viktor. They hadn't planned on staying away from Hogwarts overnight. But one look at the raging storm outside the window made it clear they had little choice.

“Ve vill take the room."

Hermione reached for her coin purse but Viktor grabbed her wrist.

" No ," he commanded.

Hermione wanted to protest but Viktor's scowling face held her at bay. He'd never used that tone on her before and she liked it.

The innkeeper eyed them thoughtfully. "Well now, I only have one room left. A nice cozy little thing, perfect for a young couple like yourselves."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the implication, but before she could protest, Viktor was nodding. "That vill be fine," he said, reaching into his pocket for his coin purse.

The innkeeper nodded, retrieving a large iron key from behind the bar. "Right this way, then. I'll show you to your room."

As they followed the man up a creaking wooden staircase. She hadn't packed for an overnight stay. Would her transfiguration skills hold if she changed her clothes to PJs? Could she sleep in her clothes? Probably, but she didn't want to. It'd just serve as a reminder of running from Death Eaters in the middle of the night. What would people think when she and Viktor didn't return to the castle? Oh, Merlin. What was Ginny going to think? The last thing she needed was Ginny teasing her about spending the night with her "Bulgarian Bon-Bon." The thought of spending the night alone with Viktor sent a flutter of nervous excitement through her stomach.

The innkeeper pushed open a heavy oak door, revealing a cozy room lit by the warm glow of oil lamps. Hermione's eyes were immediately drawn to the large four-poster bed dominating the center of the room. The single bed. Any and all of her thoughts revolved around what they could do in that bed. Looking at it, it was pretty big.

"Here we are," the innkeeper said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. "There's extra blankets in the chest if you need them. The bathroom's down the hall. If you need anything else, just give a shout."

With that, he handed Viktor the key and bustled back downstairs, leaving Hermione and Viktor alone in the quiet room.

Hermione stood unmoving, her eyes locked on the bed. One bed. For both of them. Her heart hammered in her chest as the implications sank in.

"I can sleep on the floor," Viktor offered quietly, breaking the silence.

Hermione turned to look at him, taking in his damp hair and the way his wet shirt clung to his muscular frame. The thought of him spending the night on the cold, hard floor made her chest tighten with guilt.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, forcing a lightness into her tone that she didn't quite feel. "The bed's plenty big enough for both of us. We're both adults, after all."

Viktor's dark eyes searched her face for a moment before he nodded. "If you are sure," he said softly.

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the thought of sharing a bed with Viktor. "Of course," she said, her voice only slightly higher than normal. "It's just sleeping, after all."

"If you say so."

Hermione's breath caught as Viktor's eyes raked over her, dark and intense. 

"Ve should get out of these vet clothes," 

Hermione blushed. "I... what?"

A hint of a smirk played at the corner of Viktor's mouth. "So ve do not get sick," he clarified, his tone innocent. But then his eyes glinted mischievously. "Vot vere you thinking, Her-my-oh-knee?"

Hermione's blush deepened. "Nothing! I just... I'll go change in the bathroom."

She turned to flee, but Viktor's hand on her arm stopped her. "I could help," he offered, his voice low.

Hermione's heart thundered in her chest. She knew she should say no, that this was a line they shouldn't cross. But the memory of their night in the library, of Viktor's hands on her body, sent a thrill of desire through her. 

"I... yes," she whispered.

Viktor's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flickering across his usually stoic features. He took a step closer, his body radiating heat. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

Hermione met his gaze, understanding the weight of the question. If she said yes now, there would be no going back. They would cross that line, and everything would change. This time there was no potion to blame. 

She nodded.

"Okay." He smirked again, that playful glint returning. "Then let me help," he murmured.

His fingers found the clasps of her robes, slowly unfastening them. As he pushed the heavy fabric from her shoulders, his lips brushed against her neck.

"Beautiful," he murmured against her skin. "So beautiful, kote."

"W-What does that mean? You kept saying it…" her cheeks warmed even more. "The other night."

"Kitten."

"Oh," she breathed out. Viktor's hands slid under her jumper, his calloused palms warm against her stomach. He pulled the garment over her head, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her exposed skin.

"Perfect," he breathed, leaning in to press a kiss to her collarbone. 

Heat pooled in Hermione's belly. Her fingers itched to touch him, to explore the muscular body.

"Can I..." she started, then swallowed hard. "Can I take yours off too?"

Viktor caught her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. He kissed each fingertip reverently. "You can do votever you vant vith me," he said, his voice rough with want.

With trembling fingers, Hermione pushed Viktor's robes from his shoulders. She tugged his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled planes of his chest and abdomen. Her hands roamed over his skin, marveling at the hard muscle.

Soon, they stood before each other, completely bare. Hermione's eyes widened as she took in Viktor's naked form. His body was a work of art, all lean muscle and smooth skin. Her gaze dropped lower, heat flooding her cheeks as she saw his impressive member.

Viktor's fingers ghosted over her breasts, making her gasp. He stepped closer, and Hermione felt the hot, hard length of his cock against her stomach. She ached to touch him, to wrap her hand around it.

As if reading her mind, Viktor took her hand and guided it to his cock. Hermione wrapped her fingers around him, marveling at the contrast of velvet-soft skin over steel-hard flesh. She stroked him experimentally, drawing a deep groan from Viktor's throat.

Encouraged, Hermione continued her explorations. She trailed her fingers along his length, cupped his heavy balls in her palm. Viktor's breathing grew ragged, his hips rocking slightly into her touch.

"Her-my-own-ninny," he groaned. "You are driving me mad."

Hermione looked up at him through her lashes, a small smile playing at her lips. But then Viktor stepped back, breaking contact.

"You should shower," he said, his voice rough. "Get varm."

Disappointment crashed over Hermione. She nodded, trying to hide her crestfallen expression as she turned towards the bathroom. But then Viktor's hand closed around hers, tugging her gently towards him.

"Come," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I vill help you get clean."

Hermione's heart soared as Viktor led her into the bathroom. As he turned on the shower and steam began to fill the small space.

As the warm water cascaded over her body, Hermione felt her nerves melt away. Viktor's strong hands glided over her skin, spreading soap across her shoulders and down her arms. She shivered as his fingers trailed along her sides, ghosting over the curve of her breasts.

"Is this okay?" Viktor murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Hermione nodded. Her body tingled with anticipation as Viktor's hands moved lower, caressing her stomach. Viktor's fingers ventured even lower, tracing the contours of her cunt. The sensation of his touch there was electric. She gasped, as he found her clit. She needed him to touch her already.

"Tell me vot feels good," Viktor murmured, his voice a soft rasp in her ear.

Viktor began to stroke her gently. His touch was feather-light, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

He had an impressive, no, an extraordinary memory, she thought dazedly. It was as if he'd taken a mental note of every gasp, every shudder, and was now using that knowledge to bring her to the brink. In no time at all, he found that sweet spot, the place that made her legs quiver and her toes curl against the wet tiles beneath her feet.

She clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the solid muscle there as she struggled to remain standing.

"That," she whispered. "Right there. Vik."

His name on her lips seemed to spur him on, and he continued his tugging, circling her clit leaving her boneless and trembling. Her hips rocked instinctively, seeking more friction.

"Like this?" Viktor asked, increasing the pressure slightly.

"Yes," Hermione moaned. "Oh gods, yes."

She leaned back against Viktor's broad chest, her head falling onto his shoulder as waves of pleasure washed over her. His free hand came up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple.

Hermione reached behind her, fingers wrapping around Viktor's thick shaft. He groaned low in his throat, his hips jerking forward.

"Show me," Hermione whispered. "Show me how to touch you."

Viktor's hand enveloped hers, his fingers long and sure guided her. With a gentle squeeze, he encouraged her to apply more pressure, to trace the veined length of him with a firmer grip. Hermione followed his lead, her strokes becoming more confident, more purposeful. She watched his face, noting the way his eyelids fluttered closed, the slight parting of his lips.

Then, with a subtle shift of his hand, he urged her to quicken her pace.  Merlin, he was so incredibly sexy, and here she was stroking his cock. She wet her lips. She felt powerful, in control knowing she made him like this.

Each stroke, each moan from Viktor's lips made her wetter, needier. 

"Like that," Viktor breathed. "Just like that, kote."

Their hands moved in tandem, pleasuring each other as the shower steam swirled around them. Hermione felt herself climbing higher and higher, chasing her release. Viktor's fingers moved faster, circling her clit with practiced skill.

"Viktor," she gasped. "I'm going to..."

"Let go," he murmured. "Come for me, Her-my-own-ninny."

With a cry of ecstasy, Hermione tumbled over the edge. Her body shuddered against Viktor's as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She felt him tense behind her, his cock pulsing in her hand as he found his own release.

For several long moments, they stood under the warm spray, holding each other as they caught their breath. Hermione's legs felt weak, her entire body buzzing with residual pleasure.

"That vas..." Viktor began.

"Amazing," Hermione finished, turning in his arms to face him.

She stretched up on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Viktor responded immediately, deepening the kiss as his arms tightened around her waist. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless once more.

"Ve are just getting started." He stated, kissing the top of her head.

Hermione clenched her legs. She reached for a towel, but he gently took it from her hands. 

"Let me," he murmured, his dark eyes intense as he began to tenderly dry her skin. 

His touch was reverent, his large hands gliding over her curves. Hermione let out a short moan as Viktor's fingers grazed and squeezed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

She gasped as Viktor's strong arms lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed, her skin tingling where it pressed against him. 

"Viktor" she breathed as he lowered her onto the soft mattress. His dark eyes blazed with desire as he gazed down at her.

"Tell me vot you vant, kote," Viktor murmured, trailing kisses along her collarbone. 

Hermione's breath hitched. "I want... I want you to touch me. Please."

Viktor's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Vith pleasure."

Viktor's lips trailed a fiery path down her body. Each kiss felt like a brand, searing her skin. When he reached her breasts, he worshipped them with a fervor that made her arch off the bed, a soft moan slipping from her parted lips. The sensation of his mouth on her, warm and insistent, was amazing.

She wanted more as his teasing kisses ventured lower, tracing her stomach, until finally, his breath ghosted over the apex of her thighs. Hermione was afloat on a sea of desire, trembling with a need so deep it was almost painful.

The first swipe of his tongue on her was like a jolt of pure electricity. 

"Oh god, Viktor," she moaned. "That feels incredible."

"Call me 'Vik' and I vill make you see stars." He said, his obsidian eyes on her as he teased her swollen clit. 

Gods, she needed more of that tongue of his.

"Viktor, please, I—"

Viktor's strong hands gripped her hips, pinning her to the mattress.

" No ,'" he growled.

"Vik," she tried again

Viktor hummed. He continued, delving deeper into her cunt. Hermione's fingers threaded through his dark, tousled hair, clutching at him as if he were her anchor in the storm of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her.

With each skilled stroke of his tongue, she was undone a little more, gasping and whimpering. Hermione was lost in a haze of desire, her legs trembling, her heart racing, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, pulling her under into a sweet, blissful abyss.

Viktor's hand moved with purpose, his fingers slipping into her. He curled them just so, a deft movement that seemed to touch the very core of her. The sensation was blinding, a cascade of stars exploding behind her eyelids as she arched into his touch.

"More!"

He complied. Each deliberate stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, unraveling her thoughts until there was nothing but pure pleasure. Hermione's fingers clutched at the sheets.

"Come for me again, kote," he urged. "Let me taste you."

It didn't take long before Hermione was crying out, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. Viktor worked her through it, his touches gentling as she came down from her high.

When she could breathe again, Hermione tugged Viktor up for a deep kiss. She could taste herself on his lips.

"My turn," she whispered, pushing gently at his shoulders.

"You do not haff to."

She smiled. "I know but I want to."

The witch trailed kisses down his chiseled abs, savoring the way his muscles tensed under her touch. When she reached his impressive length, she hesitated for a moment.

"I... I've never done this before. Tell me what to do," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "I want to make you feel good too."

He reached down to cup her cheek. "Start slow," he instructed, his voice husky. "Use your tongue first. Then just do vot feels natural. And if I like something, I vill let you know."

Encouraged, to not only do well, but excel, Hermione wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, her fingers barely meeting around his girth. She gave an experimental lick along the underside, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Viktor. The sound was a heady reward, encouraging her to continue. Feeling brave, she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip as she adjusted to the new sensation.

"Fuck," Viktor groaned. "Just like that, kote. Suck my cock."

Her cunt throbbed in response to his words. She had just had an orgasm, but she still needed more. She needed him inside of her. 

Hermione followed his instructions, alternating between licks and gentle suction, her movements guided by the sounds of his pleasure and the subtle shifts of his body. She watched Viktor's face, noting what made his breath catch or his hips buck. Each reaction was a clue, a piece of the puzzle that she was eager to solve. She wanted to memorize every nuance of his desire, to learn what drove him wild and to be the one to give him that ecstasy.

Hermione felt a sense of triumph every time Viktor's hand twitched in her hair, every time his thighs tensed beneath her. She was doing this to him, reducing the stoic Quidditch champion to a man moaning her name.

As she grew more confident, Hermione increased her pace, taking him deeper.

"So good," Viktor praised, his accent thicker than usual. "You are perfect."

Hermione redoubled her efforts, taking him deeper into her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking harder as she bobbed her head.

Viktor's hands fisted in the sheets. "Her-my-own-ninny," he gasped. "Stop, or I vill--"

Hermione pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Isn't that the point?" she teased.

Viktor chuckled, sitting up to pull her into a hot wet kiss. "Not yet," he murmured against her lips. "I vant to be inside you vhen I come."

She nodded, suddenly feeling shy again. "Um, how should I—?"

Viktor's eyes darkened. "On your back," he said, his voice rough. "I vant to see your face."

Hermione lay back on the bed, her legs parting instinctively as Viktor settled between them. He braced himself on one arm, using his free hand to guide himself to her entrance.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

Hermione nodded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yes," she breathed. "Please, Vik."

He uttered a contraceptive charm as Viktor pushed inside her, the slow, deliberate stretch of her body around his making her feel full in the most exquisite way. When he was fully seated within her, he paused, pressing his forehead against hers.

"You feel amazing. So tight and vet for me."

A whimper escaped Hermione's lips, and she rocked her hips, the slight movement felt amazing. Each nerve seemed to sing with the sensation of his cock inside of her.

"Move," she urged. "Please, I need--"

Viktor didn't need to be told twice. He began to thrust, his movements starting slow and deep. Gradually, he picked up the pace, his rhythm matching the crescendo of their mingled moans. Hermione met him thrust for thrust, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

"мака му," Viktor growled and although she couldn't understand, she still knew what he was saying.  "You take my cock so so good kitten. So perfect for me. Just me."

His words, so deliciously crude made her cunt clench around him. "Harder," Hermione gasped, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back. "Please, Vik, I need more."

Viktor obliged, snapping his hips with more force, the sound of their flesh filled the room. The new angle had him hitting a spot deep inside her that made Hermione see stars, each thrust threatening to shatter her into a thousand pieces of pure bliss.

"Yes! Yes!" she cried out, a high sound she barely recognized as her voice. "Don't- don't stop."

"Never. I could fuck you forever, kote. You feel too good."

Hermione whimpered.

She gasped as Viktor's hand tangled in her hair, gently tugging her head back into the pillow. His lips brushed her ear as he murmured praise, his voice rough with desire.

"You're incredible," he growled. "So beautiful, so perfect for me."

She'd never imagined Viktor could be so vocal, and the effect was intoxicating. Each phrase of praise had her wanting to hear more, stoking the fire of her arousal.

Viktor's rhythm faltered for a moment, and he let out a deep groan. "Her-my-oh-knee," he said, his voice strained. "I need more. Can you--?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Yes," she breathed. "Anything."

With a gentleness that belied his strength, Viktor withdrew from her and guided her onto her hands and knees. Hermione felt exposed in this new position, but the vulnerability had her cunt throbbing.

"Beautiful," Viktor murmured, his hands caressing the curve of her hips. "You're perfect, kote."

Hermione felt the blunt head of his cock teasing her entrance, and she whimpered with need. "Please, Vik," she begged. "Don't tease."

Viktor chuckled, the sound low and full of promise. "Patience, my Hermione," he said. "I want to savor this moment."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Viktor began to push inside her once more.

"Oh, Merlin," she moaned. "Viktor, that feels amazing."

"Чувстваш се невероятно," Viktor growled in Bulgarian. "Толкова стегнат, толкова идеален за мен."

He started with slow, deep thrusts that had Hermione clutching at the sheets. But soon, spurred on by her gasps and moans, he picked up the pace.

The room filled with the sounds of their passion - skin against skin, breathless moans, and Viktor's continuous stream of praise and dirty talk.

"Приемаш ме so good," he groaned, in English or Bulgarian, but the sounds were unrecognizable. "Such good vitch"

Hermione felt her arms give out, and she collapsed onto the mattress, her face pressed against the sheets.

Viktor's hands gripped her hips tightly as he rutted into her, his pace almost frantic now. One hand moved to squeeze her bottom, the slight pain mixing deliciously with the pleasure.

"Vik," Hermione gasped. "I'm close. I'm so close."

"Ела за мен, коте," Viktor urged, now this time in Bulgarian, squeezing the flesh of her arse.

She cried out Viktor's name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her entire body trembling as the ecstasy consumed her.

Viktor followed soon after, his rhythm faltering as he came. He collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling Hermione into his arms.

For a long moment, they lay there in silence, catching their breath. Hermione felt boneless, utterly sated in a way she'd never experienced before.

"That was..." she began, struggling to find the right words.

"Amazing," Viktor finished for her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Hermione nestled into Viktor's embrace, her body still humming with pleasure. She felt a strange sense of contentment she'd never experienced before, a sense of rightness that went beyond the physical.

Viktor's fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, sending little shivers through her. She tilted her head to look up at him, marveling at the softness in his usually stern features.

"Her-my-oh-knee. I haff something to ask you."

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath, his dark smoldering eyes met hers.

"Vill you be my girlfriend?"

She couldn't help the wide smile that spread across her face. "Yes," she said, almost without thinking. "Yes, I'd love to be your girlfriend, Viktor."

Viktor's face lit up with a smile that took her breath away. She hadn't seen that smile since he had asked her to the Yule ball. He pulled her closer, pressing a tender kiss to her lips.

"Maybe ve get tattoos to celebrate," he teased, his fingers brushing over the spot where their tattoos had once been.

Hermione laughed, swatting his chest playfully. "I think we've had quite enough of tattoos for now, don't you?"

Viktor chuckled. "Da," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "No more tattoos. Just you and me, kote."