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madschiavelique · 2 months ago

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﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 — 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : it is your final day in Demacia, and after you wave your goodbyes, it seems that help is more than needed.

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : hurt/comfort, friendship (wow), denial is a river in egypt but reader is finally off its boat? some backstory bit, palmistry, and extra card bc i'm that extra

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 16,3k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : hey so this chap tops the previous chap in terms of who's the longest, woopsie. sorry i took so long but life happened. this chap marks the end of the demacia arc and opens up another one that is going to be very juicy.

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

When you woke up, it was with great difficulty and a scratch in the back of your throat that you struggled to clear before getting up. You glanced at the time, 11:30, you still had a little time to eat.

You simply put on a sweatshirt and a comfortable pair of jogging pants, lightly tidying your hair and rinsing your mouth before setting off for the hotel restaurant.

In the hall, the students who hadn't yet slept soundly were all hunched over their breakfast trays. Some of them had undoubtedly overdone their drinking the night before, and you could see their faces grimace as soon as a voice or a sound that was even a little too loud had the misfortune to rise in volume.

With a coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other, you took your place at one of the tables in silence. There was no sign of Jayce, Sky or Viktor. They were probably asleep, enjoying their morning to relax after a night full of entertainment.

You ran your index finger over the skin of your thumb, not trying to tear it off, but to find the sensation of Viktor's hand on yours again. If the dreams hadn't left you with any memories during your slumber, last night had filled you with feelings and new sensations that you couldn't quite grasp just yet.

You found yourself in a place where the eye cannot see, where the feelings and other ideas you had buried within yourself all your life were rushing to the surface and breathing for the first time.

You'd always rationalised and intellectualised every feeling you'd ever had, or bottled them up so that they never escaped out there in a wild that could use it against you, and it seemed to you that the hundreds of shelves containing these feelings were shaking and bringing each vial to the floor to let them explode into thousands of tiny pieces of glass.

You engulfed your breakfast, hoping that the weight of it would soften their each and every fall. The buffet was about to end to let the midday menu take place, and neither Jayce nor Viktor was in sight yet. You imagined that Sky was still at Fiora's, having breakfast there.

They wouldn't have anything to eat if they didn't come soon, so you went over to the buffet and took two napkins. In one you wrapped an apple turnover for Jayce. In the other, you took a scone, a loaf of raisin bread, and a slice of financier, since that was some of Viktor's usual purchases at the café.

With your two little makeshift parcels in hand, you headed for Viktor's room. Given that Garen had probably slept at his own place, and that Jayce had gone home with Viktor, they were probably sharing the room.

Once you arrived at the door, your hand raised in the air and ready to knock, you hesitated. What if you woke them up? What if you disturbed them? What if you suddenly appeared clingy to Viktor?

You quickly dismissed the idea; you were just bringing them breakfast. With a sigh and your heart racing slightly, you knocked on the door, waiting for it to open or to hear a ‘come in’ from the other side.

You waited for a few seconds, without any answer. Maybe they were still asleep, or maybe they were busy, or maybe they'd got up earlier than you and you were uselessly bringing them this pitiful breakfast.

You were just about to turn away from your door to crawl back under your blanket when the door opened.

Viktor was standing there, hair slightly out of place, still in his pyjamas. He seemed surprised to see you, his eyes dropping for a moment to your two folded napkins in hand, perhaps originally expecting Garen to be the one who'd come to collect his things. As for you, you'd expected...

"Jayce is in the shower," he began, a little smile on his face, "what's that for?"

You remembered the scene as if it were yesterday, your brown paper bag of bread for Jayce held out towards him as your annoyance filled the air of a bickering conversation.

"I'm bringing you breakfast," you said in a more playful and relaxed tone than the first time, handing him the two small packages.

He smiled, raising his eyebrows. "Your grace is too good to offer pittance to the lowly plebs," he said, pressing himself against the doorway and resting his temple against the doorframe. "Your candor is delicious."

You smiled at him for a moment, bringing his little packet of sweets close to his hand. You felt his fingertips against your skin for a moment as you placed your own little food basket in his palm.

"This one is yours," you murmured as your eyes returned to his.

With his head tilted to one side, he watched you with a certain gentleness, a nostalgia deeply rooted in the taste of the ginger and tomato pasta you had fought so fiercely over on the very day you met.

So many stupid quarrels, so many pointless grudges... how would the version of you from just a few months ago react if she learned that you were friends with Viktor? A friendship that was evolving and totally different from the few you'd had over the years?

How could you explain to her that you wanted to be in his presence more and more? To find out more about him? To take an interest in what he was doing and to be in his life not as a negative dot in the sea of people but as something more?

You inhaled harshly, silence taking over the corridor. When had you ever been nervous about saying anything to him? You'd always managed to let your disinterest and frustration get the better of you, but now that both had died down, you found yourself carrying on a... normal conversation.

"So um," you began eventually, "that was a pretty fun night."

"It was," confirmed Viktor instantly, not seeming to share your nervousness.

"We..." you tried to change your balance on your hips, "we played really well, together."

"We did," he smiled, his eyes resting on you expectantly.

You gazed at him for a moment, feeling light-headed. If your eyes dared to look even at his hand or his leg, you feared you'd have to cut the conversation short - and you didn't want that to happen.

You squeezed the air from your lungs before releasing it. You might as well be honest. "I'm glad we had that discussion last night."

His eyes softened for a moment at the mention of the event. "Me too."

Knowing that the feeling was mutual made you feel all warm and fuzzy. There was this comfort in the idea of being able to share something as intimate as last night with him, to speak softly to each other, with raw hearts, without fear.

He placed the handle of his cane in the crook of his elbow, letting it hang over his side, his two hands carefully unfolding your little makeshift parcel. He looked at the contents, a subtle flutter of his eyelashes indicating his emotion - a pleasant surprise.

"I..." you observed the little package, now appearing more like an apology than anything else, even if it didn't disguise your original intention. "I'm really sorry that I've been nothing but a terrible friend to you."

His gaze rose from the contents of his packet, settling on you with an emotion you couldn't decipher this time. There was this sensitivity, this tenderness, this vulnerability that you had seen the day before.

Pressing his head against the corner of the door again as he watched you, he seemed to consider you as a whole. "You're more than I could have ever wished for."

Your lips parted in surprise - how could you be everything he was describing? It seemed he was painting a picture of you that wasn't your own, or from an angle you'd never seen through blinkered eyes.

"Even with all my remarks?" you questioned.

"Even with all your remarks," he confirmed.

You chuckled for a moment. "Even if I told you you stink of burnt coal, candied apricot and cold tobacco?"

He shook his head, remembering that remark. "Yes, even with that."

You smiled diffidently, biting the inside of your lip for a moment in hesitation. "Even if I haven't told you everything yet?"

He smiled, his eyes calming your stream of thoughts as much as they triggered them. "Especially because of that.”

When were you going to tell him about all this? When were you going to finally open up to him and give him the key to a lock he couldn't see any light in? When were you going to find the vulnerability to let him get to know you?

You took a breath, looking for a way to continue the conversation, but the bathroom door opened, letting a small cloud of steam spread across the room. Viktor sighed, turning his head towards Jayce for a moment before regaining your gaze.

"Duty calls under the petricite filtered water of Demacia," he confirmed, a single corner of his lips stretching and raising one of his cheeks, his eye narrowing slightly and almost winking.

"Right," you nodded, a bit disappointed.

"Oh hey there!" greeted Jayce just behind, body seemingly still scarfed in smoke wisps from the heat of his shower.

Viktor pressed his lips into a thin line before turning away from you and heading for the bathroom, taking care to place his makeshift pack on his bedside table first.

Then you snapped back to reality, realising that you still had Jayce's parcel in your hand. "Here," you handed him, "didn't know if you had breakfast already and since it was getting late I thought I'd get you these."

His eyes widened as an almost euphoric smile took hold of his lips. "You're an angel sent by whatever deity they worship here," he took the small package in hand, opening it hastily and grabbing the pastry. He sighed at ease, humming. "Thank you."

"No problem," you smiled.

"See, I wasn't wrong," he mumbled, his mouth full.

You frowned. "About what?"

"About you two getting along," he said, his thumb pointing behind his back for a moment before his hand came back to point at you with his index finger. "You and Viktor."

You rolled your eyes. "And you want me to admit that you were right?"

"Nah, don't need it, seeing it is enough," he smiled. "Sugar and salt might not look the same, but you can't live your life without them. Same word, different font."

You could tell Jayce had been rehearsing this line hours on end in front of his mirror, but you didn't point it out.

In this incessant waltz with its frenetically changing rhythm that you had been dancing since the beginning of the year, you had persisted in denying your resemblance with Viktor. Yet it was there in your excellence, in your playfulness, in the same toughness and determination of having grown up in a bitter town.

Yes, you had to admit that you shared more than you thought. But did he share those feelings you've been having lately? The same burning of your heart and of your skin when you happened to share the same space, the same air?

"I could see that," you affirmed with a sigh.

He stopped chewing, surprise filling his face.

"You... agree with me on that?"

You rolled your eyes. "Calm down big guy," you stepped towards your door and placed your hand on the handle as you turned to face him. "Even if this is a rare occurrence, don't let it get to your head."

He raised both hands in the air as if in innocence. "I'll take this win and remain silent."

You gave him one last smile before pressing your door handle and going back to your room. There wasn't much of your stuff left to put away, since you hadn't particularly spread out in the room.

You took a shower, relieved that you wouldn't have to endure the sensation of Demacia's petricite-filled water until tomorrow. You looked at the white walls of the bathtub in which you had calmed down, the coolness and steadiness of it still inked in the corners of your skin.

You brushed your teeth, facing a mirror made to reflect two people. Fiora's speech came back into your head, and your discussions, however jagged like the teeth of a saw, would stick in your mind more than you would have preferred.

You gathered up your toilet bag, came out of the bathroom and stuffed it into your suitcase. You took the opportunity to pick up your deck of cards, hoping to end your stay on a positive note with a card that wouldn't tackle you.

The two of cups came out, and you frowned. You'd read this card before, the two characters on the arcana looking familiar, but you'd mostly got it in reverse. Its meaning was therefore different, and you took the opportunity to refresh your memory of its description.

Attraction. Self-recognition in others through the heart. Closeness. Affinity. Healing of the soul.

Was it about Viktor? you wondered. You kept associating everything with him, and no matter what, you couldn't seem to shake it off. Not everything was necessarily linked to him, but you couldn't help associating every possibility with him.

This card echoes the Lovers card: two people approaching each other. A house, implying domestic bliss and housework, stands behind them, reflecting cohabitation. This is the card of balance between masculine and feminine and can be read metaphorically. It's the card of discovering what you love, applied to all areas of your life.

Was this card representative of you and Viktor? Your finger passed over the word ‘Lovers’ in the text. No, it wasn't love, was it? It couldn't be, it had to be platonic love that they meant, right?

You looked at the card for a few seconds longer and forced yourself to put it back in its deck. You needed to go out one last time, to clear your head, to mourn your very first trip.

Once you'd packed your suitcase, you left the hotel, walking towards the campus of the University of Demacia for the last time. Under the blue sky and bright sunshine, the blue slate slabs of the campus buildings gleamed like fish for sale. Some students were taking their lunch break on the perfectly mown grass of the lawn, sharing laughter and anecdotes.

And, not surprisingly, your steps led you back to the training area. You felt anxious about going back there, especially after the events of the beginning of the week, but you had to go back, face up to your anxieties and get it over with once and for all.

The training ground was virtually empty, the students taking advantage of the time to have lunch rather than train. Empty, except for one person.

Swinging between the wooden and sandbag dummies, Fiora drew arcs in the air which, if the burlap cloths had been skinned, would have caused great damage. In a theatrical move, she managed to make a cut in the leather of one of them with a blow to the side, sending a small cascade of sand flying out.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you approached her. "What did that poor dummy do to you?" you asked.

She turned to you, her frown slowly fading to reveal a smile on her lips.

"Looked at me weird," she giggled as you glanced at his face.

Of the two buttons that served as his eyes, one was dishevelled and dangled wearily in the air, reaching the line drawn in thick black marker on the hessian by way of a smile.

"Ready for a rematch, Zaunite girl?" she questioned as she grabbed her water bottle. "Or are you just here to enjoy the show."

You raised your hand in the air as if to dismiss those two flies of possibility. "If it's to end up with the same face as him, no thanks."

She finished her gulp, resting her bottle on the floor. "You manage, though."

You shrugged. "With my fists maybe, with a staff? I prefer to use it for hiking."

"And would you like to learn," she approached the stall grouping wooden swords, "with the sword?"

"So you can shrivel me up and I can go home with a map of blue on my body?" You giggled.

"Relax," she rolled her eyes, grabbing one of the swords by its sanded blade and handing you the pommel, "just because everything's gone to shit around here doesn't mean I can't teach you a few things."

You looked at the pommel, considering the possibilities. Fiora didn't seem to want to start a new quarrel or regain a moment of glory, especially with such a lack of audience.

Your hand reached out and grasped the smooth wood of the pommel. It was heavier than you would have thought, and you gave it a few twists in your hand to get used to its mass.

"Good," Fiora thundered, stepping aside to observe you, "now show me how you would guard yourself."

Having Fiora as a teacher, knowing how judgmental she is, wasn't easy. Every micro gesture you made was going to be analysed and dissected in front of your eyes with possible condescension.

You huffed and puffed, trying all the same to get caught up in the exercise. You held back from gripping the pommel with both hands, and leaned slightly to one side. She watched your position carefully, her eyes roving over your posture before she stepped forward.

"You need to find a way of ensuring that the weight of the sword isn't something extra to carry," she came and took your arm between her hands to reposition it in the air. "If you let your opponent see that you have a problem with your weapon, that tells them a lot about where they should strike."

She repositioned your hips, pressing the wood of her sword close to your ankle to shift it. She stepped back again, watching your posture to make sure everything was correct.

"Good," she said, "now, hit the dummy."

You turned to her, confused. "How?"

"Do I have to explain the definition of hitting to you?" she questioned sarcastically. "I thought you were an expert at it."

You shook your head in exasperation, and hit the dummy. She eyed you up and down.

"Do you usually hit Tyler this softly?"

You frowned. "It was a one time occurrence."

"But if you still did that's how you'd hit him?"

"So he'd find another way to wind up friends and make me suffer? No thanks."

‘’Right," Fiora sighed, “then imagine the person you hate most in the world standing in front of you, and strike.”

You turned to the dummy, only one person in mind. It wasn't difficult to imagine him, his appearance ingrained in your mind.

A man of average height, with a sympathetic face, his eyelids drooping over his brown, almost black eyes, surrounded by the wrinkles of the sun in the skin of a man in his forties.

The mere image of him running his hand over his Venetian blond hair, neatly separated by an asymmetrical parting, made your blood boil.

So you struck again, harder this time, obviously enough to satisfy Fiora.

"Whoever gets those hits has a lot to worry about," she remarked, pressing her lips into an inverted smile as her perfectly drawn eyebrows rose.

"I hope he gets them," you sighed, your shoulders slumping.

"Don't worry, he will," Fiora resumed, stepping back slightly as you turned to face her. "Good, now try attacking me."

"Already?" you questioned, expecting more practice from her.

"Theory is nice, but theory won't get you out of every situation."

You breathed out, trying to position yourself as she had shown you before. She was watching you, waiting for your move with unvarying weariness. Almost timidly, you described an arc in the air, as if you were getting rid of the move, and she parried it with the greatest of ease.

"I'm not made of sugar," she'd grumble, "make a move, a real one."

You let out a frustrated ‘hmpf’ as you took another step closer and arced through the air, which she simply blocked with a blow that felt deeply light and effortless.

She sighed, seeing that it would take more than a few hits on a dummy to relax you and make you realise that this wasn't a punishment session, but a learning one.

"Look," she breathed as she began to circle you, "although we're in a goldfish world, I know you're not one."

"What a beautiful egalitarian spirit," you commented.

"You just have to realise that you're not going to let commas walk all over you when you're capital letters," continued Fiora, swinging her sword in the air like a metronome. "Anyway, if you've got so much anger inside you, and you don't know what to do with it, turn it into fuel. It's what's stirring inside you that's going to make things interesting and may lead you to overcome more than you think."

You tightened your grip on your sword, moving your arm to get used to its weight and the change in balance. Garen had told you, you had to get it out in the open. Keeping it inside would not only be pointless, it would be your undoing.

"So, what do you say to this Zaunite girl?" she continued.

You sighed, chewing your cheek as a small smile spread across your lips. "Stop circling me like a roundabout, and show me what to do."

She smiled, and you were back on guard.

More than an hour passed during which you trained together, Fiora twirling in the air, supple and free as a petal, while your flexibility was closer to that of a pebble, which didn't stop you from managing to get by with the simplest basics. You'd probably find it hard to walk in the next few days, or to hold anything in your dominant arm, but you tried not to think about it.

After your request for a time-out, you sat down side by side on the lawn, breathing heavily as your skins were covered in a film of sweat. She took her flask in her hand and passed it to you.

You looked at it for a moment, surprised, before accepting it and uncorking it. You were careful not to let the neck touch your lips.

"You're not doing too badly," she remarked, placing her hands back on the grass as her shoulders rose to the level of her chin.

"Don't try to flatter me," you replied, handing her flask back to her.

She took it in her hand. ‘’Alright, you suck.‘’

You chuckled, a small laugh catching you both before she finished drinking in her turn. Your eyes roamed the horizon of hills and green mounds of grass. You were going to miss being surrounded by so much vegetation all the time.

The air here was so pure, and the idea of returning to Piltover or Zaun, where everything was a huge wall of copper and iron, didn't appeal to you any more than that.

"What's it like, Piltover?" questioned Fiora, articulating the last word as she forced her accent to bend to the demands of those in the golden city.

"High, clean, pretentious," you listed, resting your elbows on each of your knees.

"And Zaun?"

You shrugged. "A sly, dirty anthill."

"Well, one sounds more inviting than the other," Fiora remarked. You could feel her gaze on you in your peripheral vision. "Did you learn how to crack your knuckles in Zaun?"

Your eyes lowered instinctively to your joints, clenching your fist instinctively before it relaxed at the memory of Viktor's thumb caressing it.

"I learned on the job," you confirmed, pointing your chin at the dummy before your eyes settled on her, "the kind of thing where you don't have a teacher to learn from."

"Were you fighting so you wouldn't get your little afternoon snack taken away?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, shaking your head. "You could put it that way. Being a kid in the big leagues teaches you a few things."

"Are those grown-ups still alive?" she straightened.

You sighed. "Yes, they are."

She pressed her shoulder against yours as encouragement. "It's a good thing the greatest duelist in Demacia showed you how to deal with them better then."

You smiled. "Lucky I crossed her path," you confirmed, turning towards her.

She returned your smile, her eyes regaining their seriousness. "I'm sorry, about all I did and said to you." Her playful, condescending tone had faded from her voice. "Really, I wish I could get those words back, to pull them out of your ears and shove them back into my own mouth."

You wondered for a moment whether, every time Fiora set foot on that training ground from now on, she would think back to your first quarrel, or this session, or both as a whole.

"What's done is done," you shook your head, not defeatist, but appreciative. "We can at least be grateful that we've moved on from it, and hope never to go back."

She nodded, watching you with consideration. "We should keep in contact," she finally suggested, "send each other letters, or something."

You nodded, the idea not sounding too horrible. "Okay."

She acquiesced, and a few seconds later straightened to push herself onto her knees and stand. ‘’Well," she dusted her bottom to remove any grass browns, “time's ticking, you won't be leaving in too long.”

She held out her hand to you, the other still holding her sword as the very extension of her arm. You hesitated to take it, to simply stand up and ignore the gesture. But you dismissed it as pity and mockery, grabbing her forearm and pushing on your legs in turn to stand up.

"Let's go, before Lolanthe or Heimerdinger faints," she sighed.

So you walked back together, the eyes of the students outside on the two of you as some whispered to their friends when you passed. You wondered whether they were watching Fiora, or you, or both of you - a particular union of anger leading the way with the elegance and poise of your determination.

When you arrived at the hotel, the students had already started to take their suitcases out into the corridors and bring down their belongings. In your own corridor, you found Garen in Viktor's room, packing up his own things to take home. You finished off with your own, hoping to take a shower on The Young Prince so you wouldn't stink of sweat all day.

So you took your bags outside, the tiny group of students forming just as they had when you arrived again. Everyone chatted about everything and anything, promising to write or visit or see each other again as soon as they could.

Heimerdinger and Lolanthe gave both of them a shared historical lesson on the magical wars, Heimerdinger's point of view and personal experience in all this being of interest to many. Fiora, who had come to sit next to you, seemed to prevent herself from openly yawning at the narration. Jayce chatted quietly with Garen so as not to interrupt the lesson, occasionally raising his hand to ask questions. Viktor, for his part, seemed a little tense, no doubt from lack of sleep.

Then it was time to move towards the harbour for departure, the roulette army resuming the symphony they had abandoned a week ago. While Fiora seemed to be attacking Jayce in terms of gallantry this time, you occasionally glanced at Viktor. He seemed in a bad mood, his features hardened. You wondered why. Had something happened while you were away from the hotel to make him this way? Was he disappointed that he couldn't stay any longer in Demacia?

The sun was already beginning to set when you reached the quays and the familiar silhouette of the Young Prince appeared in your vision. Arriving in the shadow of his balloon, Lolanthe turned to your group.

"Dear students," her accent was sharp and proud, "it has been an honour for us to welcome such brilliant minds as yours, who will undoubtedly enrich this world with their future inventions." Her smile was sincere, and you wouldn't be surprised if, in the years to come, Piltover wasn't the one to welcome Demacian students and perhaps even open its doors to other great Runeterra schools. "The Demacia Academy will always have its doors open to Piltovian students."

"And vice versa," confirmed Heimerdinger, turning to Lolanthe and the students. "Ladies and gentlemen, our stay here has exceeded any expectations the Academy could have had, and we are eternally grateful for the comfort of your welcome and your generosity."

Lolanthe smiled graciously with the delicacy of her features. "Thank you so much Cecil," and you seemed to recognise in the Professor a little blush about his ears as his moustache twitched slightly.

The departure time was announced, and all the students turned to each other to say goodbye. Some cried, emotion overriding any sense of dignity. Others exchanged addresses so that one day they could write letters to each other or meet up again.

Garen walked over to you, a sad little smile on his face.

"This is where it ends," he sighed, "it's a happy ending, all the same."

"There are no happy endings," you countered with a smile, "because nothing ends."

He shook his head, watching the horizon for a moment. "I know a young blonde lady who will write that sentence on any surface with enough room when I tell her about this farewell on the way home." You laughed softly, and he followed you in the gesture.

You were sad to leave, to abandon this heavenly place, but you missed talking to Sky about everything and anything, and you couldn't wait to get back to the showers at Piltover, and to find Selene and Eris, who you couldn't wait to tell everything to.

"I'd really like to keep in touch with you," he said, "to maybe visit you in Piltover someday."

You nodded. "I'll have to prepare a jogging route for you to discover in Piltover then," you smiled.

"I'd like that a lot," one of the corners of his lips quirked upwards.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then came over to you before taking you in his arms and holding you close. He wasn't suffocating, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a calm, soothing way.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he whispered in your ear.

You wrapped your arms around him, his back so big that your hands couldn't reach each other even if you pressed yourself as hard as you could onto him. His embrace reminded you of him, and you savoured the thought for a moment.

"Okay," you finally replied, your voice barely audible over his shoulder.

He pulled back eventually, his eyes seeming to check for a moment the vague reminders of the wounds on your face.

"Still got the balm?" he asked.

You nodded, and he nodded back. His gaze drifted behind you, and he placed his hand on your shoulder one last time.

"Let's stay in contact, okay? I got Jayce's address, I'll come and visit sometime."

You nodded, and he pulled away from you.

"Play nice," you heard him say.

You didn't know if this remark was addressed to you for the future, or if it was for Fiora coming towards you.

"So," she began, "relieved to leave?"

You shrugged. "Less than I thought."

She nodded, a sly little smile on her face. "I'd finally get a holiday from the rag."

You raised your chin. "And I from the idiot."

You both smile. It's as if you don't even need words to understand each other, your differences and such aside. You held out your hand to her, and she looked up at you. She brought her hand up to your forearm, and you squeezed hers. It was a pact. Not a farewell, but a goodbye.

"See you, Fiora," you said.

She smiled at you. "See you, Zaunite girl."

Your arms loosened, and she turned away to face Viktor and bid him farewell. He still seemed tense, clenching his jaw frequently. Perhaps she was offering him his last Vikkie, perhaps apologising for her behaviour, who knows.

The time came to board, and you took the handle of your suitcase in your hand, dragging it almost unwillingly to the boarding bridge.

Many students turned to greet their friends, some still visibly crying. Perhaps this was the last time they would see them, perhaps they would never come back here, perhaps they had already set a date to see each other again.

You turned around, Fiora and Garen standing on the quay, side by side in the same way you had introduced yourselves. They smiled at you, Fiora sending you a wink as her eyes drifted to Viktor. You rolled your eyes with a smile before finally disappearing inside the airship.

Mechanically, you walked among the students to find the cabin you had taken on the outward journey with Viktor. You opened it, finding the same layout without any change whatsoever in its appearance. You turned to face the corridor, searching for Viktor with your eyes. When you found his gaze, you tilted your head for a moment towards the inside of the room to show him where to go, and pushed your suitcase to the side of the bed as you had done last week.

He joined you shortly afterwards, silent, walking with difficulty to his bed and sitting down with a heavy sigh mixed with a grunt, the metal of his leg brace clicking and wincing. This time you were convinced that something was definitely wrong.

You straightened up, turning to him. "Are you alright?"

He didn't even offer you a glance, the heel of his bad leg lining up in a straight line between his support on the bed and the floor. "Why wouldn't I be."

His leg looked like it was hurting, but you weren't going to jump to conclusions, maybe it was something else. "You seem tense."

He sighed, pressing his temple against the wood of the bunk bed ladder, eyes closed under furrowed brows. "I just hope the journey will be quick."

"Viktor," you began, "if there's something wrong, you have to tell me."

There was no need to quote your clauses so that he would have them in his head. He breathed, his eyes finding yours through his lashes. His jaw tensed for a moment, his head jerking slightly away from the ladder at the pressure of the muscle rising in his temple before he relaxed and let out a tired breath.

"It's nothing," he admitted, "I'm just... exhausted, that's all."

You sensed that he wasn't telling you everything, but you weren't angry with him. After all, you weren't telling him everything either, so why expect him to do the same?

"Alright, well... I'm going to Heimerdinger's lesson," you warned, "I can give you my notes once he's done?"

His eyes closed again. "That would be excellent, Miss."

"Okay..." you murmured, sensing that he needed a little space, "rest well."

It pained you to see him like this, to see him in such a bad way, to see him unable to let his thoughts pass his lips so that he could share them with you.

You left the cabin, your heart clenching in your chest as you made your way to the common room. The students gathered for an additional lesson given by Heimerdinger, the beginning of which was interrupted, however, as soon as the airship's belly hummed.

Unlike on the previous trip, when you took off from a cabin where there were no windows for you to see anything, you took the opportunity to join the students along the walls and observe the scene from behind the large windows.

The ship rose slowly into the air, gradually moving away from the ground. In the waters of the sea, you could see golden reflections as the sun fell asleep in the arms of the sea. All the stars twinkled across the bay, and it was towards a horizon tinged with pink that you sailed.

Heimerdinger, still unimpressed by such a situation, then called you to order - he conceded that young people needed to satisfy their curiosity and experience all this, but he appreciated all the more that this same curiosity should be placed in his lessons.

The class resumed, the students distracted by the latest visions of the city in which they had lived for a week. It was strange, to become accustomed to a place so quickly, to leave a part of yourself there and take another part with you in a pocket of your memory.

And the sky rested, the sea a mirror where its blue became black and its clouds pink. When the sun went down, the starfish turned the sky upside down, reflecting its eternal partner.

When dinner came, you still had no sign of Viktor, and you were beginning to worry. You hesitated about going to see him. You didn't want to wake him, especially if his night had been short and he didn't seem to be having a good time when you left.

Sky, Orcelyia and some other students pulled you by the sleeve so that you could play a few games of Werewolf, so as not to immediately abandon the Demacian atmosphere.

The games piled up, and as the evening wore on, your concern grew. When there weren't enough people left to play anything, the students decided to go to their rooms, still tired from the previous evening.

So you finally went to your own cabin, slowly opening the door and looking around at the rest of the room. It was plunged into semi-darkness, the light from Viktor's bed on dim in the rest of the room.

He was lying on his side, his T-shirt a tangled mess on the floor. When you approached him, checking to see if he was asleep, you found him almost trembling. You frowned, something was not right.

"Viktor..." you whispered as you approached him and knelt down, concern knitting your brows together, "what's going on?"

His eyes opened halfway, covered by heavy eyelids and watching you with an expression you couldn't make out. Closer, your eyes noticed a slight film of sweat on his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead, his breathing heavy.

You placed your fingers on his forehead, his eyes closing at the touch as he exhaled heavily. No fever, that was something.

"Please," you asked, your voice trying to sound firm to hide the panic, "tell me what is going on."

He pressed his lips together hard as his eyelids closed until his nose wrinkled, his whole face contracting for a long second before returning to normal. His lips parted, his eyes looking into the distance.

"Ran out of painkillers for-" he hissed in pain, pressing his forehead against the mattress that seemed to have been accumulating sweat for a while now, a sigh deepening in his chest as he tried to refocus, "... for my leg."

All that walking for that week must have taken its toll on him, depleting his few tablets of medicine faster than sugar in water.

You breathed in, your eyes resting on his blanket, covering his silhouette. You must have had some painkillers left in your toiletry bag, and you sat up quickly to open your suitcase.

Splitting it in two on the floor, you grabbed your toiletry bag and opened it, looking for your medical supplies. Finally, you found a matching tablet and stood up to face him.

"Will these be of any help?" you asked.

He looked at the box, seeming to recognise the name as he raised his eyes to yours again. "A bit."

You nodded, rising to the sink you had. You opened up his little cabinet just below, and grabbed a glass which you quickly filled with water. You came back to him, knelt down and offered him a tablet and the glass in your hand.

He struggled to sit up with his elbow, taking the tablet from the palm of your hand and placing it on his tongue before taking the glass and drinking it. He seemed thirsty, finishing the entire contents of the glass and handing it to you.

"Need more?" you asked about the glass, but he shook his head before falling back, his forearm resting on his eyes.

You remained kneeling by his bedside, trying to relax. He seemed to be in a bad way, and even if the painkillers were going to take effect in the next thirty minutes, thirty minutes of pain is still hours. Hesitantly, and chewing the inside of your cheek, you couldn't bear the silence.

"Can I help you, please?"

It took a moment for him to clear his forearm of his eyes, his head falling to the side as his eyes rested on yours.

"I have a balm," you conceded, "it might help."

He looked at you for a long moment, considering you, and your cheeks warmed. He seemed to hesitate, probably wondering if it would cause more trouble. You hoped, hoped that he would trust you with such a sensitive and meticulous task. After all, you hadn't always been very delicate in the past.

"It's useless work," he breathed. "It won't make it go away."

You pressed your temple against the wood of the bed's ladder, your two heads asymmetrical in their distance.

"I can't make the pain go away, but I can at least try to make it more bearable for you."

He said nothing, his eyes never leaving you for a moment. You wondered what he was thinking, whether he too, like you once were, was reluctant to be helped, to leave his vulnerability in the hands of someone like you.

He sighed, finally propping himself up on his elbows, the orange light of his bedside lamp tracing his muscles as his hands pressed against the mattress until he was sitting up, leaving the heaviness of his grunts of pain in the air.

He removed the cover, revealing his leg brace still pressed against his trousers. You moved away from the bed a little, letting him adjust himself as he pleased on the bed as he approached the ladder towards the foot of the bed and pressed himself into it. He let his good leg dangle in the air, grabbing the bad one and steering it gently until his heel touched the floor. The effort seemed to take a lot out of him, making him move for the first time in hours.

You knelt beside him, taking up a position on the side of his bad leg. You observed the different straps and alloys of bolts and metal parts joining and separating. The design seemed complex at first glance, but you remembered how Viktor had positioned it that morning in Demacia.

You turned your head, raising it towards Viktor. His was pressed against the ladder bar, watching you - you were closer than you'd thought.

"Tell me what to do," you asked, your voice lower than you'd expected.

Under his piercing eyes, you wanted to do the right thing - but more than that, you wanted to make sure you could help him suffer less, make him feel good, make him feel better.

He took a long breath, trying to get past the pain to find his words.

"To remove it, you have to start at the thigh," he explained, his accent drier than usual, "unbuckle the straps all the way to the knee before moving on to the hinge."

You listened attentively, your eyes resting on the aid, before gently moving your hands closer. With your fingertips, you reached up to the smooth strap on his thigh, releasing the strip of brown leather with the greatest of delicacy, leaving the little golden stalk of the buckle spring free as you pulled very lightly on the belt and finally untied the first strap.

"That didn't hurt, did it?" you asked, turning to face him for confirmation.

The ghost of a smile passed over the corner of his lip, and you suspected that if he wasn't in so much pain he'd probably have let it invade his face. With the shadow of his figure covering you, you felt almost feverish.

"You're doing good, Miss," he confirmed.

You tried to ignore the missed beat of your heart at that sentence, simply nodding as you reached for the next strap.

"How often does this happen?" you asked, scratching the leather with the tip of your index finger until you managed to raise the buckle like a hill.

He heaved a sigh, his hand coming to grip the ladder. You turned to him, wondering if you'd done something wrong, but he shook his head to instantly kill the idea.

"Not often," he asserted, bringing his free hand to his forehead to wipe away the meagre sweat. "I thought I'd have enough painkillers for the trip... I didn't expect to be walking that much."

You hummed in understanding as the second loop finally came undone and you reached his knee. Your eyes fell on the mechanism, two thick iron discs encircling each side of his knees, made to ensure that the knee could still be bent but with solid support.

You'd seen him tighten it the other day with a bolt, but which way? And what if, accidentally, because you wanted to loosen it, you tightened it and hurt him more than anything else.

"Inwards," Viktor pointed out, seeming to understand this internal conflict that was occupying you.

You nodded, putting your hand on the disc to turn it towards Viktor, unscrewing it slowly to avoid any sudden movement that might hurt him. You could feel him watching you, his eyes resting on your profile as your fingers worked so frighteningly to take care of him.

You moved on to the second disc on the inside of his leg, leaning a little further to the side without applying any pressure as you stared at the second one. Although you were close to him, you didn't allow any part of your body to come into contact with his. If he was in pain, you wanted to give him his space. You knew very well that, even if sometimes you needed to be close to someone and help them through the pain, being able to be alone in that suffering was a relief.

He breathed heavily when the pressure was relieved and his knee was out of the grasp of his brace. And so you went back to the path of your hands. After hours of walking and pressing for balance, it must have been a relief to leave it out in the open.

You were worried about him, the silence punctuated at times by long sighs and hisses from him, his hand in your peripheral vision tightening around the wood of the ladder.

"Why didn't you tell me," you began, your hands reaching for smaller straps towards his shin, "earlier?"

He remained silent for a moment, perhaps asking him to talk in this situation wasn't the wisest thing to do. You inwardly insulted yourself for this idiocy, simply returning to your task, when he calmly replied.

"I thought it'd pass," he admitted, eyelids closed. "I seem to have-" he gritted his teeth, mouth open, "overestimated my limits."

Did he come back from every walk and museum visit like this, breathing hard under a throbbing, incessant pain for which he had to wait excruciatingly for the effects of the painkillers to kick in?

You felt guilty, that you hadn't found a way to prevent a situation like this from happening. But you could still help, and you comforted yourself with the idea that even if this help was temporary, any help was welcome.

You soon got to the part about his ankle. "Even if it were to pass," you mumbled, "I could have been there with you, unless you didn't want me to."

You reached for his ankle, the same bolt system you'd encountered towards his knee facing you.

He breathed in as your fingers worked to unscrew them. "I think I would have avoided much torment if you were here, Miss."

Your heart went mushy in your chest. The very idea that Viktor might want you close to him revealed a sweetness in you that you kept seeing coming back.

Your eyes returned to his when you'd finished unscrewing them. "Then why didn't you ask me to stay?"

He exchanged a look with you, his chest gently rising and falling. There was a shame camouflaged under so much uncertainty and pride, under all those unspoken words.

"The same reason why you left that day."

I didn't want you to see me that way.

You understood much better now, exchanging a knowing glance with him. While you didn't want him to see you in your overflowing, buried violence, he didn't want you to see him weak. You both felt miserable, but neither of you seemed to mind seeing the other like that.

You nodded, letting your fingers undo the very last strap around his foot. Once that was done, you let him pull his leg out of the device. He tried to squeeze a grunt out of his throat as he raised it high enough for you to pull the aid from underneath and place it on the floor.

When he placed his heel and the palm of his foot on the ground, he let out a heavy breath. It must have been a costly effort, and you couldn't wait for the painkiller to take effect.

You turned to Viktor, who was watching you expectantly. Your eyes fell on his trousers. Ah, right. He'd have to take them off before you could apply the balm.

"I'll just, um... yeah," you managed to say as you turned to let him have his privacy.

Kneeling on the floor, you turned around, your back facing him. You straightened up, hearing the distinct sound of his belt buckle coming undone. You listened intently as his back settled on the sheets of his bed, adjusting his hips to slide the bottom of his trousers down his legs, punctuating the air with little grunts of pain.

You heard the distinct sound of fabric wrinkles meeting the floor, the rustle of sheets echoing in the silence of the room marked by the steady, sizzling sound of the neon emergency exit sign above your bedroom door.

There was silence, but you didn't move. You had no intention of turning around. You could hear that he was motionless at the moment, he'd stopped moving a few long seconds ago, but you weren't going to turn around.

"Could..." you finally heard him say.

You almost shuddered when you heard his voice. He seemed closer than you thought, somewhere behind your back. The end of his sentence never came, and in the silence of the room, you waited.

"Yes?" you finally asked when, despite Viktor's small, compressed breaths, the silence had intensified.

"Um..." it took him a moment to find his words. "I need pyjama trousers."

Your cheeks heated, of course.

You moved almost on your knees, stepping on them as you bent down to reach his suitcase and laid it on the floor, taking the liberty of opening it. Everything was carefully and meticulously arranged.

‘Any preference?’ you questioned, your back still carefully turned to him.

"Plaid," a single word was all he managed to pronounce, and you needed no further questioning to understand that he had an obvious preference for a certain pair.

He'd had the intelligence to arrange his suitcase so that his pyjamas were folded on top of the rest of his clothes so that he didn't need to rummage through his suitcase to find what he needed.

You grabbed the trousers, soft and wide, your knees sliding uncomfortably against the carpet on the floor, only to reach back and stretch the plaid pants out somewhere in the void behind you. You felt the warmth of fingertips brushing against yours, and your chest felt light.

Turning towards the door again, you waited, recognising the sound of fabric being rolled up into small hems so that one heel rose from the floor to rest there, then the other followed, with more difficulty. The fabric seemed to creep up his calves, Viktor's back meeting the sheets of his bed again with a sigh as he shifted until he had correctly pulled on his trousers.

You remained motionless, your back straight as you waited for him to consent. You had a kind of firm discipline that kept you upright, perhaps unconsciously to show him that you were thorough and meticulous in everything you did - as if he would ever doubt that.

"All good," he finally confirmed.

So you turned to face him again, his eyes on you as he sat on the bed, his hand still gripping the ladder as he hemmed the fabric up to his thigh, partially neatly tucked at the start until the folds were hastily packed at the end. The time for cleanliness wasn't now, what mattered was relief.

You swallowed, trying to keep your eyes from roaming over the bare skin of his body, dotted with moles on his alabaster skin. You pulled your toilet bag towards you, digging around until you found the balm. You uncapped it under Viktor's watchful eye, placing it on the floor as you dipped your finger in to take a honeyed dab from your index finger.

You turned to face him again, approaching his leg gently. Your eyes found his, watching the muscle in his jaw tighten for a moment.

"Where does it hurt the most?" you asked.

He inhaled heavily, his eyes never leaving yours. There seemed to be some hesitation. Perhaps you should have simply handed him the balm, not taken away the possibility of him taking care of it himself. After all, he was the one suffering, he knew without a doubt where his aches were much better than you did. You hoped he wasn't frustrated by the idea of you taking this freedom. And just as you were about to press the dab of ointment still on your finger around the rim of the jar and hand it to him, he cleared his throat.

"The knee," he informed you, breath heavy, "and," his eyes lowered to the ground for a moment, "the ankle."

You nodded, your eyes dropping to his knee. A faint reminiscent indent of the harness tracing his skin with the wrinkles of his previous pants. Had he tightened it too much in the hope of getting a better fit? Whatever the case, you moved your hand closer to his knee. Your fingers were only a few centimetres from his skin, motionless.

"Are you okay with me doing this?" you finally asked.

He exchanged a look with you, the corner of his lips turning up very slightly. Perhaps was his next snide remark going to be directed at you.

"If there's anyone I would want to do this, it's you."

You parted your lips, closing them in surprise as your heart raced up your throat. You cleared it, nodding simply as you repositioned yourself beside him.

"This will feel a bit cold," you warned, "but it'll warm up soon, I promise."

So you finally touched the side of his knee, a hiss escaping his lips. You looked up again, making sure everything was all right, that he wasn't in too much pain. He exchanged a look with you, nodding despite his furrowed brows.

You applied the balm to the surface first, not pressing it into the skin, just covering it and the sides of his knees where you could imagine the support of his brace. The balm was firm and thick, while its strong, fresh scent perfumed the air.

As you began to press more against his skin, he suddenly grabbed your wrist. His grip wasn't firm, just light against your own skin. You stopped all movement, all pressure on his skin, and your eyes met his with concern. Had you hurt him? Had you pressed too hard?

"Did this hurt?" you asked in an alarmed murmur.

He was breathing heavily, closer to you now, leaning towards you, his back hunched like the arch of a church. He seemed to be catching his breath, going from an open-mouthed breath to a closed one as his teeth clenched.

You sought his gaze, trying to make sure he was all right. He met your eyes again, his face bent over yours, and your breath caught.

"Should I stop?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

You moved your wrist away from what he was still holding, but he tightened his grip on it, preventing you from moving even a little further away. You froze, your eyes fixed on each other.

"No," he finally breathed, his head pressing against the ladder again as he scrutinised you. "Don't stop. Just..." He inhaled softly. "I wasn't prepared."

"Oh," you felt like an idiot, not having warned him before intensifying the pace, "Did I press too hard?"

He shook his head, reassuring you. "No," he sighed, "you're doing perfect, Miss."

Perfect. The title had never sounded so sweet to you.

You'd spent enough years trying to achieve perfection, one success after another to reach the top of the Academy's charts, to always have an answer for everything. And although this title of perfection had been gradually stolen from you over the months by Viktor's arrival, the fact that he was bestowing this title on you himself had a new impact on you.

You let out a breath you'd forgotten you'd been holding in, resuming your work more timidly. You went about it more methodically with your thumbs, gently massaging his taut skin, gently but surely bringing more pressure to massage the balm into his skin as it warmed under your fingers.

He offered another hiss as you moved to a second part of his knee.

"I know it hurts," you whispered, pausing slightly, "but it will stop soon."

The balm scented your fingers with a minty smell, crisp in the air and warm on the skin. You tried to work on his aching muscles gently, the fat of the balm gliding over his skin with ease under your fingers.

He watched you as he slowly relaxed to the sensation, getting used to the slow rhythm you had set. The air no longer knew the weight of pressure, the lightness of your heart intact in your chest as silence filled you without discomfort.

"Where did you get this?" he managed to utter, his hissing and grumbling discomfort greatly diminished as you massaged the balm gently.

You moved on to another part of his knee, your two thumbs now wrapping around it and massaging his muscles.

"In a Demacian shop," you replied, massaging without your gaze leaving his skin, your fingers almost counting the moles on it. "Garen recommended it to me when he was cleaning my wounds..."

After a final application near his knee, making sure you'd coated the whole area that might be unpleasant for him, you moved on to his ankle, dipping your finger into the jar again to take another dab.

"There's some that sell it in Zaun, though," you confirmed, tugging at the fabric of his sock and applying the fresh paste to his skin, the contact not seeming to bother him any more than that now. "I used to use it often."

"Really?" he asked, watching you nod. ‘Why?

You shrugged, working gently on the ligaments of his ankle. "Used to get hurt often."

"Why?" he questioned again.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering up to his knee before returning to the spot on his ankle. "Demanding job."

He seemed to be regaining at least his curiosity over the pain. "Mines?" he continued.

"Not exactly," you shook your head, lower lip pressing and curling upwards as you regained his gaze. "I..."

"Can't tell me yet, right?"

There was no condescension in his tone, no impatience, just understanding, and you felt heard.

"Yeah," you smiled softly, letting the silence spread like balm over his skin.

He didn't say anything more, just nodded as you rubbed the rest of the ointment between your hands to let it dissipate before finally pulling his sock up over his ankle.

"How does it feel?" you questioned, your eyes rising to his as you remained kneeling on the floor.

He took a long breath, closing his eyes. "Better," he admitted, "a bit."

"Good," you confirmed. "It's better to have it covered to keep it warm and working."

You tilted your head, your chin pointing towards his pillow. He sighed, offering you his gaze for a moment before he fell back slowly, lying on his side as you had found him. He straightened up for a moment, taking his pillow and turning it over. The sensation of sweat on the other side of it must not have been pleasant. He pulled the blanket up over his navel.

His head fell back onto his pillow, a sigh escaping his lungs as his eyebrows furrowed. The change of position must not have been pleasant at all.

You had stayed on your knees, shifting them on the floor and letting your hip fall to the ground so that you could sit down.

When he opened his eyes again, they rested on you, as if the possibility of his resting anywhere else was impossible and stupid.

You breathed in, trying in your exhalation to make your heart shrink in your chest. "Is there anything else I could do for you?"

He gazed at you for a moment, before his eyes settled somewhere on the floor. "I could use something to distract the pain, but," he offered, "but I don't think a book is going to be enough." He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before they opened again on his suitcase open on its side. "I can't... focus, much."

"Right," you nodded, understanding his situation.

You thought for a moment. What could you do that would occupy his attention sufficiently until the pain subsided and perhaps he could fall asleep? Reading to him would be pointless, and what's more, you'd potentially be taking away the simple pleasure of reading in silence.

Ask him questions about himself? No, it wasn't an interview. Besides, maybe he didn't want to feel like he was being interrogated.

So what could you do to distract him from the pain in his leg? More often than not, when you had a pain in your body that seemed unbearable, you tried to put your attention on another part of your body to distract him. And there was one thing you could do about it without bringing him more discomfort.

"Well," you began eventually. "It's not much, but... I could read your palm."

From his two furrowed brows, one rose. "You know how to do that?"

"Remember who I grew up with," you remarked, copying his gesture as a small smile tugged at the corner of one of your lips. "I might not be familiar with Tarot much, but I do have the basics of palmistry."

He settled back into his pillow, not taking his eyes off you. "Really?"

"Yes, palms are a one time thing," you pressed your cheek against his mattress for a moment. "The hand, with its hills and rivers, provides a topographical map of life. When it comes to cards, well, they're random. They form an infinity of associations and conclusions that can come from them in so many different settings. All I'll need is your dominant hand."

"I see," his amber eyes rested on you as gently as the sun on the sea, illuminating all the sparks in you. "Well," he extended his right hand towards you, palm skywards, "let's see if my future is as bright as Demacia's glory."

You smiled at his usual sarcasm and moved closer to him, your hand tentatively coming to rest under his as you watched him - it was bigger than yours, and the memories of that feeling made you feel strangely light.

Had you subconsciously suggested this out of pure desire to feel his hand against yours again, or had you done it out of a curiosity you couldn't quite control?

His knuckles sat pleasantly in your palm, your thumb resting in the hollow of his as you observed the lines and shapes of his hand. You raised your eyebrows at your observations, lifting his hand a little higher in the air to observe its relief.

"Is it that bad?" he asked, puzzled.

You shook your head. "No, it's not bad at all. I'm just looking at your fingers."

"My fingers?" he repeated. "I thought palmistry was, as the name suggests, about the palm."

You smile, continuing your observations. "The whole hand is taken into account for its reading."

"And what are my fingers like?"

You raise your head, making yourself straighter and less arched as your second hand traces the length of his with your index finger.

"You have a square hand," your voice was somewhere between demonstrative and gentle, "which indicates that you have a practical and orderly mind. Stability prevails over everything else, just as prudence is required in financial matters. You respect faith and order, except when the latter is imposed as part of an office job. It is also synonymous with manual dexterity and hard work."

So far, nothing that seemed impossible about Viktor.

"Where you thrive best can include outdoor activities such as gardening, but also in office occupations such as technology or management, where your organisational skills come into their own. This characteristic can take on a negative aspect when it leads to repetitive and boring tasks, though."

You raised your eyes, checking if you were aiming right. Viktor pressed his lips into a small pout, his eyebrows rising slightly. Correct.

"Your fingers are long," you continued, "so the details get all the attention, but without any pedantry at all. Your fingertips, too, are square, reflecting a down-to-earth, upright personality that likes order and decisive action, without lacking foresight or reflection."

"Much praise," he breathed.

"Of realities," you corrected, glancing at him before observing his fingers again. "The index finger reveals the need to succeed in life. In this case, your finger sticks out beyond your ring finger, and can betray an exaggerated self-esteem, compensated for by great qualities as a leader of men."

‘’Typical me,‘’ he joked as you rolled your eyes and continued reading.

"The middle finger stands between the active tips of the index finger and thumb and the more intuitive tips of the other two fingers. Yours leans towards the ring finger, and therefore introspection." He made no comment, the tips of your fingers moving on to the next one. "The ring finger, its neighbour, is reserved for artistic inclinations. Yours remains straight, and has no great particularity."

"And I could already see myself selling my artworks at exorbitant prices," he then sighed, "I'm going to have to change the whole course of my career."

You sneered. "The little finger, as it happens, expresses the gift of communication in both the private and professional spheres. Usually it reaches the upper phalanx of the ring finger, but yours exceeds it, and therefore forms an indicator of great success in this field."

"I shall ask Jayce to cancel his speech and pass me his notes to present in his stead."

"Finally," you pointed out as your thumb pressed against his, "the thumb is an indicator of inner strength, general energy levels and ego in particular. Yours is short, and doesn't fully reach the lower phalanx of the index finger, showing a lack of self-confidence."

This time he didn't offer you any sly comments.

You pressed your thumb harder against his to test its flexibility. "It's moderately flexible, and indicates practicality and determination."

"I take it we're finally moving on to hand lines?"

You could still have elaborated on the mounts, but you could already feel him relaxing, and that eventually he would fall asleep - after the short night following Fiora's party and the hours spent trying to fall asleep despite the pain stretching him, it wasn't going to take him long to fall asleep. So he might as well give him the more interesting parts.

"Absolutely," you conceded. "The lines on your hand define the paths of life. They indicate time and space, energy and effort, love and lust, war and peace. Like the course of life, they can change from week to week, or month to month. Destiny is not carved in stone: it shows through in the living flesh of the hand."

"And all this resides in my hand?" questioned Viktor, his voice already softening with the weight of sleep, the warmth of the balm seeming to activate as the little twitches and ticks of pain faded from his face.

"Mhm," you hummed in confirmation, your index finger tracing along the line of his skin splitting it in a fairly straight arc from between his index and middle fingers to two-thirds of the way down the side of his hand. "The heart line represents the state of the heart, both emotional and physical," you explained, moving slightly closer to it to get a better look as you tilted his hand so that the palm was properly illuminated. "Yours is splitting at the end."

You felt, gently and somewhat hesitantly, the sensation of his thumb caressing the back of yours. You froze for a moment, not daring to meet his gaze as you felt the soft, circular movements on your skin.

"Is it bad?" he asked, his voice sounding as if it were getting heavier with sleep, or simply tired from such an evening.

You relaxed, strangely, welcoming the sensation on your skin.

"That's positive," you corrected, your voice softer, "it indicates that a practical sense is complementing the other emotions."

"Hmm," was all he replied as his eyes followed your fingers over his skin.

"For your head line," you continued as your index finger drifted gently to the next major line, cutting his palm diagonally in a slight arch from the flank below his index finger and describing a line until it lost itself in the skin of his opposite, plumper flank. "You have a good balance between fantasy and reality, your line is long, a sign of broadmindedness and emotionality."

Your fingers holding his hand slid instinctively along his skin by just a few millimetres, Viktor's chest rising a little higher as he inhaled.

You tried not to let this reaction affect you. "Finally, the lifeline. Yours..." You looked at it with a little melancholy. "Is long, and pale paced with sickness," your eyes lit up though, "but a gradual arrangement."

"I've always wondered," Viktor asked, voice slower as his eyes struggled to stay open. "Can you predict your death in the palm of your hand?"

"No," you smiled. "The lines change often enough for that kind of accuracy to take place."

He sank a little deeper into his pillow, his hand growing heavier in your palm as sleep gradually overtook him. "I thought you said they were a one time thing."

"Because I don't read palms every fourth morning," you explained. "You could show me your hand again in a month and it might show me something different."

He sighed, exchanging a glance with you for a moment before closing his eyes. "I'll make sure to book a monthly appointment, then."

The idea of seeing Viktor again every month and being able to hold his hand like this, even for just five minutes, made you want the next month to be here already. But for now, you wanted this moment to last. You wanted the time you spent with him to last for hours, and for the thread of time to wrap itself around you both.

Your eyes returned to his palm, watching them a little more to note a few interesting points.

"I think you should get back on your artistic career," you smiled.

He stirred slightly, eyes still closed, voice sleepy. "Really?"

"You have a distinct line here associated with financial, artistic and personal success. It's a sign that your wishes will be fulfilled and perhaps result in a special honour."

"Mhm," Viktor replied simply.

You continued to observe his hand, the crevices, the lines, the dots, the curves rising and falling in certain places.

"You have a few stars," you remarked as you scrutinised his skin, your voice almost audible only to yourself, "all placed on the head line... and heart line."

Your fingertip continued to explore, tracing a few furrows, observing the phalanges of his fingers and their separations, their length, the intensity of the slits.

You barely lifted your head. "I think it's-"

But your sentence never went on, whatever you were going to say dying on your tongue as your eyes fell on Viktor's closed eyes.

Then you realised the weight of his hand in yours, how the caress of his thumb had faded so long ago, how his breath had become regulated.

You sighed softly, relaxing your shoulders as you tilted your head to the side. He'd managed to fall asleep.

You watched him for a moment, in his serenity and calm. You didn't dare move, didn't dare disturb his comfort with any movement or noise. So you waited.

During those few minutes of silence, your eyes moved from his hand to his chest, counting the moles on his arms, his shoulders, noting the one on his neck that you'd never noticed and that was probably hiding behind his shirt collars from the Academy.

Your fingers on the back of his hand didn't let go when, with your free hand, you curled a few strands of his hair, still damp from sweat, to the side so that they didn't fall over his eyes - an excuse to check that he truly didn't have a fever, of course.

He had a dark beauty in his sharp, angular figure. You drew attention to the curve of his nose, very slightly twisted to the side, or the way one of his dark circles dipped lower than the other, or the way his cupid's bow wasn't so abrupt.

Why had you never noticed these details? You'd spent so much time with him, and you probably could have gone on never noticing those slight details. So why notice them now?

You felt inside you, though, that there was an undeniable link between all the multitude of sensations you felt when he was around and this question.

It was when you began to tire that you leaned over to the switch on his lamp and turned it off, preparing to stand up and let go of his hand.

But as your fingers gently faded along his skin, ready to let go, you felt his hand wrap around yours - your heart skipped a beat. His fingers curled around yours, caging them in a soft, sleepy embrace.

Viktor stirred slightly in his sleep, but didn't wake up, your shoulders sagging in relief. You didn't dare move, keeping one knee on the ground and the other ready to push yourself to stand, doing nothing.

What could you do? Let go of his hand even though you had no desire to do so and go to bed, or enjoy the sensation a little longer until you went to sleep?

You sighed, then gently pushed yourself onto your knees. You lifted yourself up for a moment, not letting Viktor's hand leave yours as you grabbed your cover from your bunk and came back to kneel on the floor.

With one hand, awkwardly stretching out your duvet until you had it over you, you sat beside him, holding his hand.

You could barely see in the semi-darkness, the light from the exit once again illuminating the room with its neon orange, like a nightlight.

As before, you sat on the floor with both legs bent, one on top of the other at your side, resting your cheek against his mattress.

You couldn't see him fully with your eyes because of the lack of light. But you could make out the features of his face even with your eyes closed, so well that you could probably draw a portrait of him without a model. Your eyes wandered to your two embracing hands, or at least to the bracelet that Viktor's fingers were offering on your wrist.

It was strange, new for you, to feel all these things and not be able to bury or forget them, or give them a name.

Inside you, warm in your chest, you felt a heart beating as if for the first time. It resounded inside you, deaf to everyone else's ears and omnipresent in yours, whenever Viktor was near you, or you saw him, or he saw you, or you thought about him.

Viktor. Viktor. Viktor.

He was winning a battle against the occupied territory of your mind, eviscerating enemies and traitors who no longer had any place in you to sit and set up useless structures, cutting doubts and impossibilities short without you being able to stop him - or wanting to stop him.

You couldn't remember when you'd fallen asleep, but when you woke up you were lying on the floor. Its hard surface and the pain in your hips and back that it had given you no doubt played a part in waking you up.

When you wanted to massage the discomfort from your head and temple, you found your hand lying on the floor, not far from your eyes, Viktor's fingers brushing against your palm. One of you must have moved in their sleep until they no longer had your wrist hostage, probably you, you assumed.

His hand dangled in the air, his body heavily asleep, his breath peaceful. You lay on your side, your gaze riveted on him in the darkness of the room, which your eyes were slowly getting used to.

In the dim light, you noticed the way his eyebrows were furrowed again.

What is he dreaming about?

The question had always remained unanswered.

With your free hand, you gently raised your index finger in the air until you gently placed it between his two eyebrows, gently erasing the wrinkle.

He stirred slightly, and just as you thought he was going to wake up, he simply offered a long sigh, just before his hand, which was still grazing your palm, lightly pressed the backs of his fingers against your skin, like a dreamy caress that lasted only a brief moment.

The heat rose to your cheeks, your chest feeling light at the innocent gesture, until his hand came to a halt and hung in the air without your skins touching again.

You took a deep breath, the discomfort of the floor outweighing the desire to stay like that for the moment. Gently, you slipped your hand out of Viktor's reach, pressing it against the floor before pushing yourself to your feet, numb.

You grabbed your duvet, swinging it over your bunk as you silently climbed the rungs of your ladder two by two and lay down in your bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but you struggled to do so for a few moments as your mind kept replaying the scene in a continuous loop.

What woke you up for good this time was not the sound of the alarm as on the outward journey, but the sensation of something warm on your arm.

You struggled to open your eyes, squinting and frowning at the light that filled the room as you tried to clear the blur from your eyes to see better ahead.

Your gaze caught the distinctly brown colour of Viktor's hair, his features solidifying before your eyes as you snapped back to reality. He had placed his hand on the rail of your bed, his cheek resting on the back of it.

"Miss, it's getting late now," you heard him say, his voice close to a whisper.

Then you recognised the warmth on your arm, the feeling of his hand passing through the fabric to gently move you away from too much sleep.

You turned onto your back, his hand finally moving away from you as you put your forearm over your eyes.

"What time is it?" you croaked, surprised that you'd managed to line it up as a question as you rubbed the crust from your tiredness out of your eyes.

"Almost midday," he informed you.

You stopped moving, suddenly feeling fully awake as you turned to face him, propped up on your elbows.

"What?" you choked out.

He hadn't moved from his position, except to bring his chin to his knuckles. "Mhm."

"Why didn't you wake me earlier?" you exclaimed as you climbed out of bed, descending the steps of your ladder until you reached the mirror and tried to fix your appearance.

"Because there was no alarm for any students," Viktor remarked, standing by the bed, pressing his arm against it for balance, "and you looked like you needed it."

"I didn't miss Heimerdinger's class, right?" you questioned, turning to him.

He shook his head. "No classes today."

You frowned, moving away from the sink, the anxiety beating in your ears suddenly calming down. "No classes today?"

"You heard that right," he confirmed, pushing away from the bed to take a step towards you.

Heimerdinger must have fallen into line with the usual weekly timetable. Given that it was a Saturday, he considered this day to be part of the weekend, and therefore undoubtedly a break for him.

You breathed out a long breath, the stress and tension leaving your taut muscles as soon as it came.

Viktor was watching you, standing straight in front of you, his mood profoundly different from the previous day. After the night before, you weren't expecting to wake up to him like this. You wondered if he remembered anything while he was asleep, or if he'd slept like a log.

Your eyes landed on his leg, which wasn't wrapped up in his brace like it had been for the whole of that week.

"How's your leg?" you asked anyway.

He smiled at you, and your cheeks flushed. "Better," he confirmed, "thanks to you."

You shook your head, your eyes moving from the floor to his remade bed and then back to him. "It was nothing."

He arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't call taking care of my leg, giving me painkillers and managing to give me a good distraction from this torment, enough for me to fall asleep 'nothing'."

You kept your eyes from rolling to the sky. "Maybe it's not nothing," you conceded, "but you would have done the same for me." You breathed softly, your gaze settling on his as you managed to remain upright. "And you did."

Apart from the fact that it was a token of gratitude to him for the treatment he had given you when you were sick to death, it was also a token of the fact that he too could get help from you.

Mutual aid, that's what you had offered each other and what you had given each other.

Viktor said nothing for the moment, his lips parting before closing again. You wondered at what point he had stopped paying attention to what you were teaching him in your distraction from him.

Your stomach felt hollow, your extended sleep having apparently opened up your hunger. Your eyes rested on your suitcase for a moment, then returned to his.

It didn't take him long to understand what you were trying to tell him. A simple glance exchanged with you was enough for him, your gazes going beyond the limit of language.

"I'll see you in the common room?" he asked.

You nodded. "Okay."

He gave you the ghost of a smile before turning away towards the door. As he passed you, you heard him whisper :

"Thank you, Miss."

And so he left the room, and you held yourself back from running to your bed to bury your head in your pillow and bite it or scream into it or hit it or anything. You felt so light, for a simple conversation, a simple touch from him, a simple attention.

You concentrated, trying to regain your composure. It seemed to you that every instance in his presence had become a blessing, the cracking of an opening in you that was unfolding a little more every day, a bud awakening in its featherbed ready to blossom.

You pulled yourself together, straightening up and inhaling heavily before finding the strength to look for something to change yourself. You found your suitcase closed on the floor, the latter containing your toiletry bag that you had taken out the day before with the balm in it. Viktor had to put the latter away while you were sleeping, and just this attention seemed touching to you.

You took out your outfit for the day, changing quickly as the hunger began to sincerely gnaw at you in your stomach. Your eyes rested on your deck of cards, sighing heavily as you decided to quickly draw one before the start of this day.

An idea was beginning to creep into your mind, an idea that terrified you as much as it reassured you - because on the one hand, you were facing a terrain that you knew from afar, but on the other hand you finally knew what these effects were that took you so keenly.

The card that fell was The Star. You hurried to read the description of it.

The calm after the storm. Healing and renewal. Ultimate peace, but active and not passive. Creative inspiration. Summoning the muse. Clarity and vision.

It seemed quite positive, you thought, beating heart.

The Star appears after the tumultuous Devil card and that of the Tower. The Star brings a feeling of calm and serenity, as if the storm had passed. The thunder and the rain are gone. It's the ultimate feeling that everything will be fine. The Star is also the card of direct communication with the muse. This is a particularly important card for writers and artists. This is the archetype of inspiration. The female figure is naked, which implies vulnerability and openness. Its freely flowing waters imply openness. The bird in the tree offers spiritual communication. The stars above are a million bright suns, galaxies of hopes and possibilities.

Kneeling on the floor, you could feel your heart beating in your chest. These feelings that ran through your body, pumped your heart, brought warmth where there had been so little, was it ... what you imagined?

There was a moment when, out of frustration perhaps, you hoped to go back to the time when you hated him because at least you would know how you felt.

You shook your head, dismissing this possibility for the moment. You weren't fully awake, not enough for that anyway.

Thus you went to the common room, lunch was already starting to prepare while the students were eating on some tables near the windows of the airship. You were helping yourself, filling your tray to fill your screaming stomach before coming to take a seat at Viktor and Jayce's table.

“Morning sleepy head!" greeted Jayce with his usual enthusiasm.

“The Golden Boy seems to be recovering Piltovian colors,” you remarked as you took a seat on one of the chairs near Viktor.

"Demacia is nice of course," he conceded, "but I have to admit that I miss the Academy. Plus, it's strange to barely be back to your apartment and leave it right after.”

"It is not even completely cleaned," Viktor added, already considering the amount of work that'd need to be done for it.

“You guys know where to find me if you need help moving things around," you offered them.

“Of course, you will be the first guest!"Jayce confirmed. “And considering the way we are moving forward, it will be sooner than you think.”

“What do you mean?” you questioned as you brought the first bite of your meal to your lips.

“The wind is very favorable for us, we will be back in Piltover even faster than on the way out. We should reach the docks at sunset.”

“Hmm," you understood, remaining silent as you focused your attention on this breakfast that had become lunch.

You were fighting the idea that filled your mind by filling your stomach with your meal, but this strategy seemed to work only partially, or at least only very momentarily when your thoughts came back at full strength regarding the person sitting right next to you whose hand you had held to fall asleep only the night before.

“Won't you miss Demacia?" Jayce still questioned.

You shook your head, pressing your hand to your lips as you finished your bite.

“Given everything that's happened, it's not surprising," he conceded. “Although in the end everything doesn't seem to have been so bad with Fiora, does it?”

You were swallowing, nodding from the head. “She's nice, but I wouldn't make a breeding farm of her.”

"Please, let's not make more like her,” Viktor sighed.

You couldn't help but smile, turning to him. “Oh, come on, Vikkie. Don't you miss her?”

You pressed the nickname with the same accent as Fiora's, and Viktor turned to you with a black, playful look, and your heart jumped in your chest.

No, you were telling yourself, it's not possible.

Your smile disappeared from your face in a flash as you resumed the course of your lunch.

It didn't take long for Sky to join you, sitting down with you and continuing your discussion while you remained silent.

The rest of the journey continued in various conversations of the students in the common room, each bringing back their favorite memories of the stay, or the moments that had made them laugh the most. Some showed their purchased souvenirs, others rehashed the historical events brought by Professor Heimerdinger that had marked or fascinated them.

As for you, you were trying to tear out each of these thoughts that you associated with Viktor.

A student remembering all-you-can-eat buffets in the morning? Your thoughts centered on the indirect contact of your lips and Viktor's.

The mention of the visit to the museum the day after your fight with Fiora? You associated it with the discussion you had with him, so close.

Anyone recounting the evening at Fiora's? You immediately thought back to the seven minutes in heaven that you had spent in his company.

At every corner of the street and thoughts, he hung around in your mind. You did everything in your power to never meet his gaze, finding a way to deflect it or avoid it in any way.

When time came to pack your bags, you were almost fleeing to your shared room, taking out your coat and scarf while the announced temperature promised much cooler weather in Piltover than in Demacia.

You barely had time to meet Viktor again in the hallway when you rushed to the common room with your belongings.

You had to get out of here, had to walk to your apartment and digest these ideas that were swirling in your mind. You found Sky, ready to leave too and find the comfort of your apartment.

You were talking for a moment about the upcoming tasks. All the laundry, errands, preparations for the next classes and homework – it was a busy schedule.

The students all gathered, watching the sunset decline on a sea of clouds as The Young Prince finally landed on Piltover. After a small hum and a very slight landing vibration, the green light was given for you to leave.

One by one, the students passed in front of each other to get off, dragging all their suitcases passing from the carpeted floor of the airship to the metallic rumble of the gangway, the cold biting you all on the cheeks.

Outside, once all the students had left, Heimerdinger took advantage of everyone being gathered for a last speech.

“My dearest students, the Dematian adventure therefore ends here. It was a week filled with cultures and enrichment that, I am sure, will remain in our minds forever. I thank you all for your exemplary behavior,” his little mischievous look passed over yours as he said these words, "and for your willingness to bond with the Dematians.”

Some students sniffed, partly by the cold, another by the grief that all this was coming to an end.

“Good. We shall talk about it all in classes on Monday. Thank you very much, and have a nice weekend!”

Some of the students applauded, Heimerdinger did the same, and it was the time of the aurevoirs. Sky hugged Orcelyia tightly, while your eyes found Viktor and Jayce.

Viktor was watching you, seeming intrigued. He had no doubt noticed this perpetual escapade that you had just begun to maintain, and his frown seemed to convey that he did not appreciate this initiative at all.

You were swallowing, smiling all the same when Jayce came to take you in his arms until you choked from it, promising you that you would be invited to their apartment as soon as they were done with the last little details.

Viktor observed you, silent for a moment as he tried to determine what might be tormenting you, before his face relaxed – an abandon to this research, but a momentary one.

“Thank you again, Miss, for your help," he ends up saying anyway.

You nodded, slightly tense and with a beating heart. “It was my pleasure," you assured, trying to keep your voice steady and distinctly intelligible.

Jayce arrived to wrap his arm around Viktor's shoulder. “We'll see you in classes!” he said as the two began to leave towards the Piltovian taxis, and that you could finally breathe again.

They had this luxury of being able to afford it. As for you and Sky, you chose to walk to the apartment.

After all these days of walking, you wish you didn't have to do it again. But there was no choice. At least, for your comfort, you could delay the groceries a little since you had frozen some dishes in your freezer to prevent them from perishing while you were away.

When you finally reached the apartment after a few small conversations cut short by fatigue, you first checked to see if you had received any letters. Besides some advertising flyers, you found among this pile of paper a letter with a stamp that you recognized only too well – a metallic black, the letter E pressed on a tough wax.

You frowned, holding the letter in your hands anxiously as you passed through the hall doors and let yourself be engulfed by the warmth of the hearth in the center of the common room. What was troubling you was the weight of the letter - light as a feather.

You were coming up the stairs, an orchestra of huffs and grumbling taking you both when you had only one desire – to lay in your beds.

You stuffed the key to the apartment with almost too much impatience, and finally opened the door to your home. You both left your suitcases by the entrance, each of you coming to collapse on your beds.

As the mattress embraced your whole body, you felt all strange. You couldn't think of anything else, the star card kept coming back to your head while the Two of Cups were joining up on it.

These two characters represented on the card, this shared cup, these stars that multiplied on his palm and on the cards – it was difficult now to have any doubt about it.

You had feelings for Viktor.

All this time that you had spent hating him, then tolerating him, seemed immensely distant as the ghostly sensation of his fingers against yours came back to your mind and you pressed your whole face against your pillow.

What you thought was an allergy was immensely worse. With an allergy, there normally was a treatment, but a treatment for feelings? You didn't know if that existed.

Was it so much a problem that you had feelings for him? After all, there was no harm in it. But at the same time, there was all this newness, all these unknown possibilities that awaited you in the face of this.

You and Sky spent a little while like this, reveling in the comfort of your bed until you finally found the strength to get up to take out your frozen meals, preparing two plates to stuff in the microwave - it was more a desire to distract you and change your mind from thinking of this realisation than anything else.

While the first plate was heating up and Sky was leaving for the bathroom, you grabbed Eris's letter. You broke the seal with a simple snap, opening the envelope.

You pinched the little paper and unfolded it, much less provided with text than usual. Something was wrong.

Got news from Renata. Children have not only gone missing in Zaun, but it started in Piltover too. Come to my shop the weekend after you get back from your trip. He's back in business.

Eris

You were closing the letter, a heavy breath falling on your lungs. Why did the ghosts of the past have to perpetually catch up with you as soon as things got better?

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

✦﹒ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr @potatointhedirt @atrocioushaircut @ren-ni @schrodingersraven @urmommt @enoojnij @stilinskisensation @emlovesya @soupsaurus @luvreadingfics @the-valars-sapphire @solbringer @adorabluesposts @pxszels @nerolovesseongjiyuk @cyberwears @cryptidcut @seohaepeachyun @danielsbackupglasses @2hiigh2cry @16novvs @cicadastoner @patchs-curiosity-corneriosity-corner @w41k3r-94290 @minniiv @roku907 @lumilarity @peachy-writings @disturbyn @ddandelionfluff @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @notyuralycat @glenn-slayer @k07ume @hexb0nes @ravngers @fushirika @glenn-slayer @watergirl13girl @graveyardtrain @theuclid @catspook @mildly-discouraging-future @nataliea @frogbuggy

#a crown of ink #acoi #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor fic #viktor league of legends #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you

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navierae · 8 months ago

Text

Because I Missed You

CHARACTERS: James Potter x Reader Summary: An unexpected reunion with your old friends from Hogwarts causes your once buried feelings for the spectacled boy to resurface unexpectedly. a/n: bye this is my first time writing this long and for James Potter no less BUT WHO WOULDNT AM I RIGHT. anyway i hope you guys enjoy! likes, comments, feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated !! wc: 2.3k

“It’s the same old feeling back again, it’s the one they had way back when they were too young to know when love is real.”

“That would be $23.45.”

“Hold on,” I open my wallet to take the exact amount out and hand it over to the cashier, making sure that nothing falls, “Here you go.”

“I received the exact amount.” The cashier says, counting how much I gave before putting it in the register and handing over my receipt, “Come again.”

“Thank you.” I take the paper bag containing my groceries, trying to hide how I was slightly struggling with carrying it, my arm strength was something that I was never proud of, makes me glad that I use a wand for self-defense instead of my fists when need be.

I step out of the grocery store and start my journey back to the small apartment I know a few blocks away. It's been a few years since I graduated from Hogwarts, and a few months since I decided to live amongst the muggles. After that incident during 7th year, I thought it was in my best interest to distance myself from anyone who knows me or could possibly recognize me. Though I still keep in touch with some of them, namely Lily Evans, and to be fair, she's really the only I still talk to that has any relation to the wizarding world.

I make it halfway to my apartment when I spot the cafe I frequent during my free time. I need a break, I think to myself as I feel the dull ache in my arms starting to form from carrying my grocery bags. I push the cafe doors open, the smell of coffee and pastries immediately greeting me, as well as the sound of customers talking. My eyes scan the menu, trying to find something I have yet to order, before settling on the Jasmine tea and blueberry muffin. Turns out I'm not in the mood to try something new today.

I go to stand in line behind a group of men who seem to be my age, they're a bit loud if you ask me. Okay, scratch that, they're loud. A guy with the black hair is laughing loudly, and the brunette is pushing him by the shoulder, and the last guy is just looking away. I sigh, looking to the side, trying not to pay attention to them. Just order, pay, wait for it, eat, and then go ho-

“Y/n?”

What. I look back at the front to see who called me, the black haired guy now facing me, I quickly glance at his whole being before focusing on his face. There's no mistaking it, even after all these years, how can I forget him?

“Sirius?” I ask, eyes wide in shock, I didn't expect to see him here. What was he doing here? Wait, if he's here, then the other two are-

“Prongs, Moony, I told you it's y/n!” Sirius taps both of them on the shoulder with a grin on his face, they both turn around with shocked faces mirroring mine. “It’s so good to see you again, y/n! It's been a while hasn't it?”

I nod with an unsure smile on my face, “Yeah, it has.” I look over them one by one, to see what had changed since the last time I saw them, which was at least three or four years ago now. Remus, who's smiling at me, and Sirius both hadn't changed much, except for the fact that Sirius’ hair is much longer and Remus sporting some scars that weren't there the last time I saw him.

And James… I turn to James and see him wearing the same glasses he wore back then, and the same boyish grin he gave everyone he would come across. His face had a shocked expression on before our eyes met, it turned into one with an awkward smile as he tried to mask whatever he was feeling at the moment. Disgust and the urge to leave as quickly as possible I assume.

He opens his mouth to say something when the girl at the counter calls out the next customer, making him turn around along with Remus and Sirius, to give their orders. I stare at their backs, their voices mixing into the background, who would've thought I would run into them here out of all places?

I focus my attention on them as they finish ordering with James paying and leaving to find a seat first, Sirius and Remus face me with hopeful smiles on their faces. “Are you busy? We were hoping we could catch up for a bit, who knows when we would see each other after this?” Remus asks, nodding his head to the direction where James went, eager to hear my answer.

…That shouldn't be too bad right? Just a quick catch up then we'll be in our separate ways after this. I nod at them, their smiles growing as they leave to follow James. I step forward and dictate my order while reaching for my wallet, the girl behind the register stops me as I hand over the amount needed.

“Oh, no need to pay, one of the guys before you offered to pay for whatever you would order.” I furrow my eyebrows before thanking her and walking away to where the boys were seated. “You didn't need to pay for me.” I say as I approached their table, James looks up from their conversation and makes eye contact.

“I know, but I wanted to.” He says smiling, not breaking eye contact, as if daring me to go against him. I stayed silent and stared at him for a few seconds, before saying thanks and sat down at the unoccupied seat. Which was, unfortunately, next to James. The table goes quiet, a somewhat awkward silence falling on us. I busy myself by playing with my fingers under the table and staring at the pattern of the table, when Sirius speaks up.

“So… how have you been y/n? No one has really heard from you since we graduated a few years back.” I look up and see all of them staring at me, the sight taking me back to Hogwarts, where they would be looking at me while listening to me rambling about my day. The only difference was we had grown older, our faces slowly losing our teenage features, being replaced with signs of aging.

I tap my fingers on the tabletop, following the rhythm of the music played by the cafe, wondering where and what to start with. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, deciding to say whatever I think about first.

“I’ve been doing pretty well, you know, with adjusting to living amongst the muggles and living life the way they do.” Smiling, I waited for them to answer after I asked the same question. Sirius says he’s been the lead singer for one of the muggle bands he joined, and that the band had a gig nearby. That explains why they were here in the first place, what were the chances that they would be at this particular cafe out of the numerous other ones that are spread around this town?

Remus talks about how he became a professor at Hogwarts for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and shared how he would see Severus Snape from time to time and exchange glaring glances at one another. Our conversation was interrupted by our orders getting called to be picked up at the counter. I was about to stand up when a hand was placed on my shoulder, stopping me in place, his hand searing.

“I’ll get it.”

He said, smiling at me as he stood up, before walking off. The warmth from his hand had gone cold too quickly, taking it with him, it had only been a few seconds but I was starting to miss it-

Stop that. Stop that right now.

My eyes widened as I realized the words that had gone through my mind, that was a highly inappropriate thought about someone, your ex-boyfriend no less. I shake my head and put my focus back on Sirius and Remus in front of me, about to tell Remus to continue his stories while waiting for James to come back, which shouldn’t take him too long. But their eyes were somewhere else, I followed their gaze and saw James talking to a girl our age, well more like the girl was talking to James as he was trying to get our order. We were too far from the counter to hear what it was they were talking about, but judging from how the girl was looking him up and down, I was certain it was flirty remarks disguised as a casual conversation.

“Ohoho, seems like Prongs has another one trying to get his number, huh Moony? Isn’t she, like, the fifth one today?” Sirius laughs loudly as he swings an arm around Remus’ chair, leaning forward to get a better view of what was happening, the latter just sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t forget to mention that it's only our second day here, and she’s the fifteenth one since yesterday. And I’m pretty sure they all tried to ask him on a date as well.”

“All tried to ask him on a date”? Did he accept any of those offers? I mean, he doesn’t have a reason to not give one of them a shot, especially if they’re extremely attractive like that girl he’s talking to right now. Makes me wonder how many people asked him out the past few years. Wait, is he even seeing someone right now-

“y/n, stop staring at him so hard, you might burn a hole through him.” I snap out of my train of thought as Sirius taps the space in front of my hand, catching my attention. “You look like how you did when other people asked him out to the yule ball back at hogwarts.” He continued while laughing, my face falling at his comment. Had I been actually…?

Remus gets startled as he notices the change in my facial expression, he slaps Sirius at his arm while telling him to cut it out, the latter letting out a small yelp at the impact. Remus turns to face me again, slightly hesitating, the next words that came out of his mouth made me grab my things and stand up.

“But… Do you still like him, y/n?”

“I’m leaving, it was good to see you guys.” I say as I start heading towards the door, making Remus and Sirius stand up while calling after me.

Did I actually still like him, even after having no-contact for years? The question remained in my mind as I walked out of the cafe, missing the way James’ expression turned into one of panic when he spotted me going out. Excusing himself from the (one-sided) conversation the girl was having with him and rushing after me, forgetting about the orders. I hear someone yelling out my name, but I pay it no mind, instead opting to yell back. “I have to go, sorry!”

“y/n, wait a minute!”

A hand wraps around my wrist, the one that wasn’t carrying anything but my purse, stopping me from going forwards. I turn back and see James panting a bit, his hair ruffled from running, small beads of sweat starting to drip down the sides of his forehead due to the heat of his jacket. We both stopped in the middle of the walkway, no one speaking, the only sounds that can be heard were from around us and his breaths, his hand still keeping me bound to where I stood.

After catching his breath, he stands up straight, making eye contact with me. “Why’d you leave?” He asks, his eyes searching mine for an answer. I shift and look away, pursing my lips, unsure of what to answer.

“I have things to do.”

“But your order?”

“I can live without it.”

Silence falls on us again, my answers rendering him unable to keep the conversation going, and getting the answers that would satisfy his curiosity. I was about to pull my wrist out of his grip, and excuse myself to leave, when he spoke up again.

“I missed you.” I look back at him upon hearing his straight-forward statement. He had missed me?

“...You did?” He nodded, not missing a beat. Everyday ever since you left he adds. I didn't speak after that,I wasn’t about to let him know that I was the same as him, that there was also never a day that I never thought about him.

“Can I have your number? So that we can hang out again after this, if you want?”

“...Alright.” I nod and recite my telephone number, watching as he mouthed the numbers to remember, repeating it two more times. Cute.

“I can, um, help you with that if you want? It's quite a lot.” He offers to carry some of my groceries, his head gesturing to the paper bags in my other arm. I shake my head, refusing his offer.

“It’s fine, I can handle it. But, I really have to go now.” I tell him, turning my body away from him, taking my wrist out of his grip in the process. He wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it as he nods his head in understanding.

“Okay… can we meet each other at this cafe tomorrow then?” He asks.

“I… don’t see why not. Sirius and Remus are also going to be there right?”

He shakes his head. “No, just the two of us tomorrow.”

I furrow my eyebrows at his answer. Don’t assume things, y/n, ask him why first before you get ahead of yourself.

“Why?”

“Because I missed you.”

#mauraders x reader #the marauders #james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #harry potter marauders #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #james potter drabble #self insert #reader insert

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thezombieprostitute · 4 months ago

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Can't Stand It

A/N: Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial.

Warnings: Bad boss. Please let me know if I missed any!

Summary: Working at a fancy restaurant with a demanding boss, you're starting to reach your limits. So is your favorite customer.

You're grinding your teeth in frustration and your shift hasn't even started yet. It's not that you don't like the work you do, it's just the people you have to work with, specifically your boss. If you could be a waitress for a boss that didn't insist on waving his dick around, sometimes literally, you'd be happy to do the job.

Instead, Mr. Hansen has you working the worst shifts for collecting tips and making sure your schedule is unpredictable. You know it's because you turned down his advances. Go figure, he can't handle being turned down.

Some of your favorite customers have asked after you, including Mr. Levinson, or Ari, as he insists you call him. You heard through some of your coworkers that Mr. Hansen got some harsh words from Ari because you weren't working your usual shifts. You smile at the thought of someone putting that asshole in his place.

You're doing your prep working and just trying to avoid Hansen so you don't have to fake your smile so much to your customers. Most of them don't care about fake smiles, but the big tippers always seem to appreciate the genuine ones.

Talia interrupts your work telling you, "Mr. Levinson just arrived. I made sure to seat him in your section."

"Thank you, so much!" You're definitely smiling for real now.

She gives a playful scoff. "I did it as much for me as for you. If Levinson found out you were working and I didn't seat him in your section I don't doubt I'd get an earful."

"Still, thank you so much."

Heading out the dining area, you make right for Ari. You'd never admit it, but between his ocean blue eyes, long hair, and strong physique, he's definitely shown up in several of your dreams. Your face heats up as you recall some of them. You have to stop for a moment and shake your head to clear up your thoughts.

Ari smiles wide when he sees you. "It's about time I got to see you again!"

"Yeah, my schedule's been crazy," you tell him as you hand him a menu. You omit the reason for the crazy schedule as it wouldn't do to set Hansen off again.

"So I gathered," his voice softens as he takes the menu from you.

The two of you chat a little before you get his drink order and head to the kitchen to grab it.

"There you are!" Hansen yells as soon as you're in the kitchen. "Where the hell have you been? Your prep work is sloppy and, worse yet unfinished. You wanna tell me what you've been doing?"

"My job," you snipe back. "I have a customer and I need to get their drink."

"We don't get customers at this time," he shoots back. "I made sure to schedule you for now specifically because of that."

"Well you can go out and look for yourself, Mr. Hansen. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get the man his drink."

Bringing Ari's drink to him, you try to plant your smile back as it was before your encounter. Unfortunately for you he's very observant.

"What happened?" His tone is kind and your smile turns a little more genuine.

"Just a little spat is all," you shrug. "It happens, you know?"

His expression turns stern. "Is someone giving you trouble?"

"Well, yes, but that's what bosses do, right?" You try to make sure there's a joking tone in your voice but his expression indicates he isn't buying it.

"Do you like your job? Do you enjoy working here?"

"Honestly," your voice quavers. "I can't stand it. My coworkers are okay but my boss is killing me. He keeps jumping my shifts around and is metaphorically on my ass all the time because I refused to let him literally be on me."

Ari's fist tightens in frustration. "Come work for me." You'd say it's an offer but his anger makes it sound more like an order. When you hesitate he continues, "I need someone reliable and friendly as my secretary. My current one keeps putting off clients with his cold, sarcastic demeanor. I can promise you it'll pay better than this job. And your schedule will be a lot more stable."

You hear a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by Hansen shouting at everyone and everyone.

"I'm in," you tell him, holding out your hand.

Ari takes your hand in his, giving it a firm shake. "Happy to have you aboard. Can I watch as you tell Hansen you're quitting?"

You laugh, "sure!"

As he follows you into the kitchen, you don't notice Ari's eyes on you. He was just hoping to ask you for a date, but he's not one to turn down an opportunity to get to spend more time with you. He's hopeful you'll feel the same about him.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

#flash fiction friday #fff287 #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x female!reader #ari levinson x waitress!reader

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amywritesthings · 10 months ago

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press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel.

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. “I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish.

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise.

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet.

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower.

Purposeful.

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?”

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give.

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone.

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth.

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long. You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen.

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half.

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room.

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control.

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent.

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #fic: press four for more

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goaways-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

Sunshine's Baked Goods

Tim Bradford x gn!baker!reader

Summary: Long shifts rarely end in such wonderful things

Rating: PG, but I'm an 18+ page

Warnings: none! fluff. No physical descriptions of reader, just that they like pink.

a/n: requested! To the person who requested, I'm so sorry, tumblr deleted my og post & I lost the request & user. Please comment & I'll tag you!! Briefly looked over, but not Beta'd

It was the morning after a long night shift, and all Tim wanted to do was go home and crash on the closest soft surface, but his stomach was ravenous for a bite to eat first. He tried to ignore it as he packed his stuff to go home, though he knew he would need something.

It was still pretty early, the sun had barely risen, and not many places were open yet as he drove around, looking for something to eat. His stomach rumbled as he finally saw an open sign lit up. A small bakery right outside of town. His eyes were heavy as he stepped out, his senses overwhelmed with the sweet scent of fresh baked goods and…coffee? Oh, he had hit the jackpot. Definitely not his normal post shift snack choice, with the pink decor looking like a barbie puked on it, but it was open, and it smelled good.

The store was barren as he stepped in, the only sound was the little bell attached to the door, alerting you that a customer had come in. You furrowed your brows and looked up at the clock on the wall. Just past 6 in the morning. Yeah, you were open, but you never got customers this early. You just came in early to get a headstart on baking and decorating cakes. You wiped your hands, though you were sure you still had frosting stains somewhere on your body as you went out to the front with your signature customer service smile.

“Good morning, what can I-” You were awestruck by the man standing in front of the counter. Tall, muscular, a hunk of a man. “...do for you.” You finished quickly, trying not to ogle.

Tim looked over the small menu above you, seeing the variety of baked goods available. He looked in the glass, settling on a plain donut and black coffee. As you got a second look at him, you noticed the bags under his eyes and the look of exhaustion on his face and in his body.

“Do you want me to make that an espresso for you?” You asked as you rang him up.

“Not this time, thanks. ‘Bout to head home and crash.” He chuckled, the small smile lighting up the whole room, causing your heart to speed up.

“Professionalism!” You reminded yourself as you nodded, ringing in the coffee as a water. It was your business, after all. A little discount for a nice customer every once in a while is just good customer service.

You turned around, pouring a cup of the freshly brewed coffee and making sure to grab the best-looking donut.

Tim swore to himself he saw you glancing at him. He tried to convince himself that he was just tired, and the attractive person behind the counter was just being polite. He couldn't help but glance back as he watched you make the coffee. And when he finally took the first sip, he swore you had to have put something extra in there. Perfectly brewed, smooth, not too bitter. The donut was soft and melted in his mouth. He thanked you and went on his way, sure that he was just so sleep deprived that he was imagining things. Imagining a connection.

But that didn't stop him from coming back. It became a regular thing after, especially long shifts. You always greeted him with a smile, but he swore again that there was an extra sparkle that wasn't there with other customers. The hot, grumpy man is what he became to you. All your employees made sure to get you when he came around. Though he was never rude, just quiet and to the point.

You always made sure he had the freshest brew of coffee and the best donut, even if that meant going to the back to the warmer to get one. His order was so simple, yet perfection every single time.

It was another late night, and you were getting ready to close shop when he came in. You smiled. It was easy to get annoyed when customers came in so close to closing, but you didn't care for him. He looked especially tired, so you brewed him a fresh coffee since you had already discarded the batch that had been sitting for a while. You took care to warm the donut up as something in your body pulled you to take a risk. As he sat down, you wrote your number down on the receipt, at the very bottom. You had to take a chance at some point.

You handed him his food. He always stayed to eat, though it never took him more than ten minutes. You went to the back to finish closing, not wanting to admit to yourself that you were too much of a coward to face him. He left as normal, and you were a little disheartened. Maybe he just didn't see it yet, you told yourself. Or maybe he's taken. Or maybe he just doesn't like you. You tried to calm your spiraling thoughts as you closed, turning off the pink neon open sign.

You tried not to, but you checked your phone far too often that night, hoping for a text. It wasn't until the next afternoon when you got a text from a new number. You were over the moon, clutching the phone to your chest as your life played out like a movie. The chat ended with a date at a higher end restaurant across town that weekend. It was all you could think about that week. You hummed love songs and made more couple's themed cakes than normal.

Even at the station, Tim's coworkers noticed his good mood. A little less harsh on all the “Tim Tests,” a little less snappy with his orders. It was the talk between all of his coworkers.

Date night came, and you scrambled to pit yourself together. Everything about you had to be perfect. Pink accents complimented your outfit. He was even coming to pick you up like a true gentleman, a bouquet of pink roses in hand. So he picked up on that.

You gracefully took his arm as he led you to his car, his hand right above your knee the whole way. Protective but gentle, not wanting to push any boundaries. He smiled the whole time, more than you had ever seen him before.

And, of course, the night went great, starting off with the essentials of getting to know each other, but diving a little deeper into what the both of you are looking for in a relationship. He had you giddy the whole night, drowning you in compliments, giving a pink flush to your face. You were no stranger to the flirtations either, compliments flowing about his suit, his freshly cut hair, and how it enhanced his sharp features.

Your heart fluttered from the butterflies flying in your stomach the whole night, and a longing for more had already set in before the night had ended. He drove you home, walking you to your door step.

“So, next Friday?” He smiled, wanting to hear the reassurance for the next date.

“Yep.” You responded, hearts for eyes. He looked at you, his eyes soft, flashing to your lips, plush and strawberry tinted. It aas a moment of silence, but not the awkward kind. It was filled with tension, begging for one of you to break it. Ultimately, he brought a hand to your face, rough and calloused with a gentle touch, bring you to him as he connected his lips to yours. For such a brooding guy, his lips were soft as ever, lovingly exploring yours. You hands wrapped around his neck as his other hand made it to your waist. It lasted forever but not long enough as you had to pull away for a breath of hair. He followed up with a small peck to the lips and a confident smile.

“I'll see you then,” He said, though you both knew he'd be coming to the shop before then.

#tim bradford #the rookie #eric winter #tim bradford x reader #the rookie x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford fanfic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie fic #gender neutral imagine #tim bradford imagine #the rookie imagine

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softidiotsposts · 2 months ago

Text

Anyone Can Cook

as the wise tale of ratatouille states "anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great"

{Hello! Second fic, this time pure fluff for recovery! Warnings: kitchens being messy, mentions of bland food, cooking, mentions of the french and reader is french, picky eaters, incorrect cooking terms (probs) // word count: 2.2k}

masterlist

Leah always mentioned Ratatouille around you, like a little disease that you could never shake. The little blue rat named, Remy, had become a staple in your household- even earning you a nickname based on the rat. She thought herself funny, with you being French and all- even a native Parisian, which apparently made it even more of a gag. One that you didn't enjoy very much.

You didn't get it- the film, while good in a general sense and clearly a children's film- had no idea of what a professional kitchen actually looks like and you liked to point out the serious misconceptions to Leah every time she forced you to watch it.

"Seriously, Lee- I have had enough of this film!"

You grumble when Leah once again picks Ratatouille to watch on your weekly movie night- this makes it twice in a row that she's picked this. Making you absolutely devastated that watching Notting Hill was being put on hold, once again.

You wonder whether revoking her TV rights on film night would fix the problem but then remember that Leah could do absolutely anything and you'd probably let her do it anyway. Even if it's a chef rat based torture.

Still, it's actually getting to the point that you remember practically every single line of the film and the plot never surprises you. Not when Leah insists on watching it all the time.

You don't even think she actually enjoys the film enough to watch it all the time either so it must only be to see your reaction.

"But it's so good- really lets me get the idea of what you do at work," Leah giggles and presses start and the obnoxious "French" sounding music starts to play.

You groan, "This is not what I do."

"Yeah, yeah, Remy- You do some cooking with fancy things, I know."

"Actually, I-"

You're about to correct Leah with the most attitude you ever have when she presses her lips against yours and you melt like butter in a pan. She knows that you can never resist her when she has her soft lips against yours and it works without fail each time- even when you're terribly angry.

Leah smirks and wraps an arm around your shoulders. In turn you sigh, knowing that there is no winning when Leah has her mind set on something or whenever she uses her ultimate weapon.

It's around half way through the film, when the famous line is said that you come upon the genius idea. Taking Leah through cooking something that cannot be made via a machine- a cooking lesson with the most inept chef you've met.

The words anyone can cook are true... to a certain extent- It comes down to personal opinion mostly, what does one truly classify as cooking? In theory, if making toast with butter was considered cooking then Leah was the expert but when it came to the taste department- that is where your girlfriend falters.

Before Leah, when you still lived in France, you swore up and down you could never date anyone with the taste buds of a five year old- saying that it was the ultimate deal breaker. Now here you are, dating a famous Arsenal footballer that has the diet of a primary schooler.

At first, it had come as a shock- you went to a restaurant on your first date (not your ideal place for a date but Leah insisted) and she ordered the plainest thing on the menu. You were in such shock that you double checked the menu to see if you weren't misreading because who orders chicken nuggets at a Michelin star restaurant? And why did they even serve such a dish?

It also happened to be the moment that you fell head over heels for Leah, so you learned to get over the food very quickly.

Yet, this was a moment to teach Leah a lesson in taking you seriously... or maybe at least putting a stop to rewatching Ratatouille every single week.

So you take a week to prepare everything perfectly, you plan out what you're going to teach Leah to cook, even survey your kitchen staff before opening with a little questionnaire.

Then you make sure that all knives are sharpened, pots and pans are present- even though you're the only one who uses them- and that all other additional equipment is on hand if needed.

After all the prep work, you go out to the market early on Friday morning to buy a whole chicken since Leah is most likely to actually eat it after it's cooked- you're against wasting food in any circumstance. Then circle around to the other side for fresh vegetables. Once you have acquired all that is needed, you return home perfectly on time.

It leaves you enough time to get your chef coat that you wear when working and find the spare one you had borrowed for Leah, then set out all the ingredients on the marble countertops. It looks absolutely perfect and tickles that ocd part of you brilliantly.

In hindsight, you should have given Leah a slight pre-warning as to what the two of you were doing today but the expression on her face when she walks in is priceless- so priceless, you wish you had recorded it, so you can show it to all her teammates and your co-workers.

“What’s all this?” Leah says, clearly confused as she drops her training bag by the discarded sneakers.

You fan your hands out, presenting all the different things across the countertops with a large grin- just as large as Leah’s everytime she picks Ratatouille over any other mildly interesting film.

“This, my love, is your cooking crash course with the best chef in London.”

It’s true, the London’s society of restaurateurs had voted you best chef for the third year in a row and you couldn’t be happier to flex it in Leah’s face. It’s your personal victory and you like to compare it to her Euro win with England- just to watch her turn a little red as she fiercely defends it to be harder.

You'd normally agree but maybe she won’t be so quick to correct you next time though because as soon as she’s in the white coat with you (and after you had taken a photo of her that will be posted on instagram later.) the two of you are off, cooking what you think is going to be the driest chicken ever.

“No- not like that!”

You’re quick to correct her, it’s automatic and you feel as though it’s a little harsh but this is payback for making you suffer through a cartoon rat cooking.

You place a hand on top of hers and you swear she blushes just a bit but you ignore it, instead guiding her hand to correctly dismantle the chicken into its individual parts. After helping her with one side, you watch as she tries to complete the other- and to her credit, it is not a total disaster. The cuts are a little jagged and some of the chicken looks more like it’s been massacred rather than taken apart but albeit still looks edible.

Then she looks up at you with proud eyes and you forget about everything for a moment- all the mental gymnastics- and focus on her sweet smile that warms your heart. You come a little closer and give her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to touch her since you've just been cutting chicken.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart."

Maybe it's an exaggeration but the blush appears on Leah's cheeks after it is completely worth a white lie.

"Thanks, Remy, I have the best teacher," Leah wiggles her brows at you suggestively and you roll your eyes in return.

"Well, I do have three Michelin stars to my name," You grin and Leah smiles back at you.

Then you add, "It's like having three of those golden ball thingys that you all pine after."

Leah's face drops a bit, "You mean a ballon d'or?"

Your face lights up and you nod rapidly, "Yes, exactly!"

Leah pulls a face and furrows her brows, "Okay, baby... maybe we should focus on the cooking?"

You nod and turn your attention towards the dismantled chicken in front of the two of you- You resist the urge to cringe and put all the different parts into a bowl that you then place into the fridge.

"Let's wash hands before the next part."

The two of you take turns washing your hands, Leah flicking water at you playfully when it's her turn and you frowning when she does so.

"Take this seriously, Lee- In my kitchen-"

"Our kitchen-" She corrects you.

You raise your brows in question, "Who uses it the most?"

Leah suddenly fiddles with her coat and looks anywhere but you, you scoff but a smile finds it way to your face anyway- then you wrap an arm around her waist.

"Whatever, just focus- as if it were a match!"

Leah chuckles but steps up to the cutting board where various different vegetables are laid out with one of your personal knives that you bring to work besides it.

"So what now?" Leah asks, evident confusion in her voice.

"I want you to cut the peppers julienne and the carrots paysanne."

Leah looks at you with the most confused expression you've seen to date when the French leaves your mouth and all you can do is sigh.

"Peppers thin like matchsticks and the carrots into circles, please."

"Now that, I can understand," She laughs and begins to chop the peppers, first gutting them and throwing the seeds in the bin beside her then slicing them into strips.

You're leaning your head on her shoulder and your arms are wrapped loosely around her waist as you watch what she is doing- Leah's fingers are wrapped around the wooden handle and she guides the blade down each pepper part with some kind of precision.

You smile and encourage her by giving a light squeeze that you feel she leans into-

"Focus, that knife can cut your finger off."

You hear Leah scoff, "Maybe you shouldn't distract me then?"

You don't say anything nor do you move your arms away from her waist instead focus on the way she's slicing the various peppers- somehow, Leah begins to stray from the very thin slices into thick chucks without even acknowledging it.

You smile, "Stop for a second, Lee."

Leah pauses instantly and turns her head to look at you from where you stand behind her, she raises a brow in question and you grin in return. Then pick up a slice of pepper, holding it up for the two of you to inspect.

"Too thick, darling."

You press yourself closer to her back, forcing her to face the board again- this time you place your hands on top of hers, they are slightly warmer than yours and the heat immediately spreads, then begin to slice as you had instructed.

The rest of the vegetables go smoothly and you let them rest to the side before taking the chicken out of the fridge again-

"We are going to bake the legs, use the bones to make a sauce with the peppers and boil the carrots."

You explain, pointing to all the different elements as you do so and all Leah does is nod before stepping closer to you so she can wrap her arms around your neck.

"Yes, chef Remy," Leah chuckles when you scoff.

She gives you a quick kiss that you so desperately want to deepen but she pulls away before you can. Instead, she turns to the board and looks at you with the same focus you see on the pitch.

"Alright, let's start."

The rest of the evening goes... as well as you'd imagine- the kitchen is thankfully still standing, but in a state of utter disarray. The sauce that Leah made under your guidance had boiled over after she turned the temperature up, so that it would "cook faster". You didn't even get the chance to explain that it doesn't work like that, when a blob of sauce landed on the floor.

So there was a large spillage of sauce all over the stove and countertop but that was the least of your worries since the fire alarm had rang... once... twice... and a third time when the chicken was in the oven. Turns out that Leah cannot preheat an oven to the correct temperature either- so that chicken wasn't even dry, as you'd predicted, it was just simply not even there anymore.

All the meat had burned into crispy back sludge and the bones smelt disgusting- so disgusting that Leah had to stand on the balcony as you threw it out. Stating that she would throw up if she had to do it.

It turns out that nothing was safe from Leah's horrid cooking skill since the carrots suffered a death by over boiling- turning into mush rather than keeping their shape after the plunge in the steaming hot water of the pot.

In the end, Leah and you end up on the plush sofa with white styrofoam take out boxes in front of you and the normally tidy kitchen left in a rather untidy state, much to your dismay- but none of you had the energy to clean on an empty stomach.

You're shoveling food into your mouth when Leah picks up the remote and you dread what's coming. You see disney being opened and the pit in your stomach turns into sickness-

"So... Ratatouille?" Leah giggles and presses play, you music ringing out of the speakers.

"Darling- No, please!"

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #woso fanfics #leah williamson #arsenal wfc

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clearheartsgreyflowerss · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Could I have some Arlecchino x fem reader fluff? Maybe going on a date together?

I am also currently obsessed with her, she’s just so askdskejdhdbdbdn >///<

Thank you!

YES THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST YOU JUST MADE MY DAY :D

Also that's literally so real she's taken over all my thoughts and she lives in my head absolutely rent free

A date with Mon ange - Arlecchino x fem!reader

This is NOT proofread if you see any grammar mistakes no you didn't

"My dear, with all due respect, I love your cookies but you burnt the hell out of them."

To say today was a disaster was an understatement, you didn't wake up to your alarm clock, which meant you missed the morning market where you often got some of Alrecchino's and Lynette's favorite treats. Not only that, but just an hour later, freminet came home with a large gash on his leg, which he had gotten when trying to maneuver through a shipwreck out at sea. Then, some of the children had roped you into playing games with them, and promptly forgot you had cookies in the oven.

So, it's safe to say Arlecchino's remark ended with you being even madder than before, even if you knew she was just making an observation.

"well if they're so burnt, bake them yourself next time!" You quickly stomped out of the room, hanging up your apron as you walked past the door. You quickly walked up the stairs and down the hall to your room, and slammed the door behind. You sat down at the small desk where you kept all of your stationary and makeup, immediately looking around for anything that couldn't be broken (or at least something not of high importance). Luckily, there was a small journal in the drawer, and you decided it would be better to journal then take your anger out on some poor object. After about 3 pages were filled, the sound of the door startled you a little, yet you kept writing in journal. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, and a kiss was planted on top of your head. Neither of you chose to speak, you just kept writing anything and everything, and she watched.

"would you like to go out to dinner tonight mon ange? I'm sure the maids can handle the children for tonight."

She finally broke the silence, and you put the pen and paper down. A small smile came across your face, as you finally looked up to see her face. While she often kept the neutral looking expression, you could see the difference in her eyes, a look of sadness from upsetting you was clear.

"that sounds lovely Alrecchino, where do you want to go?"

"you choose, we can go anywhere in Fontaine, don't worry about the cost." You were quick to open your mouth about not wanting to overspend, but she placed a kiss to your forehead, making your protests stop.

"you've had a bad day, you deserve whatever your heart desires [Name]." How she knew you had a bad day was above you, though you presumed she had guessed just from the way you lashed out.

"well then, I suppose I could go for some Tripes du Port right about now" your words brought a small smile to her face, and she placed one last small kiss on your head, before standing up.

"To the hotel debord it is then."

The hotel was never short of amazing, all the decorations so elegant, yet so simple at the same time. The two of you sat down in a corner of the restaurant, a candle in the center illuminating both your menus.

"What are you going to get Arle? You always seem to change it up when we come here." She didn't look up from her menu as you spoke, instead she focused on even more.

"I suppose I'll get cassoulet, I don't think I've tried it here yet." She set her menu down and gave you another small smile, one she often didn't flash in public, but she was sure no one was looking.

"oh and darling, you look great in that outfit, you should wear it more often." She took your hand and rubbed your hand reassuringly, her words were definitely ones you needed to hear.

"I'm glad you think so Arle, I bought it recently and haven't had any chances to wear it. I thought tonight would be a nice night to show it off." She took note of how you messed with the hem of the fabric, a tell tale sign you were flattered by her compliments.

The waitress walked over with 2 glasses of wine, and smiled at both of you as she pulled out a paper and pen

"what can I get you two tonight? If you're still not sure, I can come back in a few minutes." You smiled and nodded as both her and Arlecchino looked at you, it looks like you would be ordering first.

"I'll have the Tripes du Port please, oh, and a slice of your blueberry pie." You flash her another smile as you hand her the menu, and look over to Arle as she orders

"I'll have the cassoulet, please and thank you." The waitress nods as she finishes writing, and takes Arlecchino's menu.

"merci, I'll be back with those as soon as they're done!" The waitress gives one last smile before she walks off, and it's just you and Arlecchino again. She picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, before looking at you with expectancy.

"well drink up dear, you deserve it."

All of that food and wine practically made you forget about all of your problems from the day. Well, Arlecchino was the real reason, but having something to talk over definitely was helping. You couldn't help but smile and laugh at all of her stories, telling your own in return. You two were at the register, Arlecchino paying for your meals as you kept one hand tightly around hers.

"merci beaucoup! s'il vous plaît, revenez bientôt!"

(thank you very much! Please come again soon!)

Both you and Arlecchino say thank you as you walk out the doors, the cool Fontaine air hitting you the second you leave.

"thank you for tonight Arle, you don't know how much I appreciate it." You give her a soft smile, which melts her heart a little more each time she sees it.

"it's no problem dear, you had quite the interesting day" she chuckled, and ran her thumb across the back of your hand, still seemingly trying to comfort you. You laughed along with her, though the both of you went quiet just after; Slowly taking king in the beauty of Fontaine on the walk back to the house.

The two of you made it back just fine, and you walked home to a entrance that seemed cleaner than before. Alrecchino could already see the panic setting into your face, and she just sighed and placed a kiss to your cheek.

"I promise I gave the maids permission to clean without you here, and I made sure they did it to your tastes my dear. Is that all you're worried about?" You seemed to think for a moment, before quickly realizing the many responsibilities you didn't attend to today.

"oh my God I forgot to clean Lyney and Lynettes stage outfits! And I never went back to help the younger children with their homework and-" Arlecchino took off your coat as you rambled on, taking both yours and hers over to the coat rack while half listening to you. She came back and wrapped her hands around your waist, and nestled her face into the crook of your neck, placing a few light kisses against it.

"[name], did you write this all down in your journal earlier?"

"yes well-" you finally snapped out of your thoughts, and despite not being able to see it, you could sense the grin on her face.

"...you gave that list to the maids didn't you."

"if it makes you feel better, I rewrote it and handed that list to the maids, I left out the things you said about me, after all, some things are better kept secret, Mon ange." you groaned at her teasing words, yet ultimately thanked her for it.

"then I guess I owe you a big thanks Arle, you're amazing." You pressed your lips to hers, giving her yet another small smile.

"how about you show me how thankful you are right now and come lay down with me." Her hands unwrapped from around your waist, and she moved to take your hand and lead you towards the stairs. You happily followed behind her, curious to see just what she had in store for you.

I DONT KNOW HOW TO FINISH THIS IM GOING TO CRY BUT (HOPEFULLY) THERE WILL BE A PART 2

anyway I'm so so so sorry this took me so long, turns out musical + con preparations + school don't make for a great writing time. Thank you 🪼 anon for waiting, I'm sorry if you think this is shit it kind of is (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠)

Daily click to help those in Palestine

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x female reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x female reader #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #the knave

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midgardian-witch · 2 months ago

Text

The Gentleman Cabbie

Jake seemed to have a tendency to always be there when you needed a ride or a quick getaway. Who knows, maybe the man was magic in some way.

AO3

tags: meet cute (ish) | cab driver!Jake | can be read as platonic or potentially romantic | gender-neutral Reader

ships: Jake Lockley & Reader

word count: 1.1k

“Either I am extremely lucky or you're following me, Mr. Lockley,” you joke as you fasten your seatbelt, your clothes soaked through by the rain. This must have been the third time this month that you found yourself in his cab. An unlikely coincidence since you got in at a completely different part of the city each and every time.

“I'm the lucky one. Difficult to have a nice conversation with the clientele these days,” he responds with a cheeky grin, his eyes fixed on you through the rearview mirror, “And I told you last time: call me Jake.” Jake seemed to have a tendency to always be there when you needed a ride or a quick getaway. Two times could have been a coincidence but three? Who knows, maybe the man was magic in some way.

Or a creepy stalker who put a tracker on you.

But you're less inclined to believe either. From what you had learned about him the last two times you found yourself in his cab Jake is just a normal guy who cares a lot about people. He even lets his passengers pay him in little trinkets sometimes when their money is tight. “Some people are too proud to accept a free ride even if there is no way they can pay for it,” he had explained. That's why there is a broken pocket watch in his glove compartment, an old necklace, oxidized in parts, dangling from the rearview mirror and a tarot card stuck to the visor.

Despite his unflappable demeanor Jake had shown himself to be a kind soul. A kind soul who cursed like a sailor and flirted like it was breathing but kind-hearted nonetheless.

“So, where to this time?”

“Surprise me,” you answer without thinking. You don't really know where to go, just that you don't want to be here anymore. But you don't feel like going home either. Jake raises an eyebrow, his lips slowly spreading into a wide grin. “Alright, I can work with that,” he chuckles. With practiced motions he starts the car and drives off.

You stay silent for a while, watching the world pass by through the window. You feel oddly at peace. For all intents and purposes you're in a car with a stranger (who's slowly becoming an acquaintance) and yet you feel safer than ever. Maybe it’s just Jake’s general demeanor that puts you at ease so easily. Or maybe it’s the comforting sound of rain hitting the car window mixed with Frank Sinatra playing on the radio.

It’s only then that you notice how truly exhausted you are. You could fall asleep like this, sitting in the back of Jake's car. You could just rest your eyes for a moment, you think as you lean your head against the window.

Your body jolts forward and you wake from your sudden nap as the car stops. Bleary-eyed you look outside the car window but the area is unfamiliar to you.

“Sleep well?”

You jump a little, surprised by the sudden voice. You turn towards the sound, Jake looking at you over the rearview mirror. You blink at him, confused for a moment, before your brain decides to restart and you remember where you fell asleep.

“Surprisingly well,” you answer, a little perplexed, “Where are we?”

Jake gives you an easy smile. “You told me to surprise you. I hope you're hungry.” As the universe would have it your stomach picks exactly this moment to growl. You can't help but laugh and nod.

Jake steps out of the cab and walks around it to open the door for you. “Didn't know you're a gentleman too,” you quip as you let him help you out of the car. He gives you a cheeky wink. “That's what they call me: The Gentleman Cabbie.”

You let him lead you into a small 24/7 diner, a cozy place where a cheery waiter welcomes you. Jake picks a booth and you start browsing the menu.

“So, which one are you: superhero or villain?”

Jake freezes for a moment, his eyes widening for just a second. “What do you mean?”

You give him a sly grin. “You said they call you The Gentleman Cabbie. So is that your superhero name or are you more of a villain?”

You're worried your joke fell completely flat before he starts laughing, his hand clutching his chest. He smirks at you once he calmed down, shaking his head. “You got me there. Uh, I don't know. Not sure either fits.”

You think for a moment before you counter, “Anti-Hero then?” He only shrugs, his smile not fading. “Works for me.”

You each pick out something to eat from the menu and give your order to the charming waiter from earlier. Soon you two are engaged in a conversation about your lives, all while Jake seems to be a bit more reserved in sharing personal things. Which is alright with you. Even with the three times Jake has been your accidental getaway driver, you are still strangers. Even if it doesn't feel like it with how easily conversation flows between you two.

You could get used to this: idle chatter with Jake over cheap coffee and delicious fried food. But all good things must come to an end. You pay for the meal, both his and yours even if Jake is putting up a valiant effort to refuse you, and you make your way back to his cab.

“I’ll drive you home, free of charge, since you paid for the food,” he states once you’re back in the car, not leaving room for argument.

The drive home is uneventful and once he parks in front of your building you’re almost disappointed. “Thank you, Jake. For the drive, the food and the company,” you say with a smile, feeling lighter than you did when you got into his car earlier.

He leans over the gear shift and turns back to you. Jake reaches his arm out to you, a small piece of paper in his hand. “Take this. If you ever need a ride just call me directly,” he says as you take the crumpled paper from him. As you open it you see a phone number written down with a fountain pen.

A warmth spreads through your chest and you smile at him softly. “Thank you. I will,” you reply, putting the piece of paper in your pocket, “Until next time then?”

“Until next time.”

You step out of his cab and close the car door behind you. Once you're at your front door you hear the car start up again. Only once you're inside does Jake finally drive off.

His phone number is burning a hole into your pocket and you hope next time comes sooner rather than later.

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley & reader #moon knight fanfic #jake lockley fanfic #fran-writes

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vacayisland · 1 year ago

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@!; Bakin' with the heart! Branch / Baker Troll! Reader (pt. 2)

"Tag list"! @storydays @chamille-trash @valvalentine69 @starzwithapen @ykvlanq @apieceofcathair3 @kitthefanfickat @cyb3r-st4r

ꨄ︎. Unknowingly to Poppy, Viva, and his brothers, Branch has managed to regularly visit your little bakery in Pop village. Well, at first it started off as an one-a-week visit, that he wrote off as a 'pick-me up' treat at the end of a long and hard week. Then it became bi-weekly, a treat to start off his week with and a treat to end his week with. And then it became thrice a week, and so on and so forth until he began to come in every day. You became used to this simple, yet effective, routine where Branch would come in at exactly 5:30 pm sharp every day; It was right before your dinner rush, hours after your lunch rush, and somehow always the time of day where you didn't have much work.

ꨄ︎. And you weren't sure whether you should be impressed, or a little scared, that Branch had managed to figure out your schedule so well! You would put a tray of goods in the oven at around 5:15, latest 5:20, to be ready to the dinner (more dessert) rush that would come. Branch knew that, and so he would always come in 'early' to be able to be the 'first' of today's 'hot menu'. Those weren't by your words either, he had actually told you that one day and you had gawked in his response, since it wasn't a very Branch response. Yet, overall, you found yourself always growing a little excited when five o'clock hits, as you knew Branch would be coming to talk soon enough.

ꨄ︎. His visits started brightening your day, really.

Today was a little different though, as usually when 5:30 rolls around you would be up front and waiting for Branch, and this is what he had gotten used to; opening the door of your little Bakery, being hit with the smell of fresh baked cookies and breads, and then seeing your face. It always made his heart jump a beat, maybe two, but he always did his best to act cool. Yet, today his heart didn't skip a beat and your service counter was oddly void of your presence. Then Branch noticed the way your bakery didn't smell as fresh as it usually did this time of day, what wafted in the air were scents of the already baked goods; not the rising and cooking goods that usually came from your oven. That made him worried; You had never not been up front by 5:30 pm.

ꨄ︎. "Hello?" Branch called out into the Bakery, nerves building up in his stomach as his mind went wild with possibilities of what could be happening. You hadn't started a fire, at least not one that had hit the front of the Bakery. You didn't close your Bakery early, your open sign was still hanging and anytime you left the Bakery you marked it as 'closed'; even if you were just going around the corner to talk with some friends. There wasn't any health code violations, because your Bakery would have been shut down and Branch secretly always made sure you were in regulation. The more possibilities he ruled out, the longer he didn't get a response, the worse his nerves got. "Hey! (Y/N)? Are you in here?"

ꨄ︎. Branch did get a response this time around, "Branch?" which caused him to whip his head around with excitement before it flattened upon seeing it was not you. It was an ever so confused Poppy, who held a bin of baking ingredients, and next to her was Viva and Smidge. "Oh hey Poppy." Branch mumbled, shrugging off Poppy's sudden appearance a little hastily upon realizing it wasn't you. He didn't mean to be rude, or sound rude at all, yet he was a little more concerned at your sudden abnormal schedule. I mean, what if you got eaten by a Troll-eating plant?! Branch failed the miss the confused, and slightly concerned, looks that the three made before Viva and Smidge carefully walked around Branch and over to a set of tables. Poppy, on the other hand, walked over to Branch with an ever confused smile, "Branch?... Why are you screaming for (Y/N) inside her Bakery?"

ꨄ︎. Well, Branch couldn't exactly tell Poppy what he's been doing for the past few months: visiting you basically every day, chatting for a good thirty minutes to an hour before leaving. No, Poppy would get overly excited and basically call Branch out on the (horrifying) truth of his visits. So while stood there frozen, muttering a very long "uh" to Poppy, Branch took the first escape goat that someone would give him; without even thinking about it. "Branch! Don't tell me you're here for the baking class too!" Smidge questioned from behind the two, crossing her arms. Branch didn't fully process what she had said in one go, yet he only snapped his fingers and pointed at Smidge with a nervous bit of laughter, "Yes! That I'm here for that!-" That was before Branch did a double take, glancing behind him at Smidge, "wait what?" Baking classes? You had never shared that idea with him, and usually he would be the Troll you tested new recipes on! Yet, Branch's confusion was never answered, as Poppy simply grabbed his hands and took his attention away "Oh Branch! And here I thought you were making secret trips to the Bakery to talk to (Y/N). Pft, silly me! Come on, you can help us set up!"

ꨄ︎. Well, it was safe to say that the Baking class was just a little awkward at the start. Seeing as how Branch never signed up for the class, making you a little startled when you saw him helping out Poppy and Viva, and how Branch overheard that you had changed the recipe they were making last minute. And Branch would be right to assume that the last minute change of plans was because of him.

ꨄ︎. "A baking class?" Branch asked as everyone went home, having offered to help deep-clean your Bakery kitchen after everyone had been baking in there. Somehow, it had left the two of you alone and you knew there was a conversation that needed to be had. A somewhat awkward one. "A baking class that trolls need to sign up for, Branch! And you showed up unannounced." You mumbled back in a slightly correcting tone, unsure how Branch even managed to get tangled into your little side gig. Not that it was illegal by any means yet you had just though the would be out foraging for his base a little longer today! So, it was a real shocker to you, and your plans, when that was the opposite. Branch paused and glanced over at you, unamused. "Oh wow, that makes it so much better, doesn't it?" You could feel his sarcasm from the other side of the kitchen. You rolled your eyes at him, "It makes you just as guilt as me if we're playing this game, Branch." But you were used to Branch by now; Branch and his odd ways of showing that he cared. "Why were you even here? Today, you had told me, you were restocking on your bunker!" "So you planned around me?" Branch quizzed as he went back to work.

ꨄ︎. And Branch wasn't exactly sure what you were going to day; He thought you might deflect the situation and tell him no, you weren't planning around his schedule (when you clearly were) and he was just reading too much into things. But the last thing he expect you to do was softly sigh and stare down at the stainless steal table, cleaning a certain spot in circles. A small frown etched on your face, the type of frown that made Branch pause in his own cleaning again. "Hey I-" Branch started after a long period of silence, not meaning to upset you. His eyebrows frowned upward as he began to walk over to you, yet you only shook your head. "No, no. It's fine just," There was some sort of chuckle in your somber tone, "I should have figured I could never surprise the one Troll that always seems to know when something is going on!" And that thoroughly made Branch confused; Surprise him? What were you on about?

ꨄ︎. You would explain to Branch, a little later while cleaning in silence, that you had planned for that class to make a rather special Christmas dessert (seeing as Christmas was only a few days away now). Not one that was exactly in the spirit of Christmas, yet one that was more in the spirit of giving, if that even made sense. And Branch could tell you were dancing around your explanation, trying to muster up one without giving away your plan, yet you ultimately couldn't.

ꨄ︎. "I wanted to make a batch of double chocolate chip cookie with a fudgy center." You would finally admit to Branch after dancing around your explanation for a while; not wanting to admit to him what you had originally planned to bake. Branch only cocked his head to the side though, raising an eyebrow at you, "But those are one of your summer cookies." He would point out, "Why would you make them now if-" And you knew he had put two and two together by the way he had paused, his eyes going a little wide before a small "oh" escaped his lips. His eyes stayed to the floor for a moment before they looked up at yours, noticing that you were slightly more embarrassed. That only made the tips of Branch's ears flush as he tried to contain his emotions so his face wouldn't flush red either. "I was making them for you." You spat out before you lost your confidence. "You had been telling me how much you missed that summer cookie and I thought, hey, why not bring them back for a limited time? And well... I was planning to surprise you with it... Until you kinda... you know." "Oh..." Branch mumbled again, his eyes darted down to the floor. He felt his heart beat against his chest, and the way his stomach tied into a knot. Only you had been able to make him feel that way.

ꨄ︎. Dammit. Only you made him feel this way and he knew why.

#branch x reader #branch trolls x reader #trolls x reader #brozone x reader #trolls band together #branch trolls #trolls fandom #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls dreamworks #trolls #brozone #viva trolls #poppy trolls #smidge trolls

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extremelyblackandwhite · 11 months ago

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pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), mentions of smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: last time i posted was december 31. i am very sorry is all i have to say 🤣

masterlist

i keep these longings lost in lowercase inside a vault ...

- But I wanna go! - Sadie whined as Y/N was preparing her to go spend some time with her grandmother.

Sadie wasn't one to really enjoy being away from her father and Y/N had made the grave mistake of telling her she and her dad were going out for a meal which in Sadie's mind roughly translated to they're going out to eat without her.

- I know, munchkin but you won't like the restaurant me and daddy are going to. They don't sell any chicken nuggets.

- But daddy always makes them have it.

- That's sweet, baby, but I don't think daddy can change menus. I think.

The red head pouted as Y/N finished sorting her out. She wondered if Bucky had a nugget empire of restaurants he could choose or if he was that well respected a chef would just prepare it for him just because his daughter wanted it. Whatever way it was, she stood there realising she'd never gone on a date with someone that high up. Sure she had her little affairs with men that had a trust fund but they were just that, the sons of powerful men. Bucky was both - the son of a powerful man and a powerful man himself. Did she even know how to dress for a man like that?

She sighed, entering her bedroom and opening her closet, crossing her arms at the sight in front of her. "Downtown at 7", what kind of information was that? It could mean a myriad of things which required a different dressing code. Damn you Bucky and your vague instructions. Y/N eventually decided on a black dress, hoping that would work for everything.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror and put her lipstick on. The same mantra was going over and over in her mind "it's just a date", yet every time she did she rationalised that it wasn't just a date. It was a date with Bucky, her Bucky, her boss Bucky, father of Sadie Bucky. Just do it, she told herself as she went to grab her purse to meet Bucky at his office, just do it.

- Has anyone ever told you you take as long as my daughter to get ready? - she jumped a bit as she heard Bucky's voice.

- What are you doing here?

- We have a date, have you forgotten? - he got up, his hands inside the pockets of the neatly tailored suit as he approached her. - Or are you chickening out?

- I'm not chickening out. I thought I was meeting you at your office. I mean, you usually finish at 6:30 and since you said 7, I thought ...

- I forgot that you're the boss of my company. - he interrupted with his characteristic smirk. - I got off early. Got a new suit, fresh shave.

- Shame. I do like the stubble. - she said as she caressed his face. His cheeks warmed up at her touch. - Maybe now I do need to cancel my date with you.

- You like Italian? - he said as he helped her put her coat on. It was almost like a scene from an old movie. - There's this restaurant downtown a friend of mine opened, really quiet and private.

- Wanna hide me, huh? - she smirked.

- No, no ... shit, that's not what I meant. I thought you'd like something more private? I don't wanna hide you I mean look at you, you're so gorgeous and ...

- I'm just joking, Sergeant. - she interrupted him as she saw him get into a state of rambling. Bucky always knew what to say so to see him so tied up and awkward was rather enjoyable for her as she was the one to usually end up in that situation. - I think it sounds good. You really didn't need to go through all of this.

- Why? Did you prefer I skip right over to sex? - he smirked, making her cheeks flush with warmth as she recalled the last night. - See? I can joke too.

- Yeah sex with you is kind of a joke. - she retorted which made Bucky smile at her wit. - I dropped Sadie off at your mother's but she may call you at some point.

- Yeah, I called my mum to speak to her but apparently she is upset because there's no chicken nuggets? Care to explain?

- Long story. - Y/N shrugged. - Is she okay?

- My dad's probably boring her to death with model trains and my mum is feeding her every sweet treat they can find, so I'd say she's fine.

- She's going to be impossible tomorrow, isn't she?

- I was hoping she stayed at my parents tomorrow as well.

- Why? I'm bored, I have nothing to do until I hear back from my VIVA and Sadie keeps my mind away from it.

- I have plans for you tomorrow.

- What kind of plans?

- Y/N, doll, do you ever stop asking questions?

- I'm a scholar, my job is to ask questions. It's almost like I asked you to stop being bossy and impossible.

- I am not bossy and impossible.

Y/N snorted a bit at that statement. She adored Bucky and he had been nothing but a great boss - to her at least. He was a perfectionist and liked everything done with the best results in mind which sometimes led to him being quite impossible, specially if her was in a sour mood. Heck, sometimes she'd even been on the other end of it yet it usually ended up with him apologising.

- Let's just go before you decide you don't wanna go out with a bossy and impossible man.

- Jokes on you, maybe I do prefer my men bossy and impossible.

- And still you dated ... what's his name?

- Oh c'mon.

- Bet he didn't take you to a nice restaurant.

- It's not a competition and right now you haven't taken me anywhere.

- The driver is waiting downstairs, I was just waiting for you.

- You got the driver? Bucky, I could've driven us there.

- In the yellow monstrosity? I think not.

- HEY! Ducky is a great car.

- The fact you named your car makes it worse. It's a Fiat 500 cosplaying as a Tweety Bird.

- You know the word cosplay? Wow, you're a very advanced old man in your pop culture.

Bucky rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around her waist and bringing her downstairs. He didn't exactly knew how to act on a date with her, she was not the type of woman he usually dated - he actually hadn't even dated in a while, he was one to just go to dinner for one night stands only. His last date, Sadie was 5 months old and he went out with a woman named Elizabeth who worked in Wall Street - a date which had been cut short by his constant wondering about Sadie.

This was different, first Y/N didn't work in an area which matched his and, at least in his head, was a lot more educated than him and probably worried about his daughter as much or sometimes even more. It was just different and he didn't exactly knew how to handle it in a suave manner and she seemed to notice as they sat. She gave him a knowing look before opening the restaurant menu.

- How many people here do you think are convinced I'm your sugar baby? - she attempted to break the ice, her little mischievous smile as she looked at him over the menu. Bucky laughed at this, looking around before looking back at her.

- Probably no one. If you were my sugar baby, your dress would fit you properly.

- Hey! - she playfully kicked him under the table. - This is Marc Jacobs.

- You wore that dress for your interview to be Sadie's au pair.

- That was ... a while ago. I had just started at graduate school.

- You had these really funny bangs and you used to carry around all of these really colourful notebooks.

- Yeah the breakup bangs. - she giggled. - You know, I had just cut them the night before and I cried so much when I woke up because I thought they would ruin the interview.

- Maybe your true calling is being a hairstylist.

- If I don't pass, then it may be an avenue.

- You really think you're not gonna pass your VIVA? C'mon, you're the smartest person I know.

- You're just saying that so I'll end up in your bed tonight.

- Uh, no, if I wanted you to end up in your bed tonight, I wouldn't need flattery. Just fifteen minutes alone with you in the restaurant bathroom and my hands.

She opened her mouth to respond back but immediately closed it, not sure of how to exactly answer to that. She'd heard stories, she knew he was right ... heck, she had experienced it just last night and she had to admit the idea of it was not entirely off putting.

- Don't change the subject.

- You changed the subject first, doll. - he shrugged. - You're the only person I know that doesn't believe you.

- I don't wanna talk about it, Sergeant.

- Bucky.

- What if I prefer Sergeant?

- Darling, you can call me whatever the hell you like, as long as you're calling me.

taglist: @talesofadragon @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @floralwsloki @montyrokz @sealxfredweasley @legendarytrashcopeclipse @sydariah @purple-vegan @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @slowdownbeforeyouregretit

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky/reader #bucky/you #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n

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little-lost-lamb · 1 year ago

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The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

_____________________________________________________________

Beelzebub

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him!

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.”

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes.

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it.

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest.

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips.

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck.

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room.

No.

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together.

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it.

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs.

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.”

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open.

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out.

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you.

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess.

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo.

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk.

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments.

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage.

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be.

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling.

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE.

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True.

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so.

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist.

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

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@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me fluff #obey me x mc

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