#i need him to blur the lines between past present and future.

[missingn000]

hey guys check out how hard i can make you like sukuna [gives him a complete character arc, full range of emotions, fleshed-out backstory, and complex dynamics with other characters that both harmonize and clash with the narrative themes of the story]

[meownotgood]

in circles (running down) / viktor x gn!reader, character study, yearning, angst, seriously too much angst, hurt/comfort, implied past relationship, season 2 spoilers, s2 act 2 viktor, astral intimacy, (you follow the rumors of a healer to the commune, and viktor allows you to teach him what it means to be human.) word count: 15.7k

read on ao3

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Metamorphosis begins with kaleidoscopes of colors, an ache between your ribs, and your hands tightly gripped around Viktor's wrists. 

You have him pressed underneath you, pinned in place, like a butterfly's specimen; unearthly gaze pliant, gazing up at you as though you're something worth observing. A sea of stars. Infinite possibilities. Or perhaps he can see the intricate pattern of every notion you've tried to keep hidden. 

There is a distant, fragile outcome somewhere, blissfully free of the strife he's been attempting to cure, where the both of you are guided only by the present. Where stumbling inside the elysium he's made for himself means falling into familiar, waiting arms. It means whispered confessions of, Viktor, I missed you. It sets itself into motion with your arms around his neck, while your mouth remembers the shape of his. Blurring moments upon days upon years into a worshipful, mortal culmination. 

Somewhere. It isn't this reality. 

Your temple forms a near painful knot, your breathing is weighty in your tired lungs, but your old partner's expression remains blissfully passive; Schrodinger's, some kind of paradox. Not dead, not alive. It should be easy to keep him pinned underneath you, despite the newfound weight to his form. Your arms shouldn't be shaking. Viktor eyes you calmly, as patient as he is unreadable. 

His hands twitch slightly — you're binding his wings — less akin to a human's natural irregularity. Instead, more like a complex system, thumbing through and testing its limits. Still, he doesn't attempt to break away from you. He has no need to. 

"I am certain you have recognized," Viktor begins, his voice familiar, despite the odd steadiness it carries, like the calmness of a frozen, still lake. Despite the distant rumble of monotonous vibrations that manifest between his words, "I need not delve into your mind, in order to unravel it." 

Understanding one another comes naturally, when you've long since held his shape in your soul. 

Your grip tightens on his wrists. The soft satin of his makeshift clothing brushes your skin when your knee prods into his stomach. 

You've seen what Viktor is capable of. The rumors were everywhere, from the moment you fled into the Undercity. Deciphering thoughts with a mere touch, examining the minds of those he pries into. Sensing emotions and evolving them, eclipsing them. Healing ailments that shouldn't be fixable; accomplishing the future you once dreamed of, one way or another. No matter the consequence, whatever it takes. 

He isn't the man you remember. This new boundary of existence is something near-eternal. Something more star-bound, boundlessly fate-defying. 

The utopia he's prospered runs cold, when the vessels within it lack heat. Cool air, clean and sharp, nips at your skin, carried on its own phantom breeze. Viktor's chambers are quiet, more ghostly than peaceful. He's lined the floor of his cocoon with flowers. Brilliant blooms of purple hydrangea and blue wolfsbane, petals rustling, whispering prayers to the deep night sky. 

Flowers, in the Undercity. Gods. 

Viktor's hair fans out around him, messy and unkempt. Longer than you remember, chestnut strands tapering off into hues of vanilla. His gaze swirls, in shades of sunset and petroleum, polychrome like the rainbow of oil on water. His eyes remind you of a summer storm. Clouds covering the sun, before it begins to shine again. 

You shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have let his doe-eyed acolytes lead you in. But when one of them murmured in a voice you'd almost forgotten, a voice you were sure you'd never hear again — when Viktor spoke through them, to sweetly promise he'd been expecting you, how were you ever meant to escape? 

You could fill an ocean with your doubts and shouldn'ts — it was foolish. Stupidly, terribly irrational, to follow the rumors that Viktor was still alive. Looking at him now fills your veins with nothing and everything. A cataclysm of sensations, compounding all at once. 

Grief echoes in the hollow chamber of your chest. Viktor can't be real, he was supposed to stay dead. Your hands shake, fingertips digging firmly into the hard edges of his synthetic wrists. 

Viktor, on the opposite spectrum of emotion, barely falters. 

"It must be all-consuming. Irrefutable. An… anomaly, burning within you. What epitomizes the worst burden to bear?" He murmurs, resolute. Gaze examining you, submerged in tender oblivion. "Resentment? Regret? Misery?" 

Are those words an attempt to unequivocally define love, or an admission, an echo of what he is sure you are experiencing, because he once felt it in turn? 

You resent the reverberation of his voice as it throbs through your mind. You've come to regret every wasted moment, each swallowed confession. Finding him again feels like a curse — and he knows. There's a gaping, empty maw in the pit of your stomach, and you can't keep it from destroying you. You've sacrificed yourself on his altar, without realization. Twin flames are destined to find one another. They were born from the same wildfire. 

"It doesn't matter, not to you," You're gritting out. They're the first words you've spoken in ages, and they're all-too sharp when they spit from the edges of your teeth. "You don't feel anything." 

Viktor's chest heaves gently, faint breaths that contrast the mechanical thrum of his shell. 

"Your accusations are turning bold," He hums, not denying, not quite acknowledging. His voice isn't what you remember, but it's close enough, accented. Warm, when directed towards you. Enough to kill. "There is a persistent numbness, that emanates from a lack of humanity. But it is not infallible." 

Your brows pinch. "So that's- that's it? I was some kind of afterthought, I meant so little and you were so numb you couldn't think to tell me you were still-" 

"No," Viktor interrupts. Tone gentle, dream-like. Eyes softening, as his words become perfectly and paradoxically earnest. "You were the reason I felt alive." 

He watches you, observes the conflict in your shifting expression. Flexes his fingers, clenches his hands. Idly thinking. The mere sight of you is an anchor within him. Returned pieces, notches clicking into place. Radiancy, bursting with light within him like a sacred heart — a final brush of his fingertips, to the fading edges of mortality. 

Figments of sensations, the qualities he'd assumed were lost on him, are made to surge through him with the strength of a dull current; this is your doing. He can sense the faint warmth of your hands, nearly chokes on your name in his throat when he swallows. There's pain in your expression, a desire to falter, and it feels — reminds him of a gaping hole to the chest. 

Viktor opens his mouth to speak, and your free hand opts to harshly wrap around his neck. 

"The hurt, you are experiencing- when it is able to be sensed, examined," Viktor takes a harsh breath, as you tilt his chin up with a firm, bruising grip. "It begins to resound." His jaw grinds. Strands of his soft hair tickle your knuckles. His pretty, familiar mole follows his mouth when his lips briefly press into a hard line. "It is innate. Engrained memories, amidst fleeting desires for connection. Knowing how deeply you are broken vexes me." 

He waits for your eyes to meet his own. Your gaze is practically piercing. 

"And nothing is stronger than this ache."

The ache he can sense, because you are caught in it. Shared, entwined pain; two complements, sewn together. 

Viktor believes part of you exists within him. It's inescapable: one's ties to another. 

Simplicity was a circumstance he took for granted. Days in the Undercity, before it became this. Evenings spent researching or collaborating or re-learning how to breathe, when your dreams hovered just out of reach. Now, you're masquerading as a God and an apostate. 

His mind hasn't quieted, since he felt your presence in his sanctuary. How could so much hurt stem from a once endless abundance of fondness? Tossing aside all past restraints seemed to be the most sensible option, the arcane's chosen option, but you are such an oddity. 

Your very existence defies and redefines reason. You are… unforgettable. A sweet, exceedingly tempting obstacle. An inevitable destiny, worthy of any sacrifice. Irregardless of if the threads of fate decide they should will it. You were the missing piece to this theorem. And yet, my ignorance aspired to push you away. 

I have you, now. I can reach you, I could begin to quiet the pestilence within you. 

So why do you refuse? 

Viktor's jaw clenches ever-so slightly. His gaze flashes with a hint of resolve, or tenderness, or something in between. 

"I understand you have… missed me," He murmurs, his tone fraying around the words when he reaches their sore spot. To have each other as something to miss is so very human, so very quaint. "There is so much tension, hidden behind your eyes. Volatile. Yet still so… gentle. I remember the times when I would call out to you, simply to watch the way they softened." 

They're softening now; your gaze can't help but melt, every single time you look at him. Despite the pain, despite the anger. The memory digs at you, it pries into your chest with sharp, thorned roots. Irreplaceable murmurs of your name in his voice. With his accent, with life in his tone, before the world sought to take it from him. With the cadence he clings to each time he goes through the syllables, your syllables, that screams, you are something I covet. 

For a brief moment, you swear Viktor shifts from his ever-endless calm expression, chapped lips tilting to form the slightest, melancholy ghost of a smile. 

"I fear I have long since owed you many apologies, little spark. There isn't much to offer, in the way of consolation. But, I-" Viktor's gaze weakens, flickers over you with dying sparks like a candle-lit flame; his hands clench, his sharp breathing echoes. 

"I would have never forgotten you. You were irreplaceable. As was the life we once shared together. For every moment spent in my solitude, I lost myself, in the certainty that we might meet again." 

Your throat tightens. An ache forms in your chest, threatening to spill over, like an overflowing chalice. 

There's a distinct weight to his wrists, as you continue to hold them in place. A heavy, but still hollow chassis, his hands are criss-crossed with various mechanical patterns. The Hexcore's corruption is beginning to envelop more of him. It isn't like carving runes into delicate skin. That, at least, was a choice. A desperate, self-destructive, self-saving choice. 

Bright, purple veins surge across what remains of his skin. They knot into his forehead, they curve underneath his tired eyes. Energy thrums from inside his hands, reminiscent of sparks rippling through electrical wire. The glow is faint, perhaps weakened. Ornaments trail down his neck, beneath his robes. Outlines of steel and amber carved into his figure. 

Unconsciously, you long to reach out and touch. To trace your fingers along his intricacies: golden, godlike. To decide if his skin, if the smallest shred of what remains of him, is still as soft and lovely as you remember. 

Your palm slips from his neck first. 

It trails across his chest, in between the silhouette of collarbones. He isn't cold, nor warm. Empty, more like. Pulses of distant magic meet your fingertips, like pressing your hand to a static-filled television screen. He weakens underneath your touch, body going limp as a silent acknowledgment. There is no heartbeat. But you can feel the repeated ricochet of his breathing, however fake, however practiced. 

Viktor's body feels powerful, reflecting the extent of his talents. It is a strong, complex, restrained prison. It must be freeing, in some ways; to breathe without the choke of rot in your lungs. To run, with the wind at your back as the ground meets your feet. You should be happy. Grateful. Viktor is alive — but he isn't able to be saved. 

The objective you arrived with is already starting to crumble. Oh, you knew this wouldn't be a quick affair. 

You didn't follow him for information, or for evidence. You weren't led by the wishes of the council's remains, or by the ambitions of your once-shared lab partner — or by anything else, besides your own heart. Nothing else matters. Just your own wavering strength, and the echoes in your mind to do something. Just each shaky step you took, traveling further into Zaun despite the smog that filled your chest. Just the plea in your mind, and the rumors at your feet that Viktor hadn't fully left. 

Finally, when you stumbled into the commune with tired legs and weary lungs, you could breathe. And you couldn't decide if it was because of the plants, the trees, the fresh air, or if it's because of him. 

You failed. You weren't meant to stay, weren't meant to trust him. But the moment your eyes locked with his, it was over. (Viktor smiled, you swore you saw amber, and he beckoned you close, without hesitation.) 

It's crushing, to feel so much. You're suffocating in the wake of your own pounding heartbeat. Throbbing in your chest, echoing in your eardrums. Pulsing in your throat. 

There's no use reconciling with your partner's shadow. And yet, in spite of it all, your partner, your reflection, rests underneath you. Gazing up at you with eyes that whirl in endless, lifeless shades. The silence stretches, and he doesn't fight the enveloping sting. 

Yes, he was right, you are burning. As bright as the sun, with a fierce fire in your chest; caught between your ribs, as the flames attempt to escape through the gaps. It's reminiscent of the sticky-warm suffocation of bleeding out. Blood made to pour onto his chest and his clothes and his hands, as Viktor would press his palms to your side to stop your wound from spilling. 

Love is a promise to pursue. To covet a name underneath your tongue. To swear to be doomed from the start. Like tying a string around two fingers — the path was set, you only needed to follow. 

Your shoulders become tense, before they start to shake. The grip you've been holding on his wrists loosens. Viktor allows his hands to flex, now freed, but you're stumbling, collapsing in on yourself. 

Uselessly, clumsily, you hide your face in your hands. It hardly helps. Your chest stings, your cheeks are wet. Your tears fall onto him like rain, droplets gently hitting his cheek. 

"Oh," Viktor's lips quiver, as he tries to find words, but there's only one solution: "Come here." 

And as though every reality led to this moment, as though embracing you is less of a conscious choice, and simply what he was made for, Viktor reaches for you, without hesitation. 

The simple movement of his palm warps reality around it. His hand hums, buzzes mechanically, thrums with an otherworldly glow. His fingers are shaky; they haven't trembled this much in ages. 

Careful fingertips brush up your arm. Your shoulders slump, and he grabs onto your wrist with little force. He feels your pulse. Each dull thud reverberates in his own chest, twisting up his spine as a surge of fire. His eyes can't help but flutter closed. 

That's when natural intuition takes over, a pulse resounds throughout the entirety of Viktor's system, and all at once, he is touching your soul. 

Your pent up emotions are an aurora in his mind. A vast array, everything complex, knit together so tightly, he doubts it's unwindable. He attempts to search through each individual spark, between every luminous flicker of starlight. Your very essence is rich with a sense of longing; it tastes like sugar on his tongue. 

Slowly, carefully, you unfurl, as if your petals were exposed to the sun. Your heart hears him, you recognize it is Viktor's touch. Soul to soul, hands threading over you, within you. And like running into a waiting embrace, you vividly let the layers of your mind open. 

There are beautiful rays of loving light, warmth that feels like the sun on his face, and subsequently feels like you. Affection burns into him with the heat of fierce, dripping candle wax. Then, there's fragile echoes that pierce through him, like pulling your lover in by the wrists, while they plunge a knife into your heart. 

And there are deep, dark depths of drowning water. An endless, barren abyss to be swallowed into; you sit at the very bottom, curled in on yourself, untouchable. He reaches out to you, extends a palm for you to take, but you won't come. From here, you won't even look at him. 

When he dives further, he sees himself. 

Feels himself, sensing and tasting and experiencing his own image through your perception. He is the warmth underneath your skin, you are the celestial glow in his ribcage. It's a rebound, a ripple, a pulse of sonar. Touches and affections that he can feel on his skin, within his own body, and then through you, with your palms. 

A touch to the small of one's back, or to a tensed shoulder, to a protruding spine. A palm between the butterfly-wing shape of his rigid shoulder blades, soft caresses to calloused knuckles and fresh wounds. His hands to the weakest parts of you, and your fingertips, tracing the still-human parts of him, before they were lost to his reunion with fatality. 

Hands finding one another, fingers brushing, fingers interlacing — and Viktor remembers how it felt to wish your hand could be in his forever. He memorizes the shape of your heartbeat, as if it were his own. 

Drowned in vivid color, painting-like and hazy, he reaches stretches of your imagination. It's easy to become lost in your dreams, within the places you wanted those touches to lead. Where you wanted him to touch. Your reveries are so bright they're blinding. 

In your dreamscape, caresses travel. Your hands become bolder than they should, when they're massaging and soothing the ache in his shoulders. The press of skin to skin is a gentle connection, between soft, hesitant, dangerous pleas for more. There are confessions in a thousand different ways, countless almosts and bitten tongues. 

Every instance is simple. Blissfully mundane. You replay and reimagine a sudden profession, while your head is resting on his shoulder, and it feels good instead of terrifying to let everything change. And when your hand finds his own, his thin fingers lace with yours naturally. And the academy is quiet, but your voice as you mumble his name is infinitely quieter. 

You imagine mutual desperations to pull each other closer. 

(Gentle brushes led by quickened breaths, exploring pallid skin, skimming the details you've mapped out in your mind. There's faint freckles on his arms, when he rolls up his sleeves. He has a mole on the back of his neck, only noticeable when his collar gets loose. A palm traces his spine, and you're picturing pressing your mouth to the scattered trail of moles on his back. Your breath is hot enough to burn, to leave behind marks of your own.) 

Oh, and you wanted him so close. Closer than he knew. Closer than you could ever be, not now, not anymore. 

Viktor sees his own image more clearly than ever; vibrant, when filtered through your eyes. Every moment shared between you plays on repeat. Looping, convening together. 

Everything he achieved — the complexities of his discoveries and innovations amazed you, but they begin to blur in your vision, when you can't help but be drawn to the thrilled, pretty look on his face. All of his details — down to the most minute. The routine fidgeting of his fingers when he's lost in thought. The specific swirl he adds to a select few letters when he writes. 

Your heart cradles each of his subtleties. Gods, how you adore him. You have all of him memorized. 

Heavy and encapsulating, the warmth left by you is so much worse, when he is pressed in between all of your pieces. He remembers himself in a much kinder way. In the way you remembered him: intelligent, remarkable, enthralling. Edges blur together and clutter the horizon where he ends and you begin. He's lost in soft greetings, and gentle farewells, reverberating in his own voice. I missed you, I was thinking of you, I'll see you. 

He walks through cathedrals of everything you admired. Your shared dreams, and his budding ambitions. Promises to make his home a better place. Hallways of framed stolen glances. Quiet utterances of the smallest assurances, and swears to achieve great things together. Embraces that molded you into one another's muse. (Something fulfilled, and something lost.) 

And deeply, strongly, he aches. His chest burns, explodes with light. To you, he represents a spark, the sun, the moon, the stars. He radiates in echoes of everything at once. And he is — 

Alive, he is irrefutably, relentlessly alive. 

Your fondness forms around him as palpable rays of radiance; glimmers surround his stratosphere, small suns and brilliant meteor showers. You are a thousand beautiful colors, smashing and blending together. You are as exceptional as he always knew you to be, you are the definition of devotion. As if your hand is at his arm, guiding him to touch the edges of the sky and the sea. Together, you are one in the same. 

It transcends corporality. Viktor reaches into the spiral of your mind. He finds you, he drags you from the depths you've tried to hide yourself in, and he pulls you into the cosmos. He embraces you. Palms pressed to your back, arms around you, as the phantom edges of his figure merge into yours, like paint blending together on a palette. 

Viktor clings onto your starlit particles at his fingertips, he savors every flickering memory and vivid emotion. You're unraveled in his palms completely, deciphered down to your faintest atoms. Your limbs entwine with his; without strife, utterly weightless. 

Time fades, combines itself into a single thread — until, for a brief moment, it's impossible to tell if minutes have passed, or hours, or centuries. 

Until he feels your touch, and realizes it isn't within the confines of your shared mind. It's real. 

All at once, he returns to reality. 

Viktor's eyes flutter open abruptly. His own soul careens back into him with the force of a freight train. His breath comes in hard pants that half-fill his makeshift lungs, and shake the entirety of his chest. The back of his throat is rough and raw. He blinks, to refocus his misty vision. 

Oh. He's cupping your face in his hand. 

Your palm has decided to press itself to the back of his knuckles, determined to keep him there. Absently, your fingertips brush the sharp angles of his metallic joints, his gold accents. The flowers surrounding his chambers rustle. Their soft petals tickle his cheek. 

Dull energy thrums from his touch — sparks of the arcane, briefly buzzing on your skin like static. Touching the scars within your deepest layers. Your presence has pulled him back onto your plane. His magic tapers off, slowly and steadily. 

Now it's just him, just his hand at your cheek. Blissfully simple. 

Your tears have stopped. Your breathing shakes. With merciful, trembling touches, Viktor caresses your face, as though it's the first time. His thumb gently brushes away a stray droplet. 

The intricate texture of his hand is irregular, almost metallic. Far from what you remember, far from the familiar softness of skin. It isn't anything you could consider human — and yet, you still lean into him, your cheek practically nuzzling into the hard edges of his palm. Brazen and affectionate, desperate and cat-like. 

Viktor's jaw clenches. His harsh gasps echo throughout the vastness of his hollow chambers. 

No, this isn't- it's not possible, he thinks, in his own stupidly weak voice, barely able to form the words. It can't be. The arcane would not allow it. 

He feels like his head might pound out of his own skull. The warmth of your cheek is the only thing he can focus on, radiating against his palm like your skin is made from stardust. 

All at once, he has been carved down to his most basic components, until what remains is pure, raw emotion. His emotion, not the residuals of yours. 

He is himself, no longer on the outside looking in. Not the shell of what remained after the fire, the hunger, the waves of corruption. A soul returning to the body feels nothing like how he'd imagined — it's sudden, unexpected. It's a swell of fire, like kindling familiar flames in the depths of your chest. 

And his complex theories should prove that this shouldn't be happening. This body feels in tessellations, with precise, predetermined, machine-like processes. Everything within him must work in harmony. The arcane possesses, as much as it aspires to synchronize. 

His own quickened breathing resounds in his eardrums mockingly. He's grown used to what became of his body and the Hexcore, and the fusion between them: the thrumming in his veins, sparking impulse, potential. 

Yet, within him now, there's nothing but silence. Endless, persistent silence. 

It scares him. 

Countless cycles of inner contemplations led him to this. His thoughts and functions are supposed to click into place, to be understandable. Distance is meant to be placed between the inner self and the surface. Separating the body from the mind is how he was able to foster this community in the first place, how he's managed to help so many — his own sense of self needed to be secondary. His own desires, his emotions. Like a covetous God, the greater good demands sacrifice. 

But there was an outlier. A contingency. A chance, a small stir amongst his faded, longing ashes, that promised it could metamorphose him. Viktor considered every possible option. In every prediction, within the web of this reality, it doesn't work. 

His reunion with you was inevitable, but in his predictions, when you arrive to see what the arcane has made of him, everything begins crumbling down. The soft embrace he'd share with you is limited only to his imagination. Your fingertips press to numb metal, and Viktor can't feel your touch when it finds him. 

He foresaw your arrival. It wasn't part of his plan; it meant little to the overarching design, to his hopes for the Undercity. It was — you were — a fated tie. He'd hoped for this. Lost himself, in the inevitably of finding you, just to have you torn from him once more. 

Every intricacy in the array before him gave the same response. He knew this was written to be a tragedy, but Gods, none of it would matter once he saw your face, one last time. 

But this? This, he could not predict. 

The intense radiance in his veins, the fire in his ribs, the warmth of you underneath his own palm; you've flipped everything on its head. Somehow, someway, you've proved him wrong. You have proven fate wrong. You are the cause of his newfound light, and you are the lighter to his innermost match. 

You've made him return to humanity. 

Viktor pulls his palm away from your cheek. His chest heaves. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and runs his purple-hued fingers through his hair, over his forehead, somewhat surprised by the lack of sweat. 

Then, he examines his hand. Turns it over, flexes his shaky fingers. Vividly ascertains that yes, these are his own eyes that he's looking through. He attempts to steady his breathing, he tries to send power thrumming through his system. Nothing answers. Magic fails to reach his palm, aside from a few faint buzzes, like the sparks that would linger after cutting a power line. 

"Impossible," Viktor grits out, half in wonderment, half in panicked disbelief. His own hand continues to shake in front of him. He can't think, now that he has you, and he has no idea what to do with his own soul; "How could this- how could you-" 

With a dull, echoing sob, you're tipping into him. 

Viktor feels your arms clumsily wrap around his shoulders. Your weight rests comfortably against his fake body. He sees in hues of amber and gold, basking in the honey-rich glow of the sun as it fills his iris, before the sky darkens, and the colors around him go wild once more. 

You embrace him. So, so tight. As though he might disappear, slipping through the gaps in your arms and the cracks between your fingertips, if you ever were to let go. 

A hand grabs a fistful of his rumpled clothing, a palm staggers down and finds where it's loose, to let your fingers feel the back of his neck. They trace down, unsteady. You brush your fingertips over the first bolt embedded into his makeshift spine. Grazing it repeatedly, feeling the defined notch. Caressing the smooth, metal surface underneath your thumb. 

It's an anxious, idle motion. Viktor listens to the shake in your breathing. He remains still, half-limp in your weak arms. 

This is unnatural — the press of soft human limbs, to an ever-present mechanical body. Yet, Viktor can feel all of you. Every gentle fan of your breath on his neck. He senses your fingertips when they move, and with another sad little sob that has his heart splintering, your hands are getting lost in his long hair. Grasping, trembling. Viktor feels electricity race from his scalp, down to his back. 

A thousand connecting sensations come to life within him: constellations of memories, once-dormant hopes that bud like wildflowers. And he realizes, fiercely, abruptly, within what has become of him, he still remembers the shape of your name in his chest. 

Holding you is an action he wasn't meant for, it embodies everything he isn't. But Viktor expels a soft sigh. He allows himself to pretend. His arm slowly wraps around you, and his palm gently finds your back, when your head buries itself into the perfect crook of his neck. 

This body has been re-made, sculpted in the image of the arcane, and yet it cannot rid itself of the most basic human subtleties. The curve between his neck and his shoulder was made for you to rest there. He caresses your back with smooth, slow motions, and your frames fit together like two pieces of the same inseparable, destiny-drawn puzzle. 

Faint thrums of power emanate from the entirety of his shape. Weak, constant. An enveloping throb, to substitute a quickly beating heart. You sniffle against his nape, and Viktor holds you just a little bit tighter. 

Deep down, with the desperation of a man too entwined in the eternal threads of fate, he wishes he'd have the strength to bring about change. Not for this, not for him. For you. 

If the auroras he's touched and the light he encompasses could press into you, he would eclipse your darkness in radiance. If his hands could be capable of more than healing — of adoring, of remembering, he would let his palms memorize the statue of your frame, so he might carve it into himself. He'd take your strife and make it his. 

When you finally pull back from him, it's only slight; you stifle another weak noise, and your forehead falls against his own. The moment your head meets his, he collapses into your soul. He feels your pain ricochet through him, sharp and unpredictable. 

Anguish shakes your entire system like stormy waves. Guilt and devotion and lovely past lifetimes paint the surface of his skin, the center of his chest bleeds itself raw — and then, he's gone. Pushed out of your mind, unable to fight as the hold of his weakened magic slips. 

Swallowing thickly, eyes fluttering open again, Viktor wills his breath to stop faltering. It was so brief, his second brush with your emotions. But the ache you've been struck by is utterly palpable. It stings the corners of his eyes, sinks sharp teeth into his insides. 

He places his palm on your cheek, and he carefully guides the both of you apart, so he can finally look at you. 

"All of this pain. This emotion," Viktor murmurs; his voice shudders, resounding like the distant rumble of thunder. His gaze on yours floods with soft colors, reminds you of the surrounding sea of pastel florals. His index tilts your chin, to keep you looking at him. "My poor, resplendent beloved." 

You've essentially fallen into his lap; Viktor shifts, props himself up further. Gods, is he captivating. Stupidly, terribly captivating. The gnawing ache within you pleads for you to turn away, to run, but the pained pinch to his thick brows is more familiar than ever. So is the way he looks at you. Reminiscent of the one you once loved, despite the swirling shades that shine beneath. 

As you admire him through misty vision, you can almost trick yourself into believing nothing has changed. Almost. The distance in between you and Viktor begs to be closed, it mumbles promises in your ears like the way the edge whispers before a long fall. It won't hurt, as long as you close your eyes. 

Compromising, your palms shift to weakly hold his face. They push his messy hair from his eyes, and caress the edges of his jaw, where his skin tapers off into the Hexcore's corruption. Your thumb strokes lazy circles over the mole above his mouth. His skin is soft, his jaw is rigid, silky with a labyrinth of smooth, swirling patterns. 

To see his face is one thing, to be able to touch him and hold him, and know he's still here — they're privileges you never thought yourself worthy of earning. You hold him warmly, tenderly. The way you wanted to before he was gone. Like he is yours, or a deity worth worshipping. 

"Viktor-" 

You can't help it. You're starting to sob. Every heave of your chest is dry, your eyes sting with tears that won't come. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard, but the temporary pain does little to quell your all-consuming heartache. 

Trembling thumbs brush his skin, and you shake your head, you sputter, "I'm sorry, Vik, I'm so- s-so sorry…" 

Viktor is a servant to the sickening shudder that laces through him. His brows form a knot, his gaze drowns in clear sadness. Refracting in shades of autumn and azure. 

"But you have no reason to be. I have you," Viktor murmurs gently, the edges of his tone deliciously smooth. Your arms weakly drop down to his shoulders, and he gives your still-wet cheek a slow caress. "Shh, shh. You do not have to apologize. I know. I know. Your emotions are still so grievously tender." 

His tone is warm, like how you remember. Ages ago, you would've done anything to hear it again, filling the silence left by his absence. When you're able to see through the otherworldly rumble, the distant reverberation, you're able to hear just him. As though no time has passed at all, like he never left. 

"Viktor-" You hiccup, "Please- I'm sorry- Viktor." 

His name was designed to meet your voice. You make it sound maddeningly tender, as though it's something to covet, even when your heart is aching and you wish that it wasn't. 

As though you've flipped the meaning. To conquer can be something soft, it can be a gentle checkmate, a hopeful spark between ribs and an ambitious fire at the edges of fingertips. A promise to prevail, with hands intertwined. 

He feels like he's going to be sick. 

"I'm here. Breathe," Viktor answers, "Talk to me, zlato. Tell me how you are feeling." 

"I thought you- thought you were gone," You're sniffling, slurring your words together. Viktor's expression weakens. You are falling apart in his hands, and he feels so unbelievably useless. "When I- when they told me you ran off to Zaun, I was… angry. But I can't- I can't stay mad at you, I just can't." 

Viktor softens. His gaze flickers over you, as he fruitlessly attempts to find the right words to fix this. But you're already continuing. 

"I grieved you, Vik. So much." You take a slow, shuddering breath. Your words come out one at a time. "Part of me thinks I still should." 

The choice to use his familiar nickname, usually spoken so joyfully, so exuberant in his memories — I'm here, I missed you, you're so sweet, Vik. To hear it sputtered, instead, his own name chewed up and spat out short-hand; it's like a kiss to the cheek, in between a punch to the face. 

Viktor recalls what it felt like to be lost inside your mind. So much fondness, a dense galaxy of longing, was crammed inside a small, beating heart. Endless implosions of love and loss, with nowhere to go, had no option but to dig themselves deeper. He felt the weight on your shoulders, like the heaviness of rain. The icy pain in your ribs: bleak coldness, where all you can see is your own breath. Once pleasant dreamscapes were twisted and tugged into knots, because this is the end — and Viktor knows he wasn't meant to be granted an epilogue. 

"No one could have blamed you," He says, words soft enough to cushion your fall. You clumsily lean back into him, resting on his shoulder, and Viktor calmly pets the back of your head. 

Your hands quiver. "I did- I blamed myself." 

"And what choice did you have?" Viktor counters, speaking through an almost-sigh. "You were frightened. Alone. You were inconsolable, deprived of respite." And he left you. He wandered astray when you needed him most. "Affection and pain are-" He tenses, quiets. "An antithesis, forming an equilibrium. Fond memories begin to die, as fractured stars do, when such dreams encompass all you have left." 

A pause. You savor a few more moments in his arms, debating. Waiting for your resolve to return to you, before you're drawing back, and sitting up. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. When Viktor tries reaching for you, you're swiftly pushing his palm away. 

"I- I should leave," You're choking out, "I can't be here." 

Viktor's brows furrow. 

"Why not?" He questions, and there's a broken edge to his voice, a weakness that nearly sounds hurt. He hurriedly grasps your wrist — faint energy pulses from his touch, weighty enough to make you shiver — but you stay still, not moving, not yet. "You, out of everyone, have always been welcome." 

"They were talking about setting up a barricade, back in Piltover," You're mumbling weakly, although it's clear to him you're dancing around the true reason. 

"You can stay here," Viktor interrupts. 

"No, I can't." 

"Yes, you could. There is another reason for your avoidance." His tone softens, lays itself before you like a lamb to be slaughtered. "Let me in. Please." 

"There isn't anything, Vik. It'd be better if I wasn't here. That's all. I'm sorry, I just-"

You sniffle, your heart breaks, and Viktor brushes a tear from your eye before it has the chance to fall. His knuckles caress down the length of your jaw, he softly coos a few words of reassurance. Shh, shh. Don't cry. 

Bleeding into him distantly, melting against his hand and within his veins; easily this time, as though reaching into the depths of your existence is purely natural — he feels you. 

Your soul has decayed to a dull, dying flame. You embody the convergence between warm and cold. Your mind longs to find its place within his arms, to fall into him once more and never return, as much as it believes you should push him away. There's a conflicting, swords-crossing battle inside your own heart. He experiences each of your sensations, tastes and samples them: the pleasant, and the painful. Echoing, exhausted, whispered in your own voice, he hears what you are thinking. 

Please, Gods. Why can't I forget him? 

Oh. Your mind doesn't lie. 

The boundaries of your psyche begin to crumble — toppled bricks, chipped stone, and he can't help but tense. He feels sharpness stab into every part of him, like the closing walls of an iron maiden. 

Look at what has become of him. Why must you hold on, when it would be infinitely easier to just let go? Viktor understands. He is well-acquainted with the strife of forgetting. 

It must be torture, to hold someone so close to your heart. To remember them as the sun, when all that remains is their shadow. A half-dead symbol of divinity. 

Everything would've been easier, more simple, better for the task he sought to accomplish, if he was able to cast his affections aside. This body should make it trivial, but it is still Viktor's body. It is still his vessel, and his mind, and his memories. 

Emotions hinder progress. They killed countless Gods before him, and yet love digs in deep and persists. Consumes, from the inside out. It sets fire to your soul, and makes you watch as it burns itself out. The whims of the heart are impossible to stifle. He was correct, to predict your return. But what of a body without a heart, what of him, what of the future? 

I believed I could untwine fate, Viktor thinks, as his palms brush the intricate stars laid out before him. Yours, mine. But my attempts were not conceivable. Enlightenment was never strong enough to predominate over devotion. A revival cannot undo the basis of human nature. I can never unwind myself from you, but in this, I was complacent. I was prepared to let you become my ruin. 

And your mind resounds. There's a voice, unable to hear him, speaking with itself. Shouting through a storm to harmonize with the whispering wind. Recalling pain, loss, and ashes. 

Why was it you, when it could've been me? 

Part of you envisions going back. Imagining yourself in his place, threading through options to come up with one that might save him. Or perhaps, in a blind stupor of sadness and frustration, you would've returned to the Undercity. You would try to find yourself and change your path, assuring your younger self to stay, you weren't cut out to be a scientist — to undo the outcome of ever meeting him. 

Regret eclipses you, the moment the thought crosses your mind. He overhears your internal struggle, your own voice fighting with itself. No, that isn't true. It can't be, you couldn't bear it. 

But perhaps, he thinks, for you, it would have resulted in less pain. 

He witnesses every thought, feels every regret and all of your uncertainty. As sharp as a blade, twisting within you; pressing inside him, in turn. 

Until Viktor's shaky fingers trail the back of your neck, his eyes fluttering open. He realizes you've collapsed into him, as his own weakness forces him back to the present. 

Viktor holds you, for a long stretch of time. You promised you'd leave, and yet, here you are, running into his arms once more. It's still sublimely surreal. Your palms trace his open sides, examining the golden bands, the deep indentations where ribs might sit. When his arm around your back grows loose, you're prying yourself from him hesitantly. He meets your gaze, and his lithe fingers delicately find your jaw. Admiring, thinking. 

You are terribly beautiful. Wonderful. There is nothing comparable. Not the sea of vivid flowers, not the sun, not the countless collisions of stars that he's witnessed. If he could go back, he would hold your pain in his hands. He'd make it his. 

It would mean more to him than anything, more than all of this, to see you happy, smiling, and free. You've always been so lovely. An inspiration. A dream. 

The arcane could strip him of himself, but even as it's pulling his bones from his body, it could never take away the devotion he remembers. Your touch, your voice. Your atoms and your particles, falling like rain at his fingertips, forming every retained, held-onto expression of you. 

Soft letters, exchanged between the margins of messily sketched blueprints. Tearing the paper, to keep the note you'd left, because your handwriting felt like home. Drowsy words, shoulders pressed too close together, and almost falling asleep, but trying to stay awake to talk for just a little while longer. Even though hindsight would tell him he's acting a fool. Even though the night is melting into morning, and you have projects to complete by tomorrow. None of it ever seems to matter, when the two of you are lost in each other. 

He remembers smiles like sunflowers, bright and radiant. Giddy laughter and naive wishes. Hands brushing when they shouldn't; finding one another under tables, between meetings. Fingers interlacing to swear promises, palms pressed to a quickly beating heart. 

Further, there are gentler sentiments, moments that could only come with age and years of understanding. Sitting together in silence, because it helps, when sleep refuses to come. Lessening pain wherever you can. Soothing tired muscles, holding shaky hands. Knowing where it hurts without the need to ask, and when to encourage, but also when to rest. 

Falling apart, in the ways no one else gets to see, because he knows you will be there to put back his pieces — and Viktor realizes every memory, every recollection, every death begins and ends with you. 

Gods. He breathes soft shushes, and little murmurs of, It's alright. All it takes is one brush with your heart to bring his humanity circling back. 

Your expression weakens, your heavy gaze stays steady on his own. For a moment, he expects you to collapse again. He knows he will catch you. But you breathe deeply, and when he caresses your cheek, nice and gentle, your eyes take on a dull sparkle — the same light he remembers, from countless lifetimes ago. 

"No," Viktor coos softly, with a shake of his head, "No, I believe this is precisely where you were meant to be." 

He holds your chin delicately, between his thumb and forefinger. "Stay. Please." He murmurs, continuing. I need you to stay. "Spare me a few more moments." 

His voice sounds impossibly human. There's less of a rumble, more of a tremble. Uniquely him, decidedly weak. 

It's fruitless, and he knows it. A few more moments is hardly enough, it won't make up for everything you've needed. But it's all he can have. Because in every reality, this doesn't work. 

There are mistakes he can't take back, pain he can't reverse. Humanity is a vice he can no longer hold onto. And you — once again, at the center of everything — you do not deserve this. After the boundaries you've crossed, the lengths you've travelled, you must be so, so tired. You, his dream, for all of the radiance and light in your heart, do not deserve to be drowned in more darkness. 

For every almost, for each soft touch and pained reminder of his fragility — the warmth of your arms around him, dulling the sharpness in his leg — he should have pulled you closer. From the very start, he was running out of time. He should have died. Yet, he must continue to live, with the same weight in his shoulders, with the knowledge of his failures. And with the palpable reminders of the twin flame he lost. 

He's strayed too far to make things right, now. You're two ships on different currents. 

If you were to change course and crash together, hands grasping one another tight, soft skin entwined with unnatural fingers made of violet; close enough to let heavy breaths meld into one; close enough to taunt the forces that made him, the result would prove catastrophic. Shattering his goals, the hold the arcane has on him, and your wavering heart. 

Viktor knows he cannot put you through this. His new purpose, his curse, perpetuated by the Hexcore's distant, inexplicable itch, surmises that he is destined for rebirth. Over, and over, and over again. You've already grieved him, and for your sake, this needs to be the final time. 

"Okay," You breathe, exhaling heavily, inhaling weakly. He holds your cheek in his familiar hand, and you tremble, struggling not to lean into his touch. "I… Okay. I'll stay." 

Your warmth radiates against Viktor's palm. Low and soft, tired and grief-stricken. Then brilliant, burning. 

You already know what it's like to lose him; how it feels to watch light slip from his gaze, either as a slow descent into torment, a faint snuffed out flame. Or as a vivid, scorching implosion. Forcing you to remember blood and fire, as smoke overtakes the edges of your vision. 

Ash chokes your lungs. Pain thrums in all of your joints. Muffled screams echo in your ringing eardrums. Panicked breaths, and shouts of, he's not breathing, between Jayce grabbing your shoulders, trying to shake you awake, but you just — 

Viktor pulls his hand away from your cheek, as though he'd been burned. Dull remnants of your pain linger in his chest, sharp, strained, and ashen. His index finger presses to the side of your jaw, gently guiding you to look at him. 

"Don't imagine such things," He mumbles gently; his color-rich gaze finds yours, as naturally as the moon finds the Earth, locked within the same orbit. "You are only going to exhaust yourself further. What happened that day was- it was not your fault. Not in any capacity. You know this, right?" 

Right? The soft lilt in his voice — pleading for confirmation — makes a tingle trace your spine. 

"I know," You answer dryly, your voice a little sore. "I'm fine." 

Your eyes have long since dried up, but you still sound deeply numb. Distant, as though your soul is somewhere far away. 

"You are not," Viktor counters quickly. Like you're two rival schoolmates, arguing once again. Not two inseparable souls, on the verge of the end. Close to collapsing and crossing an edge neither of you could come back from. 

"I am. I promise." 

"You have not slept. You have been following the trail to the commune for days, now. And the moment you try to rest, to let sleep find you, your mind is plagued by fits of nightmares. I do not think you need me to tell you this, but you are pushing yourself to the brink." 

It hurts, somewhere in his fragile system, to see the pain he has caused you. He hasn't merely witnessed it, he has felt it. All of your guilt and your emotions, surging through his filaments. Nearly as strong as the passive waves of magic. 

"The nightmares started long before this," You're arguing on impulse, mumbling under your breath. 

They began when he was dying. 

And he knows the nightmares, the visions he saw through your eyes, of embers and death and destruction and fragility — they are all because of him. 

You swallow, before you sigh, and your tone quiets when he places a reassuring hand on your tensed shoulder. "I wasn't asking you to pity me. It's just- it isn't anything I'm not used to." 

Viktor pauses. Then, he gives a small, amused huff. 

"You are as stubborn as you were when we met." 

He recalls it vividly: your very first meeting. You were both young, immature, and terribly eager to prove yourselves. Determination and stubbornness were traits you unfortunately shared. 

You argued. Over some unimportant invention, and then over your notes, and the ways they differed. Viktor can barely remember the assignment. But he recalls the pinch in your brows, the fiery heat in the back of your gaze. Convinced you were right, and unable to get Viktor to budge, you left, tossing some remark over your shoulder as you slammed the door shut behind you. We should ask the professor if we can change partners. It's clear we'll never get along. 

"Am I?" You mutter; it's rhetorical, obviously, made evident from the half-hearted roll of your eyes. He's sure you're dwelling on the very same memory. You breathe something of a feeble, fatigued laugh, "You really think I was the stubborn one?" 

"Mmm," Viktor hums. His lips twitch into the faintest imitation of a smile. "Possibly. You haven't told me to shut up yet. I suppose we could consider that an improvement." 

Ambitious and tender, alive and in front of you, is a part of him you'd thought you lost. 

"And you somehow still remember." 

Viktor's temple forms a knot, but his gaze is entirely unreadable. He brushes an exploring palm down the small of your back, keeping himself propped up on his elbow. You're leaning into him naturally, as though you've hardly planned to. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your weight settles gently and tangibly in his lap. 

"I told you," He says, voice barely more than a whisper, a plea, a prayer. "Regardless of what is taken from me, you are far too precious to forget." 

Your breathing is unsteady. It echoes in his ears, becoming all he can focus on. Sharp in, shaky out. 

"I didn't know I mattered so much to you." You're glancing away, while you brush his long hair from his eyes; your breath shakes, you twirl an ombre strand around your finger. "I mean, not after- not when you're- fuck, I don't know." 

"Not as you remember?" Viktor completes. 

You reply with a shallow nod. "You're just… different." 

Alive. Anew. A vessel, not a man, not the one you admired. 

Viktor's jaw tenses. His chest stings, it pulls at him like there's a black hole where his heart should be. And this time, he isn't caught between the residuals of your emotions. He is feeling his. 

He gives a low, quiet, simple answer. "There is much between us that differs, now." 

You're silent, for a few moments, caught chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

"The Hexcore," You start, "You… absorbed it, right?" 

"In theory." 

"Our studies made it seem alive. I wasn't sure if something like that was even possible. I read your notes, Vik, I saw the runes and your leg, and I didn't- I should've been there." 

Viktor takes a breath so quiet it nearly goes unnoticed. "I should have made you stay out of it." 

He sees the heartache on your face before he feels it — Viktor's fingertips, rough and metal-like, trace the gentle curve of your jaw. But his power is weakened. Your emotions thread through him as faint pulses, and he can't dive deeper. 

Even when he closes his eyes, there's a barrier; a wall, for him to bang his fists against, despite knowing there's no way to reach you. Your soul manifests in his horizon line. Admirable and bright, unable to be touched. 

When Viktor's eyes flutter open, they're whirling in dizzy, wild shades, like the colors beneath have been mixed and shaken. They shift from crimson, to cobalt, to citrine. Impulsively, he cups your face to keep you close, to make certain you won't disappear. To remind himself that he can still feel your soft skin against his blasphemous palm. 

"You have blamed yourself enough for my atrocities. So much of your pain could have been circumvented, but then I-" Viktor softens. He brushes his thumb over your cheek slowly, over and over, like an anxious, desperate tick. "Perhaps I should have turned you away the moment you reached the commune." 

Your hand finds his, grasps it tight and keeps him pressed to your cheek; and your pain bleeds for him, inviting him in. Foggy and infinite, covered in thorns. Curling in on itself, an infinite fractal of warm tenderness and icy, bitter melancholy — 

"Viktor- that isn't-" 

"Your mind crumbles, in all cases, each and every time you look at me." He speaks carefully. Chews through every word, before he spits it out. His voice rumbles, reverberates like an earthquake, "Why?" 

He supposes he already has his answer. Delving inside your mind left him with no room for doubt. This is his fault. It's a form of self-sacrifice, a familiar brush with endless destruction, he thinks, to hear you say the final words. The ones he already knows. You are allowed to let go. Fate will embrace you in the ways I could not. 

"Because, dammit, I still care about you," You're blurting out, "More than anyone, or anything else." 

"I do not deserve it. Considering what I have-" 

"I don't care, Vik. And every time I see you, when I feel this," You squeeze his hand hard, enough to incite the rigid surface of his faux fingertips with transcendent sparks of the arcane, "I remember your notes, the fire. The days I spent following you into the Undercity. I see the empty look in your eyes when you first saw me, and I keep thinking this isn't real. That I'm going to wake up, and you… you'll be gone." 

Viktor's gaze flickers over your face, wide and iridescent, a perfect contradiction. His breathing runs quick, his palm shakes. But within the dance between your soul and his, he's daring to reach for you. 

Bright, vivid light washes over. It blinds him, for a moment. Bathes his figure in radiance. A force within him is gnawing, whispering in runic words that he shouldn't be able to understand, telling him he isn't supposed to feel this, isn't meant to have a place within him carved to fit your shape. The best option is to turn you away, to listen to his head. Evolution requires a steady mind, an unwavering resolve. An inhuman herald. 

Viktor refuses. He listens to his non-existent heart, instead, and he feels your petals, closed yet delicate. He lets himself become your sun, so he can watch you bloom. A figment of his own humanity shimmers before him. The light obscures his vision, it burns his eyes. But he holds on — pallid palms pressed together with all his might, containing his bursting luminescence and the flowery resonance of you. 

A gentle thumb brushes your cheek, and you're sighing, confessing, "I shouldn't. But I missed you, Viktor. So much." 

Your thoughts echo inside him like a ripple in water. I wish you could be more than just a memory. 

Nothing exists for him to promise. Your breathing shakes, your eyes flutter. Your body subtly arches into his touch, when he comfortingly caresses the back of your neck. 

"I missed you more than words could express," He admits, voice low, close to cracking like the edges of old stone. Everything blends, in a haze of his own making, as his palm clumsily returns to hold your face. As he gently guides you, tilting you towards him by your jaw. 

"Look at me. You meant everything. For so long, so deeply, I treasured you- do not ever think otherwise. But I was powerless. Over and over, I perpetually imagined the last time I saw you. The soft sound of your voice, and the mundane instances in between. I would have done it over again, in the same order. To be frozen in time, with this memory of you." 

Stars fade, the galaxy around him chips and splinters. But he knows this is the truth. The arguments, the introductions, the pain, the softness, the falling, the fading — history would repeat itself infinitely, and he would gladly lose himself in its spiral with you. 

Your hands clench on his shoulders, your gaze grows lost in his own. You drown in the gentle nebulas of eyes that still feel so remarkably his. 

Every outcome before him weaves into the same ending, every star carries the same grim message. He cannot go back, that's the crucial cusp of it all. The strings of fate pull him along, igniting a sharp taste in his throat. They seek to make him into the arcane's chosen puppet. 

"Viktor," You're sighing, and oh, the syllables of his name are more than a plea when they're breathed from your lips, they're a washed-out memory, a poem and a promise between his ribcage — 

"But you have me right now." 

"I know," Viktor says, because it's all he can say, "I know." 

When you trail off into silence, Viktor finds that the abyss of your soul echoes with a single unfathomable sentence. 

I still love you. 

So this is the tragedy. 

His faithful step in the universe's eternal return. An infinite expression of his fleeting, useless affections, strung throughout an inseparable existence. 

Viktor realizes now, the truth was merely a means to the end he expected. This is the predetermined resolution, where he finally gives in, and recognizes he cannot escape the path laid before him. He was always going to break you, perhaps from holding on too tight. 

Once again, he is powerless; this time, to his own body. He can sense the thrumming in his limbs, glowing through every vein. This can't last forever. He knows you are his focal point, and once you disappear, the arcane will take your place. In his hands, in his chest, in every breath he takes. Blotting out the last of his humanity. 

You smile, and it's a crooked, broken, undeserved thing — but it captivates him just the same. A flicker of heartache catches the light in your eyes. He believes he is watching you think, seeing the cogs click into place as your jaw grits uncomfortably, as your eyes threaten to well up again, as you come to the same conclusion. This is futile. 

Then, let this moment at least be yours. 

Viktor places both palms on your face. He guides you to follow him, when he falls back. The weight of your body presses his chassis into the ground. His head rests against the flowers. His hair fans out around him, faint blonde strands interwoven, like a painting's highlights: the finishing touches. 

But you aren't staring at him. Not at his eyes, your gazes don't meet. You're staring at the pretty mole, placed perfectly above his mouth — and he knows, because this isn't the first time. 

It's where you would focus when he found you lost in thought and drowsy, coming up with excuses not to stare at his lips. He remembers feeling you touch the corner of his mouth, close but not quite, before your fingertip brushed down the length of his nose; the space between you barely leaves room for accommodation, and Viktor brings a palm to your chest to push you apart, despite wanting to drop his cane and use both hands to — 

Dangerously, you stop yourself by leaning close. Viktor's eyes flutter shut, as your forehead comes to rest against his own. 

His voice is barely audible. Accent thick, low, and familiar. 

"However this may end, I need you to realize," He exhales, slow and shakily. "There was never a moment where I did not adore you." 

Those words press into you like an arrow in your chest, a hot knife lodged between bones. You breathe in deeply, you sigh carefully, and Viktor feels your breath as it fans against his mouth. 

It's merely the surface of what he wishes he could say. There is so much more, I admired you since we met. You were smart, radiant. Gods, was it the most egregious combination, because you both intimidated and captivated me. You were effortless to adore. I thought I made myself obvious. Requiring your help for every insignificant invention, stealing you at every turn because it felt delightful, to have you all to myself. Those moments are distant, yes, but they are not blights. They were brilliances. 

An infinity would not be near enough time to fall for you. I would wish to alter fate, but I can't, I cannot save you from myself. From this… inevitability, this expectation that we are doomed for ruin. 

You unfurl, you blossom. The sparkle of your soul follows the glow in his palms, eclipsing his body, shining over the rot; two lighthouses glimmering towards one another, communicating in their own code — and your mind pleads for him, one last time. 

Prove it. I need you to show me. 

And he almost does. Really, truly, almost. He nearly pulls you in, denies destiny to follow impulse, and veers both your courses towards destruction. 

The simplicity of a kiss would prove this is real, prove his humanity. It would be something for him to have, not a token for the arcane to take. No, the arcane would weep, as he ignites his new body's first experience with selfishness. The intensity he's longed for would no longer be numbed, he'd feel it surge and shine and breathe through him. Pooling at his fingertips, as he pulls you in, guiding heat to draw itself into you. 

It'd feel good, to press his mouth to yours, and discover what your lips feel like in the ways he's imagined for ages. He could hold you as if you'd never have to leave. He could pretend, as though the coolness of his sanctuary is just the evening draft in the lab, and he isn't making up for past regrets, he is fixing them. 

Warmth would return to his figure, his soul would converge into his body, and fate, as cruel as it is, would be forced to do nothing but watch. 

Viktor allows his eyes to open. His palms are still on your face, your gentle weight is still pinning him down. The light of the moon above you creates pale, hazy crescents in the edges of his vision. You are so close. Your heart is its own entity. Pounding so hard in your chest, he can practically feel it as his own. His gaze flickers to your mouth, as his hands faintly caress your skin. 

Prove it, prove it, prove it. 

For a few moments, he debates the repercussions. 

It could be swift, fleeting, an accident. Barely more than a brush, a taste, before he drags himself away. Or, it could be more. 

A point of devotion, expressed with closed eyes and soft lips. Admiring you without seeing, confessing without words. 

Would your lips feel plush, would you hesitate, would you send him spiraling down along with you, as you pulled him in and whispered his name? 

Perhaps it might escalate, into a feverish mess of your hands in his hair and your lips at his throat, and would he still feel them there? Against the gold notches embedded into his neck, kissing down to admire where his body meets magic. Could either of you manage to stop if you tried, or would time bleed together, until he could die like this — until he's convinced he is dying? 

Viktor's thumb brushes your lips. Shakily, mechanically. 

Gravity threatens to drag him in, steady on your pull, strong like absolution. Centimeters stop him from closing the distance, from pulling you close and colliding so softly, so vividly. In one simple, fluid, perfect movement. He dreams of it. But still, still. 

Still, Viktor struggles to catch his own breath, although it hardly makes sense for his perfected system. Still, he allows himself the small privilege of caressing your cheek, feeling your skin beneath his ruined fingertips. Your gaze widens — he can't help but wonder, but foolishly, uselessly hope, that you might've been expecting more — and he finds your chest with his palm, to repeat past actions, to carefully push you away. 

It isn't the choice he would wish to make. But for once, it will be his choice, all the same. There is strength, a grounding sense of responsibility, a misguided tenderness, in this. Even if it hurts. 

Even if Viktor is already regretting it, the moment he sees the softness fade from your eyes. A wavering gaze stares back at him, as dark as a knot of storm clouds. His hand steadies on your chin to keep you in place. 

His last tie to humanity is a knot he can't undo. The one of few left to mourn him deserves more than empty words, or false promises. You deserve to heal. You are his greatest mistake, and his most lovely exception. 

You were worth every moment, every word, every star. He can feel you, in the chasm of his chest. Guilt runs thick in his makeshift veins. Newfound pain pushes out from his shoulder blades like wings, and he knows you may have been unable to change his fate, but you have changed him. Every piece of you will always press together to form a part of his entirety — with the same soft edges, amongst familiar galaxies of convergences. 

This isn't the end, not yet, not quite. Viktor hopes he can show you. The sun will rise again; you will bask in its glow, warm and unburdened. You'll rediscover your spark. Your soul was meant to burn on a pyre that reciprocates, and logic dictates an inhuman vessel cannot. For you, for your gentle, beating heart, this is only the beginning. 

There will be no more nightmares, no more exhaustion. He can be of use, he can help you rest. His power has limits. However faint, however controlled. But this, the science of dreams, leading their way into passages, establishing connections and fateful meetings — considering his experience with magic and the astral, it should be relatively easy to grasp. 

And he knows it will hurt hard. To see you, to lose you. Though, unlike him, you cannot force your emotions into silence. Viktor harbors a hint of envy. A flourish of frustration. You have never deserved the world's blind cruelty. He would have torn the universe apart to at least keep his pain, so the sharpness in his chest and the blood stained into his palms could serve as final reminders of you. 

One last pleasant memory won't fix what's broken, but it could save you, where he can no longer save himself. 

He supposes it's worth a try. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, and he hates the way his own name makes your bottom lip quiver, how your shoulders tense as though you could curl in on yourself. "Sorry, I-" 

"No, no, please don't apologize. There is…" Viktor starts; he attempts to keep the words from stammering, but it's difficult when you're still so close. You are all he can see, as your moonlit gaze matches his, like it could guide his waves without trying. 

He grinds his jaw, glances away, and tries again. "There is something I've wished to show you. Could I sit up?" 

Your palms, pressed to either side of his head to prop yourself up, fidget and clench, fingers trembling. But you nod, you shift. He feels your weight leave his lap when you finally slide off of him. 

Viktor pushes himself up. The metal decorations that fix his clothing into place clink together faintly. He carefully folds his legs. He glances towards you, gives a coaxing tilt of his head, and gently pats his palm to his knee. 

"Come." 

The whispering meadow in his elaborate space leaves you plenty of room to sprawl out, as you rest your head in Viktor's waiting lap. Blades of grass tickle your arms. He is firm, rigid underneath you. Not quite the most comfortable pillow, but it hardly matters to you, because your eyes are already growing nice and heavy. 

You're losing your battle with exhaustion, he figures. Resting against him is especially potent at making your tiredness shine through. (He recalls somewhat-sleepovers, sharing the same dorm, your head falling against his shoulder as your breathing echoed into his ear.) He assists the endeavor, brushing his fingertips down either side of your face, adjusting you to make sure his lap is comfortable. You shiver, and he toys with your hair, continuing until you're sighing, relaxing. 

Viktor smiles. His gaze above you meets yours, shines with devotion. There's a new color in his eyes. Some cross between amethyst and crimson, like a swirling red wine, like drops of blood in water — sickeningly sweet. His hair frames his face. Strands brush the faux edges of his jaw. 

A few more moments to admire you is all he allows for himself. Then, he breathes deeply, calmly. He reaches beside him, into the grass, to delicately snap the stem of a tiny, almost-hidden white daisy. 

"I want you to picture," Viktor tucks the flower behind your ear, continuing slowly, the words spoken with a calm, yet melancholy edge: "A place where you can be at peace." 

"Mmm," You hum, hands clasped, resting neatly on your stomach, "Like a memory?" 

"It could be one, yes." 

"Like when we snuck out of our classes to go look at the stars, to see the autumn meteor shower. We missed an evening lecture, and the professor made us write lines…" 

Viktor distantly recalls the way his hands cramped for weeks, how his knuckles ached. His palms had thick calluses from where he tightly held his pencil, his skin was stained with graphite from where he rested his hand against the paper — but vividly, as though he could close his eyes and be transported there, he remembers your excitement. 

Your pure elation, as you hurriedly climbed the endless stairs to the very top of the viewing tower, mumbling about how you didn't want to miss it. You never stopped grinning, as you guided his hand to show him where the stars would fall, pointing to every distant shimmer in the sky. Although, to him, they never seemed to shine brighter than the look in your eyes. 

Ages later, you both returned to that same spot on the outskirts of Piltover, perhaps in an attempt to relive your youth. The viewing tower was rickety and silent. The stairs to the top were long and grueling. The fancy lights shining from various new buildings made the stars impossible to see, now. 

The Hexgates were conceptualized the next year. Viktor's doctor recommended a crutch and a brace. So it was your last attempt, in the end. 

Your tired eyes flutter open, and Viktor gazes down at you, lips upturned into the faintest hint of somber amusement. 

"It only occurs every two hundred years. The professor warned us, he said the meteor shower was a waste of our precious time," Viktor recounts, with a small, playful huff. "He had already seen it, and it failed to impress him." 

"We would've seen more elsewhere, he said, which is true, but…" You shrug lazily. "It was so quiet up there. With just us, and the stars." 

"The calmest place in all of Piltover," Viktor replies in agreement. 

"After that, we talked about getting out of the city. Maybe vacationing somewhere once we graduated, just for a while." 

There were late night talks, sleepy confessions, foolish dreams of far-off places. Much like this, really. Your brows pinch, you stifle a yawn. Viktor can't help but find it adorable. 

Then, your head tilts back, as you gaze at him again. "Remember?" 

Viktor softens. "You dreamt of seeing the flowers in Ionia." 

Your smile widens. "I'll try to picture that, then." 

Moonlight burns in the back of his gaze. Magic returns to pulse through him — connecting threads to the minds of hundreds of followers, casting a line to hook into the arcane. The sort of pain that becomes a new heartbeat, offering to seal itself within him. His fingers shake, as he hesitates to bring them towards you. He forces himself to steady, to meet your tender expression, and commit the depths of it to memory. 

Everything must come to an end. Viktor cups your face in both palms, and prepares for his last dance with mortality. 

"Imagine a field of endless, untouched blooms. Culminating in stunning magic, able to be sensed within the ground itself, thrumming underneath your feet." Viktor's voice is a low, level, comforting murmur. Like he's reading straight from an Ionian textbook; in another life, it would be enough to put you to sleep. 

"And the air smells lovely," You're mumbling, tired. "And the sky is full of thousands of stars." 

"Yes, but," Viktor ever-so gently brushes his fingertips over your eyelids, guiding you to close them. "You must close your eyes, little spark." 

Your expression is perfectly, wonderfully peaceful. For a few moments, he savors it. He brushes his thumbs over your skin and relishes the softness. He watches the gentle heave of your chest. The slow, mortal intake of every breath. Heavy with exhaustion. 

Viktor feels his heart crumble, although he knows he does not have one. 

He swallows, he holds your face tenderly. Energy surges from his palms. Crisp, reality-warping fragments of light. Vivid paradoxes. Sparkling against your skin, in prickles of dull static. 

The warmth of your soul is a small, kindled flame, held weakly in his palms. This time, you can feel it. Touches reaching between your ribcage. Tracing your bones, leaving bright flowers and pockets of starlight wherever his fingertips brush. It is a gradual, languid sensation; like a baptism, hands cradling your edges to carefully lower you into deep, warm water. It consumes, distorts and collapses, connects the two of you in a haze of entwined hands and twisted-together veins. Blood and magic, pain and healing. 

Viktor allows his voice to echo through your weary mind — though he is sure his words will be forgotten, by the time you awake. 

Rest, now. Perhaps, in another reality, or within a distant, rewritten future, we will be offered the chance to begin again. If you and I will it. Not fate, nor the infinite tides of entropy. 

His voice sounds clear, undistorted. Rich and enveloping. There's hints of hesitation. A clear shake. Deep traces of a faltering, human-like weakness. 

Thank you, for the opportunity to appreciate you one final time. Your mind and your emotions were lovely to be lost in. 

And I must apologize. I know our time was meant to be impermanent, yet, I cannot help but believe it was not enough. I am not myself. Your memories showed me this — they reminded me of who I was before I'd lost you. 

I'm sorry. There is a revolution I must lead. Burdens I am destined to bear alone. 

Viktor's palms leave fingerprints on your soul. The light he presses into you is glittering, hopeful. As bright as a cloudless summer's day. Waves roll over your figure, tenderness and exhaustion running thick like honey — akin to a warm hearth, like the sun in full-bloom. 

It perplexes, does it not? The very crux of humanity. I could have held every conceivable universe in my hands. And I would have traded it, to do something good, to earn the privilege of coveting you. 

The entire false, star-bound sky shakes with the weight of Viktor's trembling exhale. 

But our old sentiments hardly matter to the present. A tragedy claims itself as such, because it is certain, in its irreparability. 

Every end merely led me to your beginning. 

Your vessel drinks him in. You taste the arcane in your throat, you choke on the way his name blossoms inside your chest, and you allow yourself to drift. To be swallowed in his gentle, heartsick shadow. 

I loved you. For as long as I have known you. As immensely as a soulless body is capable. 

The last sensation to grace you is Viktor's lips, ever-so gently ghosting your forehead — and then, his fingertips, pressed subtly against your skin, to form a silent goodbye. 

Please. Do not come back. 

Then, everything concludes. The world pops like a bubble, covering you in mist. Your mind runs blank. A vibrant chalkboard of thoughts and equations and colors, erased. You collapse, even though there's nothing for you to collapse against. You're unsure if someone — if Viktor — caught you, or if you were left to descend, disappearing beneath the earth. 

Sleep comes to you in a large, encompassing swell. 

And you dream. 

— 

A meadow manifests before you. 

Flowers trail as far as the eye can see. White roses. Red carnations. Puffs of pink and purple hydrangea. Flecks of pollen drift into the air, glittering with magic, shining like little stars. Soft grass tickles your bare feet. Energy surges from the ground, threading through your every limb. Your body feels weightless, warm, and free. The air is crisp, allowing each breath to be deep and clear. You can see distant trees, and above you, intricate galaxies, spread across a dark blue sky. 

But you aren't alone. 

A figment of luminosity, an anomaly, a hazy spark of pure magic shifts, nearly blinds you, and then convenes into a figure. With a palm cupped over his eyes, to shield himself from his own light, before it finally begins to simmer down. 

The phantom edges of his shape shimmer with starlight. His slender frame — astral, seemingly untouchable — shifts in endless, vibrant colors. Faux moonlight shines through his hair, short and tousled, pure white; like soft snow, like the foam at the edges of waves. Swirling with faint whispers of blue, the fluffy tresses remind you of a cloud-filled sky. 

Your gazes meet, and it feels familiar; it isn't the first time. When he sees you, he glows, his figure alighting in shades of sunlight and gold. The amber in his eyes catches the moon's low rays, his cheeks soften into a shade of rose. His skin is warm, less pallid. The stress present on his features has changed into soft eyes and smile lines. 

Memorized, pretty moles greet you. The one on his cheek stands out like the guiding north star, shining amongst a clear night sky. The mole by his mouth follows along when his lips tip into a carefree, radiant smile. Wide and euphoric and foolish. It shows off the small gap between his teeth. 

He looks just like you remember. Just as you wanted to remember. The same handsome features: thick brows, a sharp jaw, eyes that shine as brightly as they once did, when he was lost in his passions. His expression carries a familiar sense of warmth. It reflects the same tenderness he'd reserve just for you, beloved and beckoning. The sight of you is enough to make his eyes well up with tears. 

And Viktor walks, strides, runs to you. 

He's pulling you into an embrace before you have the chance to breathe; arms holding you tight, squeezing you desperately. Pressing you into his blurry, stelliform shape. 

Your palms find his back, feeling where the cosmos meet his skin. He buries himself into your shoulder, brings a shaking palm up to lovingly cradle the back of your head. Breathing you in, he fills with tenderness, spilling over. His nose brushes your nape, weak droplets tap your skin like rain. A heavy throb works its way into every inch that you touch — his back, his shoulder, his neck, like bruises hued in shades of lilac. Your bodies fit together as though they were meant to. 

When he finally pulls apart from you, it's slow, gradual. He places both hands on your shoulders, so clumsily it slightly jostles you back and forth. His brows pinch, his hands clench until his knuckles are strained. He takes you in, gaze weakening as it flickers over your form. A palm finds your cheek to hold you tenderly; he can barely believe he is touching you. 

"There you are- oh, look at you." Viktor's voice is lovingly fragile, yet perfectly, utterly enamored. Brushing his thumb over your cheek, he can't help but choke on a weak, worthless sob. "Finally, you came, I thought- I was sure it wasn't going to work, but it- I can-" 

He cannot think, can barely talk; dizzy, his chest heaves with every sharp, quickened breath he takes in. Viktor tapers off, his palm slips from your face and his hand on your shoulder goes loose as he falters. 

Head pounding, chest aching, the very figments of his body burn like dying stars. His own pulse thrums in his throat until he can taste blood, until he believes he might cough up his own heart. He gazes at you like you might fade out, brushes his palm from your neck to your jaw like you aren't real. 

But you merely smile, and stare at him as though he holds the entire universe in his eyes. 

"Vik," You're mumbling sweetly; your hand blindly reaches for his, your fingertips brush in a clumsy waltz, before you're grabbing, squeezing, steadying him. "You're so beautiful." 

Oh. Viktor feels your hand in his, he melts in the heat of your light, and he believes heaven is here, right at his fingertips. He reflects your words, as his figure shimmers brighter than the luminous sky above — he is more than a memory. He is yours: a star incarnate. 

"You-" Viktor murmurs, lacing his fingers with yours. Warmth washes over his cheeks and his shoulders; he feels foolish, like he's young and stupid and crushing again. "-rival the divine." 

Tension briefly buds in your shoulders. "You won't… you aren't going to disappear, right?" 

Index drifting underneath your chin to keep your gaze tilted towards him, Viktor grins, putting the both of you at ease. 

"Attempting to get rid of me already?" He asks, a little confident, entirely playful. 

When your palm teasingly pushes at his chest, hardly trying to guide him away, your touch ricochets through him. It makes his vessel surge with energy, as though he'd touched a live wire. He can actually feel it. Hues of scarlet and sunset and the sea swirl down from his neck to his shoulders. Glowing fiercely, rippling incandescently. 

"No, never," You answer, "I just- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be worried. It's just been… difficult. Without you, I mean." 

There's a hazy cadence to your words. It rivals the intricacy of flower buds opening, revealing themselves to the waiting moon. Familiar to him, by now. In this pocket of the arcane — free from strife, some dreamy recreation of the Garden of Eden — your minds can be blissfully one. 

Viktor breathes something of a sigh: a tender, understanding revelation. 

"I will stay here for as long as you need," He's cooing, guiding you to look at him again with a soft hold on your chin, even though his radiance in your vision is dazzling. "I promise. We can talk- there is so much I have waited to tell you. Or we can simply lie here. There is time for anything you prefer, my light. My sweet, little spark." 

Gaze never leaving yours, Viktor admires you with a look that cradles; palms gentle, when they hold your wings. Your hand reaches up to mirror his, your thumb gently caressing the mole placed onto the apple of his cheek.

He's staring, and you can't help but stumble out a laugh. "What?" 

Viktor doesn't answer. 

Suddenly, the depths of shared pain and the regret tied to his chosen goodbye barely matter. They are forgotten when you are right here, finally. A thousand emotions thrum through him, thick and overwhelming: fear, regret, hunger, devotion. He can't speak, he couldn't possibly explain everything your warm smile does to him. It reminds him of moments stretched through years, times where you almost pulled him close, and he knew you were just friends but Gods, did he want more — 

And perhaps, here and now, in this dream away from reality, the both of you can have it. 

Carefully, his palms hold your face: soft skin against the ethereal. Pulled in by gravity, mere inches separate you. Viktor's nose brushes yours — slightly awkward, all-too human. He breathes slowly, for a moment, before he exhales a heavy sigh, that feels like finally letting go of everything. His hesitation, his weakness, his destiny. 

And when Viktor kisses you, the infinity before you slips away. 

The surrounding galaxy becomes finite, flourishing and existing for only the two of you. It's only a kiss, but it is the implosion of stars, and the formation of new ones — energy explodes in between you with thousands of colors, smearing out from Viktor's form like paint. As though he can't contain his own resplendence. 

It is everything you have ever wanted. He makes you feel alive. 

Head tilting, he guides you close and keeps you there. Magic sparks within him from the inside out. And yet, this is the closest he's ever been to humanity. In the eyes of a distant astronomer, the press of your figure against his could be mistaken for one singular shape. A puzzle, a paradox. A supernova of affection. 

One of his hands remains steady on your cheek, the other confidently reaches for the curve of your waist. Every brush of his lips against yours feels like electricity, tastes the same as palpable desire. He's softer than the ground beneath you as you fall, weightless, landing on your back. Pressed against the flowers and the grass, as if they're made of clouds. 

Your thoughts fade out, they burn, becoming fuzzy, unfocused. All you can think about is him. Viktor's touch and his mouth, and every moment where you needed this, desperate to learn how his lips might feel against yours — 

Perfect. They feel perfect. Simple, guiltless, and lovely. Like biting into an apple, like giving in to sin. As though this moment was destined in time, and every reality has converged, so the stars and their higher powers could turn to watch it take place. 

Viktor laces his hand with yours. The flowers surrounding you tickle your skin, they blossom from his hands. Threading into you when his palm traces your side, intimate petals sweet enough to taste on his tongue. Every kiss brings you closer, igniting past memories. Frustrations you wished to take out, by slamming your mouth against his. Promises and pleas, stifled farewells. Held back tears, silent confessions. 

This feels earnestly real. Not a goodbye, nor a useless prayer. But a kiss meant to be shared between two destiny-bound lovers. 

Your free hand desperately clings to his shoulders, his back. His body feels radiant, like if a shooting star was tangible. Your fingers thread through his hair, and it's akin to touching waves, or playing with the wind, or sinking your hand into fresh snow. 

Viktor curls into your touch; he chases it, as desperately as his lips seek yours. You're sighing, when he shifts to kiss your jaw, your throat. Then, you're arching into him, blurring the outlines between your body and his, sealing his fate, as he presses his mouth to yours once more. 

He only pulls away when you're both breathless and panting. 

Slowly, gradually, he shifts back to place his figure above you. The light of the sky's faux, anomaly sphere shines onto him. It gives him a halo, bathes him in radiance. You can't decide if it's moonlight or sunlight, or if he is reflecting every ray from within. 

Viktor breathes in heavy gasps. The meadow dims, smudges, losing detail. It becomes hazy, and although he knows deep down this won't last forever, the thought hardly crosses his mind. He can only focus on you; a fallen angel, underneath him. The keeper of the love he sought to chase and possess and drown in, until the rest of the world has faded away. An arm braces beside you, while his free hand curves to hold the small of your back. 

"Your lips are even softer than I once pictured," He murmurs; his eyes sparkle, tender and loving and jewel-like. "Should… should we stop?" 

"No, please," You answer. Your voice is beautiful, unforgettable. Curling into him like a fated spiral. Your fingertips trace the back of his neck, before they re-tangle in his pearlescent hair. "Don't, Vik." 

So Viktor doesn't. He pulls you in, he pretends destiny is within his grasp. He guides you with a hand on your cheek and stars at his fingertips, to kiss you again, and again, and again. 

— 

When you wake, you are far from the Undercity. 

Your eyes flutter open, slowly and reluctantly. You recognize the softness of a bed underneath you. The surrounding room is simple, with empty grey walls, and a plain white ceiling. The vents make a low clicking sound as they struggle to choke out warm air. Familiar, the sounds of Piltover hum. An echoing train bell. The tick of gears on the side table's clock. Unfamiliar voices are kept low, just beyond your quarters. 

Tingles rake down your entire body once you sit up. Sparks trace your spine, your shoulders, your face, like a phantom touch. But they fade into nothing, as quickly as they came. 

It's strange for you to be this well-rested. Your mind feels clear. Relaxed. You were free from nightmares, for the first time in ages; as far as you can remember, at least. You recall sneaking out of Piltover, to descend into Zaun. You were exhausted, stressed, but you reached the commune, and — 

Oh. You're throwing your blankets aside, then. 

You toss on your old clothes; they smell like magic and citrus. A nurse finds you before you can leave. You've been staying at an old, run-down infirmary, on the outskirts of Piltover. Established to provide care to the Undercity, ages ago. It takes longer than you would have liked to convince her you're fine, you don't need to stay. You have somewhere you need to return to. 

You were carried here, she explains, as she walks you to the exit of the infirmary. 

There were a few people. Strange garments, they hardly said much. You slept for nearly a day, but otherwise, your condition is stable. 

Your heart twists; carried? Why and when and how would you be carried out of the commune? Your mind is still hazy, you suppose. You can barely remember where you were, or if you even reached your destination in the first place. 

Perhaps you collapsed just outside of it. Perhaps you failed, and the rumors were wrong, and the one you were searching for wasn't there after all. 

Dead men aren't supposed to come back. 

Despondent, you offer the nurse a few small words of thanks, shaking her hand before you turn to leave. 

She stops you first, though. 

Oh, she says, and as for the marks on you, I wouldn't worry. There's been plenty of cases similar to yours, with the same sort of scars. They seem like nothing to fret over. 

You freeze. 

Reaching up, you shakily brush your hand over your own face. Inscribed onto your skin, marble and metal-like, rests four unmistakable marks to your forehead — the lingering outline of Viktor's fingertips. 

[seeingivy]

mine 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

in which you decide to fake date your coworker, to get your parents off your back for a few months. can you continue on when the two of you start blurring lines between fake and real?

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

- 

“You’re going to fake date your boss?” 

You smack Itadori across the back of his head, signaling him to talk quieter. 

“You’re going to fake date your boss?” he asks, whispering this time. 

“He’s not my boss, he’s just a coworker.” 

“You’re going to fake date your coworker?” 

You nod, reaching over to finish the leftover pancakes on Itadori’s plate. The three of them narrow their eyes at you, matching disapproving looks on all of their faces. You swear they practice it together when you’re not there. 

“You’re in over your head. This isn’t going to fix your problem.” says Nobara, picking the strawberries off Megumi’s plate, much to his dismay. 

“But, it is. My parents will lay off my back for a little bit, actually let me finish this clerkship without criticizing me every ten minutes. He gives them something to brag about in their circles, actually taking their focus off of pestering me.” 

“You know they’ll just take to criticizing him instead of actually laying off of you. Be practical, Y/N” says Megumi.

“Plus, how do you know he’ll even do it?” 

“Excellent question, Itadori. He needs a fake girlfriend just as much as I need a fake boyfriend. His parents won’t let him take over the firm if he doesn’t find a good match to perfect their company image. He said an aspiring lawyer matched the image, so it all works out.” you respond, finishing off the last of Itadori’s food. 

“You already asked him? And he agreed?” 

You nod in response, pulling out the contract you and Satoru had drafted earlier. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No romantic or sexual interactions with other people during the duration of the contract? No showing your face to the public unless both parties are present. Attendance at all firm related balls, galas, conferences. No telling other people. ” 

“Contingency plans, Kugisaki. It helps make sure we both stick to our deal.” 

“You just broke a rule.” deadpans Megumi. 

“You guys don't count.” 

Megumi and Nobara roll their eyes at you, with Itadori wishing you sincere luck in your endeavors. 

-  

You look around the room, craning to find where Satoru had run off to. He had left you at the bar, promising that he would return after he went to the bathroom.  You already know he’s having diarrhea from that cheesecake he ate earlier. 

You and Satoru had been fake dating for a month and a half now. Just as you predicted, your parents had gotten off your back, taking to their social circles to brag about how you were dating the son and future successor of one of the most esteemed law firms in all of Tokyo. As for Satoru’s parents, they had eased up on their criticism of him, Satoru swearing they’ll give him a real promotion any day now. You were a positive influence, they were beginning to trust him more. Your role at the firm was expanding as well, being assigned bigger projects and cases to work with as time went on. 

As for the two of you, you guys were getting closer. After spending virtually every day together - driving to work together, eating lunch at the block nearby, going on dates at night - the two of you had grown close. Too close for your liking. 

He was funny, unlike any other guy you had met in the past. While he seemed pretentious and immature when you first met him, you were pleasantly surprised to find out he was anything but. He was caring, compassionate, loving. You were convinced he was an angel in disguise, because no normal person could live and laugh that much. 

The truth is he was growing on you. More than growing on you, you felt the presence of him being cemented into your routines, unable to go on without him. You couldn’t go to Mochicat without buying some kikufuku for him, you couldn’t go to the store without him there to reach the high shelves for you, you couldn’t go to sleep at night if he didn’t send his “goodnight beautiful fake gf :D. have a sex dream about me” text. 

You feel a cold hand on the shoulder, your heart pounding at Satoru’s return. 

“‘Toru, you’re back. I was wond-” 

You turn to face him and realize you aren’t talking to Satoru but to Surugu, your beloved ex-boyfriend. He’s all dressed up, his hair grown out and secured into a bun at the top of his head. You put a step between the two of you, his hand falling from his place on your shoulder. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Come on, babe. Is that anyway to treat your old friends?” 

“We aren’t friends, Suguru.” 

“Don’t make a scene. Let’s share a drink. Old times sake.” 

You glare at him, not backing down from where you were standing. You can feel an uneasy pit forming in your stomach, the sight of him bringing on a wave of nausea. Where’s Satoru when you need him? 

You and Suguru dated for three years, almost four years ago now. The two of you had started off as friends, both attending university in the states, with Suguru in medical school while you were at law school. 

The two of you had become close very fast, becoming closer than most friends were. You later found out there was a term for what he was doing, very cleverly named “lovebombing.” You spent almost everyday together and when you weren’t together, you were texting, calling, facetiming each other. He swore he couldn’t go a second without you. 

Eventually, the two of you started dating, your friendship leading into a relationship between the two of you. You had opened up to him, telling him things you hadn’t told other people before. You swore you were in love with him, feeling like he was the only person you could be yourself with. You gave yourself to him, letting him into every little part of you. 

Things changed when he moved to California to do his residency. The two of you did long distance for four months, until you realized he was no longer interested in you. After confronting him, he mentioned that his new girlfriend, Sophia, made him happy, in a way that you didn’t. You had no idea he had a new girlfriend. You didn’t even know that you had broken up. 

He said he was unsure of how to break up with you, he thought you understood the situation when he left. Despite this, the two of you continued to talk for a year after that, Suguru saying that you would always be his best friend, someone who could never be replaced in his life. He would come back to New York on holidays, the two of you spending the week together. 

You could have sworn he still loved you, deep down. Every time he came to see you, he’d hold you in his arms, kiss you like nothing had changed, made love to you like you were the only one. However, he’d return to Sophia at the end of the week, eventually saying your relationship with him made her uncomfortable, cutting any ties you had left. The two of you never spoke again. 

Until now. 

“I can’t. I have a boyfriend.” 

“So I’ve heard. Sleeping your way to the top suits you well.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I heard you got the Initech Case the other week. Quite a big case to give a junior associate. Do you really think they would have given that to you if you weren’t sucking junior Gojo’s dick? Though I suppose it’s no shock. You always did have trouble getting things on your own.” 

You feel your blood rushing through your ears, clenching the wine glass in your hand so hard it shatters. The sound of the glass has everyone turning their heads, to find you fighting back your tears with a bloody hand. 

You spot Satoru at the door with a concerned look plastered on his face. You can see him maneuvering through the people, trying his fastest to reach you. Before he can, you run to the closest door, moving up the stairs to exit to the balcony. 

- 

You pull up the side of your dress, placing your aching feet into the cold water of the pool. Your hand had stopped bleeding a little while ago, the red still smeared down the length of your arm. You use your uninjured hand to make ripples in the pool, the water moving through your fingertips. 

“Oh, thank god. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

You turn to find Satoru, unlacing his dress shoes and taking off his socks next to you. He sits at your side, placing his feet in the water. You feel him looking at you in your peripheral vision, but you refuse to meet his eye. 

“Sorry. Needed a second.” you respond. 

You feel his hand on the side of your cheek, lightly lifting your face up to look at him. You look up at his blue eyes, filled with concern, and can feel the tears you willed down rising up again. You see his expression tighten at the sight of your tears, it finally pushing you over the edge and bringing your tears on in full flesh. 

You feel his arms wrap around you, your face tucked into his neck as he rubs small circles into your back. You can feel him whispering into your ear, shushing you as you sob against him. After a few minutes, your tears subside, your breath still shaking against him. 

“What happened, bug? You’re breaking my heart here.” 

“Did you give me the Initech Case just because I’m dating you?” 

You see his eyes widening, a frown setting on his face. 

“What? Of course not. You got the Initech Case because you’re best suited for the case. I didn’t even have a say in that decision” 

You rub the back of your head against your nose, rubbing the excess tears off the side of your face. 

“Do you think Yaga gave it to me because I’m dating you?” 

“Bug, what is the Initech Case about? 

“Abuse of power dynamics. Hana’s suing her boss, Daiki, for taking advantage of his position to make advances on her.” you respond. 

“Right. Hana requested female counsel, specifically. She wanted to make sure she had someone who wouldn’t talk over her. But, Shoko’s still on leave till next month. You’re the only other girl at the firm.” 

You’re quiet, turning back to face the water. You guess you were the only one who could do that case. But you can still hear Suguru in the back of your head, every horrible thing he said and did to you flooding your mind. 

You feel his arm snake around you, his temple resting around yours. He stares down at the water with you, your reflections staring back at the both of you. 

“Work with me here, bug. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

You swallow hard, his blue eyes glimmering in the reflection of the water. His arm is warm, the polar opposite of Suguru’s frozen hands. You decide to jump. 

“I’m tired of things not being mine.” you whisper, heart pounding. 

You feel his hand reach the side of your face, brushing your hair behind your ear.  

“When I got into college, my parents took the credit, saying I wouldn’t have gotten there if they hadn’t tutored me and used their connections to get me there in the first place. When I got into law school, the boss I used to intern for asked me for a ‘well deserved kiss’, saying I wouldn’t have gotten in if he didn’t write me the letter he sent them. When Suguru left me, he said he was better suited to Sophia, because she owned him the second he met her. And now, I land a big case, work at an impressive law firm, but I only got here because I’m dating you. I just want something to be mine.” you say, your head in your hands. 

He’s quiet, his hand still brushing across the side of your hair. The two of you sit there in silence for a while, Satoru pondering over your words. 

“In grade school, my first friend, Saiki, told me that he had only let me play with him because my parents had asked him to before we walked into class. In high school, I created a non-profit with my friend, meant to help incarcerated people find resources that would help them land jobs after being freed. When the non-profit took off, he took all the credit, stating that all I did was finance the project, when it was actually my idea. When I decided to work at the firm and become a lawyer, people turned down any interest I showed at other companies - they knew I was going to end up at my dad’s firm anyways. Nothing I ever do is mine either.” 

You turn to him, looking into his eyes. 

“But it doesn’t matter.” 

“What?” 

“They’re going to say that about me regardless, bug. But does that really change what’s happening? Saiki will still be my friend, and play tag with me on the field. I still came up with that idea and my non-profit still helps people, even if my name isn’t on it. And I’ll still be a kick-ass lawyer, even if it’s at my parent’s firm.” 

You soak in his words, letting the thoughts cross through your mind. 

“I would still like to have some things to myself, Satoru. Things that are just mine.” 

“And you do. Those godforsaken friends of yours, especially that grump little weirdo, that ugly ass cat, that disgusting green hoodie you own-

“Hey.” 

“And me, of course. Those things are just yours.” 

You smile at him for including himself in the list. You interlock your fingers with his, forgetting about the blood smeared all over your hand. He looks down, opening up your hand to tracing his fingers along the cut. He lifts your hand up, pressing his lips against the cut. You feel your skin burn at the contact, his soft lips brushing against your hand. 

“Did you just try to kiss it better, Satoru?” you ask, feeling breathless all of a sudden. 

“Did it work?” 

“No.” 

You look up at him, a smile plastered on his face. You swear your hand is shaking in his hold. He rolls his eyes, bringing his arms closer to yours, holding your face in his hands. The tips of his fingers brush through the sides of your hair, as he leans forward, his lips pressing a kiss on yours. 

Every other kiss you had shared had been in the presence of other people, attempting to make your faux relationship look more realistic. But this was something else. The kiss was soft, slow, nothing like the rushed pecks the two of you had shared before. His lips are soft, warm. You swear you can taste the dessert he was eating earlier, his lips sweet. You can feel his hands lowering to rest around your neck, a smile forming on his mouth. He breaks apart, your face still in his hands. 

“Did it work now?” 

“Maybe.” 

He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

- 

“You were flirting with her! In front of me, Satoru. And then you left me there at the table, sitting alone.” 

“No, I wasn’t. She was just going to introduce me to her dad,” 

“Why do you suppose that means? What else was she supposed to think when you told her you liked that dress and that you would love to be a part of the family?” 

“It was a compliment! And you know what I meant, we’re trying to secure a deal with them.” 

“So you admit it? You were trying to lay the moves on her as a business tactic.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N. So what if I was? It helps the company if they share their cases with us.” 

“And what about me?” 

“What about you? You know your parents would love it if you got some big case with Soyin Paradigm.” 

You pause, realizing you and Satoru aren’t arguing about the same thing. You knew the lines had been blurring recently, ever since the night you had spent at the pool and every date afterwards, but you never realized how far apart the two of you were standing. He was still focused on the promotion, the cases he could get. He didn’t care about you. You turn your back to him, running out the door and down the stairs to the street. 

You hear him behind you, calling out your name to come back. You make it halfway across the street before he catches up, him blocking you from walking any further. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

You pinch yourself for what you’re about to say next, bracing yourself for the goodbye. 

“I think we’ve both fulfilled the terms of our contract. Your parents trust you and gave you a bigger role at the company like you said they would. My parents have enough to brag about for a few years. I think we should call it quits.” 

You stare up at him, his eyes boring into yours. 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“Why are you running away from me? What did I say?” he says, his grip on hands intensing. 

“Nothing. This day was bound to come anyways, Satoru. We couldn’t go on like this forever.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s fake, Satoru. I mean hell, you’re still flirting with other girls for goodness sake. You don’t even like me.” 

You see anger flash in his eyes, his hands moving up to your shoulders. 

“I don’t like you?” 

“Yes, Satoru. You don’t.” 

“Do you remember that night, when we sat by the water? I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since then. Every time I look at you it’s like the first time. Your stupid jokes, your ugly ass cat, the smile you only save for me, you’re literally everywhere. I tried to get the thought of you out of my mind, but I can’t. I can’t find a thing not to love about you.” 

You feel your mouth dry at his words. He can’t find a thing not to love about you. He loves you. 

“Come on, now. You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine, bug.” 

You feel your heart glowing at his words. You grab him by the collar, pulling him down to press a kiss to his lips. You feel him smile against your lips once again, his arms snaking around your waist. The two of you kiss - soft, sweet, slow - your hearts beating together. He tastes sweet, the taste of the strawberry mochi he had after dinner still lingering on his lips. You break apart, your cheeks tinted pink. 

He smiles at you, running his finger across your lips. You lock your hand with his, the two of you making your way back to the apartment you had just ran out of. 

“You wanna know something embarrassing?”

“Hm?” 

“You have a crush on me, bug.” he says, smirking down at you.

“Okay?”

“That’s embarrassing. You have the hots for me” 

You roll your eyes, shutting the door of your apartment behind the two of you. 

- 

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

[itacats]

Under the Shadow of Ghost

FT: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, recovery, confessions, oral f!receiving, scars, being self-conscious, tummy bulge, cumming inside, hickey necklace, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Here is the unofficial ending for this story. Change the POV from 1st to 2nd person after the MDNI warning. Enjoy the little treat lovelies! 💙

Read Part 1 here! Read Part 2 here! Read Part 3 here! Read Part 4 here! Read Part 5 here! Read Part 6 here! Read Part 7 here! Read Part 8 here!

Part 9: EXTRA: Months Later…

The months that followed were a blur of healing and adjustment, both inside and out. Physically, my body grew stronger, the wounds fading into scars that would serve as a reminder of battles won. But the emotional scars, the ones that cut deeper, took more time. I had been broken, shattered into pieces, but with each passing day, I found a little more of myself returning. And with Simon by my side, those fragments began to fit together again, forming something stronger than before.

We had learned to navigate the quiet after the storm. The nightmares still came, but they weren’t as suffocating anymore. Sometimes, I’d wake up gasping for breath, the memories of my captivity like a dark cloud overhead. And each time, Simon was there, his hand steady on my shoulder, his presence a reminder that I wasn’t alone anymore. He’d whisper, “I’m here,” and somehow, those simple words were enough to anchor me back to the present.

In the daylight, life began to take on a new rhythm. Task Force 141 continued its missions, though I had been given time to recover fully, both physically and mentally. Simon and I found our own routines within the team—no longer just comrades in arms but partners in something far more personal. Our connection had deepened in ways I hadn’t expected. The unspoken bond we once shared had blossomed into something tangible, something real.

There were still ghosts between us—his past and mine, the memories that neither of us could ever truly leave behind. But we had learned to face them together. Simon wasn’t one for grand gestures or flowery words, but in the quiet moments, in the way he’d brush my hair from my face or hold my hand when he thought no one was looking, I could feel the depth of his feelings, just as I knew he could feel mine.

One evening, several months after my rescue, we found ourselves alone, away from the chaos of the team, away from the weight of the missions. We sat on the roof of a safe house, watching the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. The world felt still, as if time had slowed just for us. The air was cool, a gentle breeze ruffling our clothes, and for once, the silence between us was filled with peace rather than ghosts.

Simon sat beside me on the bed, his mask absent—he didn’t need it around me anymore. His face, once so hardened by years of pain and loss, had softened. The lines around his eyes, the weariness that usually weighed on him, seemed lighter. 

“You ever think about what comes next?” I asked quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment.

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the silly Hang in there! cat poster on the wall across from him. Then, without turning to look at me, he said, “I think about it more than I should.”

There was something in his voice—a vulnerability I had come to recognize but still surprised me each time. I reached out, my hand finding his. He squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, a gesture so small and yet so full of meaning.

“I used to think I didn’t have a future,” he continued, his voice low and rough. “After everything… I didn’t think there was anything left for me but the fight. But now…” He trailed off, his gaze finally shifting to meet mine. “Now I think maybe there’s something more.”

My heart swelled at his words, the quiet confession hanging in the air between us. I had felt the same way once—lost, adrift, convinced that the only thing left for me was the next mission, the next fight. But now, sitting here with him, I realized that I wanted more, too. More than just survival. More than just the endless cycle of war and battle.

“I want that too,” I said softly, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “I want… more.”

Simon’s expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against mine, the warmth of his breath brushing against my skin. In that moment, it felt like the world had finally settled, like all the chaos and pain we had endured had led us here, to this quiet, perfect moment.

You  couldn't believe what you had just heard. After everything you two had been through, after all the darkness you had seen, you both were finally ready to move on. To find something more. To find each other.

As you sat there in the quiet of the night, the tension between the two of you thickened. Eyes locked on each other, communicating a silent promise of what was to come. Slowly, Simon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours gently. You sighed softly, melting into his touch.

Without breaking the kiss, he guided you to lie on the bed, his hands roaming over your body with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his rough hands against your skin, the calluses from years of fighting serving as a testament to his strength. But it was his tenderness that made your heart race – the way he traced the lines of your scars with his fingertips, the gentle kisses he placed along your jawline.

You stared at Simon as he undressed you, his hands skimming over your body, tracing the lines of your scars, old and fresh alike. You couldn't help but shiver with anticipation at his touch, feeling both vulnerable and desired. As he moved to unbuckle his belt, you knew this was it - the moment you’d had been waiting for.

As our clothes were taken off by one another’s gentle touches, you felt a sense of freedom you hadn't experienced in years. Simon's touch ignited a fire within you, a passion that burned bright and hot.

Simon pulled you close and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed freely over your body. He pushed you against the bed, his hardness grinding against me. You whimpered softly, arching your back in need.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against my neck.

"I want you to take control," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

His hand moved to your throat, gently squeezing. "And what if I don't let you go?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Then I belong to you," you breathed, your heart pounding.

Simon pulled away slightly, his eyes boring into yours. "You already do," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, without warning, his lips crashing down on yours in a fierce, possessive kiss.

Simon pulled back from the kiss, his eyes burning with desire as he looked down at you. You were breathless, your eyes glazed over with lust. He ran his hand down your arm, tracing the lines of your scars. "You like that, luv?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," you moaned. "Show me more."

He smirked and started to kiss his way down your neck, stopping to suck on your nipples through your shirt. You gasped and arched your back, your body begging for more. He pushed your shirt up and off my shoulders, revealing the faded marks of your captivity.

You paused–unsure of how he’d react to seeing the full length of what the enemy had done to you not even a year ago. Would he still want you after seeing what months of torture did to your body?

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. Without a second of hesitation, he traced the lines of the scars with his tongue, his hands exploring my body. You whimpered softly, your hips bucking against him. He chuckled darkly and pulled my underwear down, his eyes raking over my sensitive flesh.

"And I’m going to show you just how beautiful you are, luv" he followed.

Without a second to spare, Simon had his face in between your thighs, arms hooked behind them–keeping them open. He looked up at you, wanting the green light for the ways he’s about to ruin you. You nod your head–the words you once had in your mouth are long gone and replaced with moans as he ate you like a man starved. His tongue moved in ways that made your head spin.

A moan slipped from his mouth as you grind your hips against him - reverberating through your body as the vibration from his voice only gave you that much more pleasure. He came up for a moment, “Mercy,” he said as he licked your juices from his lips. A questioning hum escapes you-what does he mean? “If it’s too much, you say mercy.” You tilt your head up, meeting a face lined with seriousness. “Mhm,” you mumble, not wanting to speak as you chase that feeling of his mouth on your puffy folds. His grip on your hips tighten- “I’m not finishing unless you give me an answer, luv.”

Writhing in the feeling of the lost stimulation you had mere seconds ago, you grow frustrated. “Yes, I understand,” you say as you push his head back. A breathy laugh escapes him, “Good girl.” His tongue languidly teased your clit as he moved his hand to finger your pussy. The calloused fingers you so lovingly held during your recovery felt so different when they were inside of you. Flexing in just the right spots to make you soak his hand with your cum and leave the rest dripping down his chin.

You don’t know where he learned to do such things with his tongue and his fingers, but you knew damn well that this wasn’t something he learned out on the battlefield.

He pushed your legs apart and entered you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. The feeling alone of him stretching you out after the welcomed assault of his mouth was almost too much. Fire coursed through your veins as he bottomed out in you, the outline of his cock visible on your stomach. His hand reached down to the outline as he traced it, a smug smirk growing on his face. “C’mere luv, give me your hand,” you raise your hand, it’s heavier than you remember, but then again you don’t remember the last time you had been fucked like this, hell you couldn’t do what he did with your own hands if you tried.

“Feel that? That’s me ruining every other man you’ve ever thought of fucking,” his tone dark and possessive as he runs your hand with his along the bulge of his cock inside of you.

You squirm, the lack of movement becoming too much for you as you rock your hips back and forth on his cock. “Greedy now aren’t you?” He’s enjoying this more than both of you anticipated, but that never stopped anyone. Slowly, he starts thrusting in and out of you, almost pulling out entirely before slamming back into you. You’re at a loss for words, you can’t think straight with him filling you up like this. “Cock drunk already luv?” You mumble a few words, but none of them coherent.

Simon's hips moved in such a way that was all new to you. He found spots inside you that you didn't know existed and he hit them perfectly. How has he let himself go this long without getting to know how perfectly shaped your pussy was– as if it was made just for him. How it stretched and tightened around him. How could he have been so blind that the perfect taste of paradise was only a few feet away all this time? 

Your pussy pulled him in, as if you could never let him go, never let this feeling escape you. And that was true. Your legs hooked together behind his back, barely touching each other as you tried to pull him even deeper. More. You wanted more. You needed it. His cock made you forget all of the stresses of being in the field you two shared. His form towered over you as he pumped himself in and out of your pussy. Steady, deep thrusts by no one other than the man who had saved you time and time again. Only now he was saving you from going through life without being properly fucked. 

He took one of his hands and grabbed your neck, gentle but firm. Enough to feel the pulse that lay beneath your skin but make your head spin even more. His free hand came down to your clit as he rubbed circles Into your still puffy clip, taking a moment to swipe some of your cum off of his cock beforehand. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, walls of your pushy clenched down on him, almost making it hard for him to move-almost… 

“F-Fuck Si,” you could feel that coil in your belly getting closer and closer to snapping for the umpteenth time this night. “You like that luv?” He growled. All you could do was nod your head with how drunk on pleasure you were. He leaned down over you, leaving a necklace of dark hickeys and small bites across your neck. 

Seconds later you could feel him pull away, his hands on your hips guiding you to flip over. God, the way his hands perfectly held you, the way he handled you– so firm, but so loving. Your legs shook as they tried to support your weight, almost losing their strength from the countless orgasms he pulled from you. Without a second to spare, Simon pulls you back onto his cock, a gasp escaping your lips as this new angle sparked a new kind of pleasure. His pace picked back up again, sharp, meaningful thrusts from him as the sounds of your hips rammed into each other echoed through the room. 

He reached a hand to your head, grabbing a fistful of hair, and pulled you up to his face. He continued making new additions to your freshly adorned necklace, claiming you as his own in whatever way possible. And as if he couldn't get enough, his other hand continued to rub your clit in pleasuring circles. Your legs shook with the overstimulation that brimmed on the edge of your mind. The feeling of his mouth on your neck, his fingers dancing across your clit, and his cock going in and out of you-- all of it pushed you to the point of being fucked stupid by him. 

Simon pushed you back down, your face in the mattress. Your arms were no use at this point when it came to holding yourself up. All you could think about was reaching that next orgasm, the one only he could give you. You tried to say something, anything to let him know just how thankful you were, but only the broken word of his name fell from your lips. “That's it luv, you just let me take over and you don't worry about a thing.” 

And you did. Simon's hips rutted into yours countless times, never losing that steadfast rhythm, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. You began to feel his hips falter, snapping sporadically as he thrusted into you. His grip on your hips tightened and his head fell back as he rode out his own orgasm. A guttural moan fell from his lips as he came. You could feel the hot cum from his cock fill you up even more and drip down the sides of your thighs as he fucked it back into you. 

He pulled out of you slowly, admiring his work of ruining you in the most loving way imaginable. With both of you spent, sweat beading on your brows, you lay in each other's arms as you came down from your orgasms. You cuddle up next to Simon, matching your breath to his as you drifted off to sleep with the man you loved.

You woke up the next morning, your body still sore from your passionate night together. You watched as Simon slept soundly, his face softened and relaxed in a way you had never seen before. You felt a pang of sadness for the burdens he must carry, the darkness that lurked beneath his silent exterior.

As you watched him sleep, you realized that there was more to Simon than his dominant, silent exterior. He had shown you glimpses of his soft side throughout your relationship – the way he would tenderly kiss your scars, the gentle way he held you afterward.

You knew you  wanted to explore more of these hidden parts of him, to understand what made him tick. But for now, you just nestled closer to him, basking in the warmth of his body and the comfort of his silence.

Simon stirred slightly in his sleep, his arm wrapping around you. You nestled closer, feeling safe and loved in his embrace. As you drifted back to sleep, you made a silent promise to yourself– to unmask more of that soft side of Simon "Ghost" Riley, one layer at a time.

That's a wrap on Under the Shadow of Ghost! I hope you all enjoyed this journey, I know I certainly did! Stay tuned for more parts coming up for Operation 141: The Family Business.

Later on, I will post an updated story posting schedule with some new things to read!

Again, thank you all for the support on this story and the ones to follow, it means the world to me!

Have a wonderful day lovelies!!💙

[desidarling123]

Summary: Toph and Sokka become unexpected partners for a top-secret undercover mission. Their cover is that of a newlywed couple -- but as the mission drags on, the line between fact and fantasy start to blur for these longtime friends...

A/N: The premise just tickled me, so I wrote a small scene from the larger story I imagine. Could I write the full thing out? Yes, probably. Will I actually, given how busy I am recently? Not sure.

READ NOW ON AO3 or below the cut :)

They've been at this shitty little hole-in-the-wall bar for what feels like hours, now, hashing out all the details they need for their joint cover story: where this couple met, how they got together. Their dreams, their ambitions, and their plans: past, present, and future.

They keep the details similar enough to their own to remember, but with just enough changed that they won’t reveal their true identities on accident.

And it's just as they're close to winding up that Sokka finally works up the nerve to spring it on her.

“We should kiss,” he says, trying for casual and unaffected, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Toph smiles and finishes off the last of her drink, like he's just told her a joke. 

“Heh. Good one, Sokka.”

“No, I'm being serious,” he insists, and although he knows she can't see him, he fixes her with a serious stare, anyways, as if he can somehow convey the gravity of the matter to her that way. 

She must sense the genuine shift in his tone, because she looks flustered, then. Well, as flustered as he’s ever seen her, and she’s hard to rattle to begin with.

“Why ?” she says, voice pitched low.

“Well,” he explains, “I don't want to look surprised the first time it happens in public.”

“Who’s to say it ever will?” she counters, and there’s an unusual hardness in her voice, one he’s never heard from her before.

“Really, Toph?” he says. “You know far better than I do how unpredictable these things get.”

She sits back in her seat from across him, slumping ever-so-slightly as she mulls it over. In the low, warm light, which glints against her metal armor, he’s struck by how authoritative she looks, despite it.

“Fine,” she says at last. “But it should be you kissing me, not the other way around.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“Why ?”

“Because,” she says tightly, “my assumed cover is a blind woman who doesn’t have seismic sense. If I initiate a kiss, it could tip someone off. I don’t have the benefit of a low profile, these days.”

“Besides,” she finishes, “I don’t want to have to pretend to feel for your face before I kiss you. That would look objectively ridiculous.”

Sokka finds he can’t argue with that. Though he’d kind of been hoping she’d be the one to take the lead, here.

But it’s fine. It’s not weird. It won’t be weird.

“Go ahead,” Toph says, and despite the brusque tone, he knows this is the best he could expect.

So he goes for it. Sokka stands up and leans over the table. Lets one feather-light hand push the dark hair out of her face before he puts his hand on her cheek and guides her mouth to his.

It’s somehow both unnatural and yet also the most natural thing in the world, to kiss his best friend of over a decade. 

She doesn’t kiss him back, per se, but that’s not really a surprise. He pushes past that and kisses her the way her ‘husband’ would: gently but firmly, a hint of familiarity beneath it all. Takes note of the little things, in the moment: the way her lips are slightly chapped against his, the fact that she tastes faintly of the lychee beer she’d just finished off.

He pulls away a beat later.

The moment is over just as it started -- abruptly. He sits back down in his chair.

She nods once, leans back again. He notices, absently, that her arms are still crossed on the table. 

“Okay, got it,” is all she says. He’s passed this little test of hers.

Sokka exhales, then. Takes a swig of his own bottle, briefly abandoned on the table’s far corner.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “do you think you can pretend to like that?”

Her tongue darts out, tracing out her lower lip briefly, and if he watches her a beat too long, well, she’s none the wiser.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “I think I can.”

[aida-sparks]

Panoramic View (Buddie Fic Update)

Chapter 5 (of 7) now up Read Now on AO3 Title: Panoramic View Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Pairing: Buck/Eddie Rating: Mature Story Summary: The fallout from a major head injury blurs the lines between Eddie’s past and present, forcing him and Buck to confront an uncertain future together. Snippet from latest chapter: Buck watched him closely. Eddie was swaying dangerously on his feet, but the heartbroken look Eddie leveled at him nearly sent Buck to his knees. 

Eddie flattened his hands together, bringing them to his lips like he was about to pray. His large brown eyes were shiny and frantic and absolutely pleading. 

“Please, Buck. I-I know,” he caught his breath in between words, “I know I ask you for too much, but I don’t know what else to do. We need to find him!” 

Buck frowned, eyes dipping sadly. 

Eddie read Buck’s expression and nearly sobbed, face crumpling with betrayal as his reddening cheeks grew wet with fresh tears. It was clear he couldn’t understand why Buck wouldn’t help him. 

He spun away just as Buck reached for his hand. 

Eddie tried limping further down the block, but Buck gripped him by the shoulders, easily turning his body back around to face him. 

“Let me go, Buck!” Eddie bit out as he struggled, hands shoving weakly at Buck’s chest. “Chris—Chris is out here somewhere. I can’t … I can’t—” He was trying to scream, but the words pushed out in strangled, breathy gasps.

Buck’s hands tightened their grasp, his heart breaking at the anguish pouring from Eddie as he held him there in place. “Eddie, please. You’ve got to hear me. I know this feels real, but it’s not. Trust me.” 

Eddie’s erratic breaths continued. His chest heaved, eyes darting between Buck’s face and the road ahead, like he was torn between trusting him and chasing down a ghost of Christopher. Read Now on AO3

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 20. Returning Home [B7]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: Third, Snape

Setting: Unknown place during a blizzard

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting, 3. Snowballing, 7. Stormy Reunion,  8. Rosemary For Holly, 16. Keep Warm & 19. Hope

A/N: Let's get right back at it with our dear Severus and Belinna, gosh, what a state we left them in yesterday 👀

Tags/TW’s: Love/Happiness/Life, Grief, Losing All Hope, Giving Up, Battle Of Hogwarts, Snape Lives, Slight Draco Redemption Hints, Muggle Medicine, Crossing Muggle Life And Wizarding Life, Reunion(s), Going Back Home, Asking For Help, Fear, Blood, Hospital

Word Count: 3.3k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• Severus •⩥

The day he showed his most sacred place to her, he lost her. The days blurred together, a week turning into a month, the months into a year until the war arrived. Not one moment had passed when Belinna wasn’t on his mind one way or another, only hiding the memories, dreams, and heartache to present the Dark Lord with the memory of her in his arms as he cried in true despair — making the man believe her to be dead. In a sense, she was. There was never a future to be had between the two. Severus wasn’t foolish enough to delude himself into such false hopes and follies.

What he had done, to keep her safe, was to sacrifice the last chance at any form of happiness or love during his miserable life. He’d enjoyed her from afar, allowed his eyes to wander over her and his mind to have a second or two of false hope — but that was all. If he let go of his barriers, if he allowed any more to exist he would have abandoned everything he’d worked tirelessly for all these past years — nearly all his life if truth were to be told.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t worth it, to him she was worth the world. That, unfortunately, meant he could not abandon his mission to be with her. It would be the death of all if he were to fail and she would have no world left to smile that brilliant smile of hers within. How he missed that smile…

“Severus, my loyal servant,” the Dark Lord said while they both stood in the abandoned hall of Malfoy Manner. “My liege,” he replied, lowering his head for a second as the snake-like man stepped closer. “Tonight, we shall end the impure and lay waste to those who dare oppose me. We will start a new world, a perfect world where those worthy shall relish the freedom from the filth.” “Yes, my liege.” “I can feel it, the time has finally come for the world to see reason and fall in line.” “Yes, my liege. They will all bow, to you, your excellency,” Severus said as he kept his tone even, his face a stoic mask of a void. “Come, let us join the others.” And they apparated to the grounds of Hogwarts, just beyond the border of the soon crumbling defence keeping them out.

Severus could not help but wonder where you were as his feet hit the soggy grounds of the forbidden forest. He, a man of little belief, sent a silent prayer to any god or being who might have listened to keep you safe until the end. If he could lay down his life knowing you were safe, that would be the greatest comfort he could ever ask for.

⩤• Belinna •⩥

I was a shell, a little tiny droplet in the ocean, one grain of sand in the vastness of the world, a perhaps broken little thing that had lost its way. Moving from place to place for more than a year, cutting contact with all those I loved and cherished, hiding — as he asked of me. Why his love mattered more than any other I still couldn’t quite grasp. It just did. Knowing the hopes of ever seeing him again to be close to zero made me feel an even greater need to honour his wish, to help him stay safe, to pretend I was dead so he didn’t need to worry about me when he already worried about far too much.

Perhaps it was silly of me, but by Merlin, I still held on to that sliver of hope that all would be fine in the end. Despite the blackening of the world, the maddening hunts for those not pure, and the waste of life and blood I could do nothing about, I still held hope. A tiny flicker I refused to put out. My one job was to help keep Severus safe by renouncing my own existence. It hadn’t been easy giving my life up, even if it had always been mediocre and of no particular value. It was still my life I gave up. “I’d do anything for him though, so really, why am I thinking about it all now?”

The wind rustled the trees, the canopies swaying and dancing in the wind as the entire sky had gone horribly grey — as if the world knew something I didn’t. The little cabin I’d managed to rent from an old muggle couple in the south of Denmark was a cute thing, with floral curtains and a sort of comfortable ease embedded in the very walls of the place — yet today, I found no peace. I couldn’t get my heart to calm down, if it was anxiety or just longing I couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps something else entirely.

As the day passed, it only hammered harder. I was struggling to breathe when evening came and my entire body was restlessly itchy — a need to move, to run, to get somewhere. It was overwhelmingly strong. So, I paced the little kitchen. Tried to make my body calm down and settle back into its usual state. A whoosh filled the air and I jolted as a dreary-looking elf appeared on the kitchen table. “Master Draco sent me, miss.” “Master-, who?” I asked, trying to get my head wrapped around the creature who looked nothing like the other elf I’d met over a year ago. I had never seen him again after that one time. Was he alright? Still wearing those goofy clothes? “Master Draco, Master Draco Malfoy, miss,” said the elf with a lowering of its head. “My master wishes you to help, miss. His protector, needs help, miss.” “His protector? What-, what on earth are you talking about?” I asked, clutching at my chest where the incessant pounding of my heart was turning unbearable. Beyond anything natural.

“He is to die, but my master is kind, he knows his protector needs help, miss.” “His-, I don’t know who you’re talking— Haaa— ” My sentence got cut by a horrendous tensing in my chest, it felt like my heart was being pulled out of my chest and I fell to my knees. The thud echoed through my entire body, the tang of a memory filled the back of my throat. As if there was something there when there wasn't. “Miss, you need to go. My master’s protector needs you, my master asks you to help when he cannot help.” “Bloody hell, fuck—” I panted, gripped at my clothes, and tried to hold myself still while my chest heaved and seemed to nearly cave in on itself. “Follow your heart, miss,” the elf said. “Follow your heart, my master said to tell you.” “Follow my— SEVERUS!”

The elf evaporated in thin air, I crumbled to the floor. No, no, no. Severus… No… But the ache in my heart only grew stronger, unlike anything I had ever felt before. There had been days of pain, days of tensing, days my heart ached in a manner it shouldn’t have. It all started back when I drank that potion Severus had provided, that day in the blizzard when he tried to break my last hope of us ever being with each other — of him living. He hadn’t managed, I’d still had that flicker of hope and through it all, it never faltered. It nested in my heart like a secret greater than any other.

The ache was unbearable when the elf’s words echoed in my mind. “Follow my heart, follow it…” I whispered in a wheezing breath as I let go of anything and everything, thinking only of Severus as I felt my pounding heart twist in on itself and my body turned too heavy for me to keep myself from laying flat on the cold floor. It turned to soggy ground, damp and covered in roots. The all too familiar surroundings of Hogwarts grounds took shape all around me as my heart thumped harder yet the pain lessened.

I got up on my knees and hands, lifting my head to see a cacophony of spells filling the air — red, green, blue, white, streaks, and explosions. High up, by the crumbling castle, a battle was taking place and my entire body roared at the sight. My friends, my second home, my childhood, and adulthood — it was under attack and I hadn’t been there to help. I hadn’t even known it was happening as I’d cut off the world so completely. Severus… Severus, where are you? I wondered while I tried to suffocate the nausea twisting my guts from the sudden transportation.

I hissed as something snapped at my calves. Looking to the side and back, the Whomping Willow was readying itself to hit me with full force. I rolled away, its giant branches just missing me as I panted and got on my feet. The garbled sound of screams and shouts barely reached me from the castle, a dull murmur carried by the wind. My heart got pierced. Something invisible drove itself through me and sent me to my knees as the most horrendous pain spread through my entire body. My heart lurched in my chest, and I landed on creaking floorboards that seemed to sway beneath my hands and knees.

I panted, tried to suffocate the cries wanting to leave my mouth. Beyond the slightly ajar door several feet came rushing by, dressed in muggle-like clothes I knew it could only be kids. “Hurry,” I heard the all too familiar voice of Hermione Granger. “You can’t go by yourself, mate,” said Ron Weasley — his voice deeper than I remembered but still clearly his. “He’ll be in the forest, I have to do this alone after I take this to the pensive…” said Harry Potter but the voices died down as they moved down the steps and out of the Shrieking Shack.

My heart lurched again and all I could think of was Severus, I didn’t care where the kids were going, what they were going to do or who Mr Potter would be meeting in the forest — all I could think of was getting to Severus, to find him.

⩤• Severus •⩥

I thought she would come… His mind was letting go, turning fuzzy and unlike itself. The poison was spreading, the antidote he’d consumed only staving off his death but not any of the symptoms. His heart was slowing down, his thoughts turned muffled and groggy, his breathing a wheezing barely there. His body slid down the back of the bed he’d been half propped up against, he was tilting to the side and began to fall toward the floor below.

Something soft caught his head, a muffled voice from far away seemed pierced with agony as it screamed a likeness of his name. He tried to focus, tried to stave off the slumber of not dying but being wrapped up in death. “Severus…” It was her, her voice, so broken and frail in a hazy fog. “Severus, no, no, stay with me, stay with me,” she pleaded and he felt his heart thump a harder beat. But just one. You came… My love… You still have hope… You found... me…

His mind turned quiet, his body a mere lump of unmoving muscles and unfeeling skin. His heart beat slowly, just enough to keep him from dying but not enough to keep him conscious. He knew there was no hope, but he was thankful he’d heard your voice one last time. He hadn’t told a single soul of his plan, and so, there was none who could reverse the death his body would face within days from the poison filling his veins. Yet, he was at peace, knowing you were alive and that all would end once Potter learned of his role in the death of the Dark Lord. He had done his part, until the very end...

⩤• Belinna •⩥

I screamed, I wailed, I cried and I pounded his chest while his head rested in my lap. He laid atop me as he had in his office, yet, this time it was different. He was dying. There was barely a breath leaving him, I could only feel the faintest of sporadic heartbeats when I laid my palms against his chest and pleaded with the universe to bring him back to me.

“Why did you do this?” I asked, scrunching up the robes beneath my hands before grabbing onto him. Something hard lay within his cloak, I shoved my hands into the inner pocket and found a vial. There was no label, but as I sniffed it the similarity to the smell of a bezoar was unmistakable. Antidote. You took antidote! My hope soared to the sky only to plummet just as fast. That he was dying in my arms only meant it hadn’t fully worked, or it had been the wrong one, or that there wasn’t any potion strong enough to counteract the poison injected through the wound in his neck. I knew it could only have come from one thing, the creature the Dark Lord held so dear. It was no secret he had a pet snake, a giant one at that.

“Mom!” I called in shocked exclamation as I jolted into a straight position. I wasn’t crying out for her, but if the man I loved would have any chance of survival I knew I needed help — not from the world of magic I was part of, but from the muggle one my chosen family lived in. “Hold on, Sev. Just, hold on for me,” I pleaded as I worked up the courage to apparate. I knew it was dangerous, with Severus being in the state he was it could very well cost him his life. But, I had no choice. If I did nothing he would slowly die, fading away until his heart stopped.

With a deep breath, and all the will I could muster, I cleared my head of everything but my chosen home. The home I was welcome in as myself, without any pressure to only associate with those of the same blood as me. Pure blood. My muggle family was far greater than my biological one, far kinder, far better in all manners and I had them to thank for becoming the woman I now was. Please, please, please be there, I thought and held on to Severus before wishing us away from the battle to return home. Even if returning home after all this time, with everyone thinking I was missing or dead, had my heart in a different kind of uproar.

I shook my head, my hands still grasping Severus fiercely as the familiar warmth of my former home enveloped me effortlessly. The smell of disinfectant and fabric softener, the sound of the radio blaring classical music, and the all-white interior were a contrasting brightness to the gloomy dark we’d come from. No battle sounds or creaking walls were heard either.

I checked Severus over, he was still breathing and his heart thumped in its sporadic pattern with too long pauses between each beat. “Hold on, Sev, please, hold on,” I whispered as I cradled his head in my lap. “Helen, is that you darling?” came the voice of my mom from upstairs, just beyond my view from the living room floor. My heart lurched and guilt trickled in with fear — what if she turned me away now?

It didn’t matter. Severus needed help and, even if Mom would want nothing to do with me, she’d never turn her back on someone in need of her. She was too kind-hearted. “No… It’s-, it’s me,” I said and her steps faltered in the hallway. “Please-, please, help,” I pleaded while sobs racked through me, the comfort and safety of my old home — my old sanctuary — too overwhelming. “Belinna?” Mom asked, her voice hesitant but her rushed steps echoed right away.

“Mom, please,” I whispered and she stopped in the doorway, her face paler than usual while her wide eyes found me on the floor, cradling Severus with tears streaming down my cheeks that I couldn’t stop. “What-, how-, why-, Belinna!” she called out as her face crumbled into a sad relief before she ran up and dove for me, hugging my shoulders harshly. “My sweet, oh, my sweet, you’re alive,” she sobbed and kissed my head. “Mom, please, please help,” I pleaded and held Severus closer to me while she leaned back.

Severus was so pale, so cold to the touch. But Mom switched gears before I had time to say another word. The blood on his clothes, the look of him, it had her in full doctor mode instantly.

She asked so many questions and I had answers for so few. She never asked who he was, what he was to me, where I’d been or anything of the sort while she looked at him, inspected the wound, took his pulse and flashed a light in his eyes several times.

“Oh, where’s Pete when you need him,” she sighed after a while. “What?” “Well, we need to move him,” she explained and I scrunched my eyebrows at her - not understanding how she still forgot about magic after all these years. “Where do you want him?” I asked while taking out my wand. “Oh, right, yes, of course, guest room,” she said in a rush while standing and I levitated Severus up to the second floor, just barely able to swing him around in the narrow landing above before gently manoeuvring him through the door to the guest room.

Everything happened in a rush after that. Mom talked about blood, antidotes, risks, cardiac arrest and a whole bunch of doctor terms I couldn’t wrap my head around while I sat on the floor, holding Severus’s hand firmly while attempting not to break down in a complete mess.

***

Four hours later we were situated at the local hospital, Severus was hooked up to a strange machine that pumped out his blood, purified it, and pumped it back into him. He looked terrible, cold sweat lingered on his forehead, his hair sticking to it and he seemed even paler. How is that even possible? You're as pale as they come, Sev.. “Now, we need to keep him warm, the blood cools when it moves through here,” Mom said while pointing to the machine while I watched her fully dressed in scrubs. “I’ll have the nurse fetch some blankets, but you can hold the tube closest to his arm so the blood heats up from your body heat. It’ll help, darling,” she continued and I moved on noodle legs to the other end of the bed to do as she said.

I hesitantly moved the sticky strands of his hair before reaching up to kiss his cold forehead. “Belinna,” Mom said and I looked at her, not knowing what to say or do. “Where have you been?” she asked, all calm and collected but the tapping of her finger against her thigh said otherwise. “H-hiding,” I confessed. “He asked me to.” I glanced at Severus, avoiding the sad eyes of my mom. The guilt was nearly too much, it had been easier when I didn’t see all the people I abandoned. “This man?” I nodded. “Who is he to you? Who is he period?” she asked and I bit my lip, not knowing what to tell her.

“Belinna, answer me,” Mom eventually said and I caved, my shoulders slumping. “The man I love,” I said. “He’s-, he saved the world, saved so many people, and is seen as a monster. A traitor, a… He’s… His name, I-I can’t give you mom, it’s too dangerous.” “Belinna, I’m your mother and you will talk to me,” Mom declared and a second later my head was pressed into her stomach as she cradled me with all the love a mother could ever offer. I caved. All my fear, all my hurt, all my worry, it all spilt to the surface and I cried while she held me. And then, I told her everything.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Uffh... Gosh, this part hurt to write - reminds me too frikkin much of the movie and how that (questionable) canon ends 😩 Sevy-boy is alive, and he's getting better - now we just gotta figure out the aftermath of this entire mess 👀👍

Q: Would you rather go to a Yule Ball confined to the Great Hall for 10 hours with Severus OR have 52 hours to roam the entirety of Hogwarts and its grounds with no risk of harm but only seeing Severus once from afar? 👀 A: Honestly, this Q is mean... why did I ask this Q? Ugh... I'd have to go with option 2, roaming Hogwarts - so much I wanna see and try so 🙈

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[Dec:2023]

[manybcdthings]

apartment viewing

felix ranstrom and isabella belcourt @rviner

Felix spotted Bella's head of curls as she chatted to the agent on the sidewalk across the road, biding his time for the perfect moment to cross. He'd be lying if he claimed he didn't visit his mother before the viewing appointment on purpose. He knew he'd need a dose of positivity after a session of entrapment with Agneta. But that was the kicker, he always underestimated how his mother could warp time. It was as if the Ranstrom house itself was a portal where past and present coexisted. Regardless of a time portal, an emotionally manipulative mother or a Ranstromen curse- entrapment meant Felix was late.

Once he joined Bella, he exchanged quick, polite words with the agent before letting them take the lead. His arm slid around Bella and he pressed a quick, apologetic kiss to her temple. "Sorry, that was..." He didn’t need to elaborate and instead gave her a knowing glance. "Well, you know. I’ll tell you later." Felix added, waving his free hand as they followed the realtor. "But she did raise a few good points." not that he'd say as such and compliment his mother to her face. "We should probably ask when to post the announcement. I didn’t even think about how it might blow up because of the movie." he mumbled.

As the realtor rattled off the building's impressive features, Felix's mind straddled two timelines, past and present. A slight frown creased his face as his thoughts wrestled between the two eras. His unfolding future with Bella and the regurgitated trauma of his childhood. He forced himself to be present, even if he quickly noticed the realtor had one of those accents where everything sounded like a question. Felix stopped himself from groaning, and from rolling his eyes and instead glanced to Bella again as they walked. It took him about three seconds after that to know that his Belcourt witch hated everything about the place yet was engaging with enthusasism to the realtor's spiel. "Have we ever discussed about how fast the lines blur between actor and liar?" he whispered teasingly as they continued through the building.

[fromtenthousandfeet]

I'm going to write a lot of meaningless words because I really want to talk. Sorry author, your blog will have to suffer. I apologize in advance for all the grammatical errors, I haven’t practiced my English for a long time, and it was not good to begin with

We are all worried about what is happening to Jimin, what he is thinking about and what he is going to do. I know a lot of people hope that he didn't sign the contract, but I'm inclined to think that he did. Unfortunately, Jimin loves the group very much and from some of his words in 2023 I conclude that he does not see himself outside of it (the show with Yoongi, for example, and all the "we are family" bs)

To be honest, Jimin's situation can be understood. Despite his strong spirit and hard work, Jimin was practically not allowed to show himself as a solo artist (his only solo work within the group was in 2016 - Lie). Moreover, there were cases where Jimin has taken an active role in composing melodies but was not credited. In general, his artistic vision was always present and should have been developed, but was shadowbanned for the benefit of the group and the company (also lets not forget the narrative where only the great and mighty rap line members write group songs)

However, even in such conditions, Jimin’s inner star shone. The growth of his popularity began with the red-haired Perfect Man, while the peak occurred in 2018-2019. After which the group entered the global market and Jimin's focus was blurred between the maknae line (and to some extent Yoongi). Not only did Jimin lose his dominant role, but he also gained a colossal number of haters, primarily among the crazy shippers who took the helm of the biggest fan accounts

Pandemic, scandal, Jimin's departure from social networks... A chain of unpleasant events happened since Dynamite and then hiatus. It seemed that everything was bad-bad. But no, Jimin was reborn as a phoenix and so did his personal fandom (I mean pjms). Yes, there was a free fall, there were some shitty paid articles, there was Jungkook, carried in the arms of the whole company, but Jimin’s light was bright

Enough of history. Now my true thoughts

Each member was developing himself as far separately as possible from the group. Of course, none of them named their own fandom out loud, as Lisa did, but each was focused on his own brand and media portrait. Some were especially smart and made "new friends". That's what Yoongi and Taehyung particularly did. I think these two have the greatest chance of leaving the group with the least losses in the future. Of course, except for Jungkook, who already has everything planned by the company. Unfortunately, Jimin didn't make new friends, working with the same group of people he'd been working with for the past 10 years. It’s good, of course, when people know you, but it also slows down your further development. If Jimin ever leaves the company, he would be left with nothing (btw he worked on CTT with Ayo and SGMB with Tommy and... Well, I hope he'll never work with them again)

I don’t know how much Jimin fought for himself, but in the end he was deprived of what the whole world knows him for, namely powerful performances and Western influence. Considering that he will be in the army for a year and a half, and when he returns, he will be back in the group, and before the army he practically did not appear in public for a year... In total, at least 3 years down the drain. He may find himself in a situation where his peak value is lost

Last but not least. I don’t really like to talk about the members, but they all showed their true colors in the solo era. Each of the 6 use each other to achieve their goals and get maximum profit from what their fans buy. Many pjms believe that by saying such things you are projecting yourself onto Jimin, but I will say it anyway: Jimin, it’s time to stop being everyone’s punching pillow. Open your eyes. Members can love you, you can love them too, but you need to love yourself more. On Instagram you need to promote yourself, not others. You should write songs not about the group, but about yourself (ah, this f..ing movement in SGMB). You need to go to your own meetings, not to the promo of others. Phew. I said it. I said it out loud

All in all, only when Jimin starts fighting for his rights, something good will happen. Pjms are strong and love him to no end, but no one will fight against the company forever. Sooner or later we will be mired in negativity if Jimin doesn't show that he loves himself and is willing to defend what belongs to him. If he chooses the path of the shadow in the group... He is finished

Anon, amen to all of this. Let's hope that Jimin is able to assemble a team of good managers, a decent social media person, and highly skilled and creative songwriting/producing team that have nothing to do with HYBE. Let's also hope he comes back from MS with crazy high self esteem and doesn't take any shit from anyone at that stupid company, including, but not limited to, his fellow team members. Call me crazy, but I have a lot of faith in him.

P.S. OMG! Your English is amazing. You write so much better than the average American. I take my hat off to you and your English instructors.

[flowers-shouldnt-die]

Metamorphosis

Chapter 2

Pairing: Vilgefortz of Roggeveen/Tissaia de Vries

Trigger warnings: suicide attempt, depression, a "complicated" relationship, most likely some smut in the future, stockholm syndrome-ish maybe, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no-comfort. Some fluff peppered in somewhere.

Rating: M

Summary: When is love turning into an obsession? When does forgetting feel better than forgiveness? What are these two idiots doing?

He is spiraling; she has already spiraled. Witness him slowly embracing his obsession.

On the bright side, she is not dead.

Chapter summary:

♫This could be the start of something new/It feels so right to be here with you/And now looking in your eyes/I feel in my heart/The start of something new♫

jkjk although this is the start of babygirl's Stockholm Syndrome. and Vilg kinda totally accepted his obsession✨

Oh yeah and there's some blood in this chapter as well. And a whole ass meltdown. I feel like it was time girlie let it all out.

The days have washed together, even for Vilgefortz. It was the consequence of pain, he figured. The doctors reassured him again and again that Tissaia’s condition was mostly because of exhaustion. Still, it did nothing to ease his mind. She was barely awake for a short while, and now the relentless fever tormented her. His duties awaited him, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave her side despite all he needed to do. He marveled at her ability to stop him finally. Well, more or less. He still needed to find the real princess, but his men were working on that. His research with the Book of Monoliths was left unattended; he only read the book every once in a while when she seemed like she was doing better. He could have easily made Istredd study it, whether he liked it or not, but that would make him leave Tissaia’s side, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. This was ridiculous; he did leave her behind before. Vilgefortz tried to convince himself that he was not making sense, and besides, she didn’t want to be near him. He would have been all right living in a world where they were enemies, as long as she was alive. Knowing she didn’t want to live anymore felt… unthinkable. Unbelievable. The Continent was not complete without her. So he stayed and did his best to stop the fever that burned her, but as the days turned into a week and some, his heart grew heavier with each passing moment.

As Tissaia drifted in and out of consciousness, she stirred restlessly in her sleep, her brow furrowed with feverish dreams. Her mind wandered, and images flickered like shadows dancing in the firelight, elusive and haunting. She couldn't quite grasp onto them like a ship navigating through turbulent waters. In her delirium, she saw flashes of battles, whispered secrets, and the faces of those she loved and lost. The lines between the past and present blurred, leaving her lost in a haze of confusion and pain.

The most cruel kind of dreams made her toss and turn: her unconscious must have been aware of where she was and why, and so she saw him, even in her dreams. She re-lived their happiest moments in the sun, how he took her to distant lands, how she could laugh without restraint, and how he embraced her and spun her around. They kissed in the rain and in a hidden meadow blooming in spring. She saw her memories like they happened yesterday; she felt his hand caressing her and his lips on her skin as he promised his sweet lies, and yet she was still aware that it was all gone because of him. Her mind seemed to insist on reminding her of what she had lost, and she would have much preferred not remembering at all if it meant getting rid of this pain. 

When she finally woke from her fever-induced slumber, she softly groaned as she opened her eyes, only to find Vilgefortz sitting beside her. She blinked, trying to focus as her surroundings came into view. The room was dimly lit, and the faint glow of candlelight was casting shadows across the walls. He was asleep, and the light illuminated his face. She must have had a fever still, for in that moment her gaze lingered on his lips for a moment too long, and her heart began to ache. She hated herself for it and wished the scars on him would have turned his whole head deformed and hard to look at. Tissaia struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through her weakened body. 

Vilgefortz had grown accustomed to the rhythm of her breath, the subtle movements of her body as she struggled against the grip of fever, so when she began to move, his eyes opened as well. His expression was unreadable - a mask of concern and something else she couldn't quite place. He reached out to help her, his touch gentle yet hesitant. As she settled against the pillows, she couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through her veins. Anger, betrayal, longing - each vying for dominance within her fractured soul. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them. 

Blinking against the haze of her fever, Tissaia attempted to focus on his form. "Why are you here?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Vilgefortz shifted in his seat, his expression inscrutable. "You had a fever," he replied simply. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Tissaia's brows furrowed as she struggled to push through the fog in her mind. "And what do you care if I'm alright or not?"

A flicker of something unrecognizable crossed Vilgefortz's features before he masked it with his usual composure. "You may not believe it, but I do care about your well-being, Tissaia."

She scoffed, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Save your platitudes. We both know caring isn't exactly your strong suit." He didn't flinch at her words, his gaze steady as it met hers. 

"Perhaps not in the past, but things have changed."

Tissaia's gaze hardened, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Changed? How so?"

Vilgefortz hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone measured. "I realized that no matter what happened between us, Tissaia, you mean more to me than you know."

She recoiled slightly at his words, her heart warring with her mind, and it clenched, a tumultuous chaos of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his intentions were genuine, but doubts lingered like shadows in the corners of her mind. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him warily. "And yet," she countered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "you've hurt me more than anyone ever has. Why should I believe a word you say?”

Vilgefortz shivered as if struck, his features contorted with pain. "I know," he whispered, his voice heavy with remorse. "I won't deny my past mistakes, but I'm offering you a chance to move forward, to forge a new path together."

Tissaia scoffed incredulously. "And what path would that be? Your path of manipulation and deception?"

Vilgefortz's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. "No, Tissaia. A path where we work together to achieve our goals, where we shape the future of the Continent."

She shook her head, her voice laced with disdain. "I've seen the lengths you're willing to go to achieve your goals. I refuse to be a part of your twisted vision."

He met her gaze, his expression impassive. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. You of all people should understand that, Tissaia."

She shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "There's nothing noble about your actions, Vilgefortz. You're just a selfish man who will stop at nothing to fulfill his ambitions."

"And what would you have me do?" he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "Sit back and watch as the world burns around us? We have the power to shape the future. We have the power to make a difference."

"But at what cost?" she shot back, her eyes blazing with righteous anger.

Vilgefortz bristled, his jaw clenched with barely contained frustration. "You don't understand, do you? You never have."

"Maybe not," she conceded, her voice softening with resignation. "But I know one thing for certain: there has to be a line, a line we cannot cross. You seek power at any cost," she accused, her eyes blazing with indignation. "But power without compassion is meaningless."

"And what of you, Tissaia?" Vilgefortz countered, his tone was filled with bitterness. "You cling to your ideals, but at what price? How many lives have been lost in the name of your principles?"

“How dare you?!” Her head was spinning, and anger raged inside her. Tissaia's mind was clouded by fever; her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She tried to make sense of the swirling emotions within her, grappling with the conflicting desires that pulled her in different directions. She got up from the bed and tried to get away from him, but her legs were shaky and her body was weak. He was surprised at her relatively sudden move but easily caught up to her. Just before he could reach her, she picked up the vase from the table and threw it at him. He dodged, and it shattered on the wall behind him. Before she could hurt herself, he grabbed her hands. She was still hot to the touch, and as he looked into her eyes, he saw that her fever had flared up again.

“Let me go!” She resisted his hold on her. How dare he? She was fighting him, trying to set her hands free, but it only made him tighten his grip. She cried out. Her wounds were still healing, and she could feel her flesh ripping open and the bandage getting wet with her blood. Thankfully, only her right hand got hurt, and she instinctively reached for it to soothe the pain.

“I’m sorry. Please calm down.” Vilgefortz was getting desperate. He deserved all of her fury, of course, but he didn’t want her to harm herself. And now he has harmed her.

“You’re sorry?!” Tissaia practically screamed. “You’re sorry?! How dare you?! Such a failure of judgment indeed.” She repeated those fateful words he had told her before he left her. It felt like a punch in his gut. “Poor Tissaia!” She mocked him or herself; he couldn’t tell. The tears escaped her eyes, and she struggled to breathe. 

“How could you?” She asked between sobs and tried to hit him again.

“Tissaia, please. You’re bleeding.” He didn’t try to get a hold of her hands again, fearing it might hurt her further. He was backing away from her, but she followed until he was between her and the cold wall. She hit his face, and the harsh sound echoed throughout the room.

“How could you?!” She asked again, and this time her pain was clear as day in her voice.

“Tissaia…” He pleaded, but she cut him off.

“Answer me! How could you?! How could you do this to me?!” Her legs gave out, and he reached for her, but as he grabbed her elbows, he could only slow her fall. She was sobbing on the floor, her beautiful white hair a mess, and her face wet with tears. He knelt down beside her, unsure of what he should do. The storm that broke free from within her raged on, and Tissaia couldn’t breathe anymore. Vilgefortz tried to shake her, tried to make her listen to his voice, but she was lost in the hurricane of her mind.

Her face turned red, and just when he thought she would faint from the lack of oxygen, a heartbreaking sob emerged from deep within. She leaned down and forward, grabbed her hair while screaming. 

“I loved you,” she managed to say between her cries. “I loved you.” She repeated, and she kept on repeating, between fits of sobs and screams, until her voice became rough and she couldn’t speak anymore. 

The blood from her wrist poured down to her nightgown, and her hair was painted with it in some places. Vilgefortz reached for her and picked her up, even if she’d resist, but she was too tired now. Tired of fighting, tired of living with this pain, tired of living. She let him carry her back to the bed, and by the time he started working on her bleeding hand, she was asleep, drifting in blissful oblivion.

"I've made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. But I swear to you, Tissaia, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right." He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he made his promise to the darkness, the stars, the moon, and to any God who was willing to listen.

-

As the days passed in a blur, Tissaia's recovery proved to be a slow and arduous process. Each day seemed to melt into the next, marked only by the faint shift of sunlight filtering through the curtains and the steady rhythm of Vilgefortz's footsteps as he moved about the room, tending to her needs with a quiet diligence that belied the storm of emotions raging within him. 

The fever had finally broken, but its lingering effects left her weakened and vulnerable. She spent most of her days confined to her bed, her body aching with the aftermath of illness,and  her mind plagued by thoughts of what could have been. She was battered by the relentless onslaught of fever; her body rebelled against her with each labored breath, each tentative movement a reminder of the frailty of her mortality. Yet, despite the physical agony that wracked her, it was the scars of her shattered trust that cut deepest, leaving her heart raw and bleeding in the wake of his betrayal. She longed to distance herself from him, to break free from the chains that bound her to him, but deep down, she knew that their fates were irrevocably intertwined. 

Vilgefortz remained a constant presence by her side, his vigil unyielding even in the face of her silent reproach. He had not left her since the night she had fallen unconscious, his guilt and remorse keeping him tethered to her bedside like a penitent seeking absolution. He had thought that by saving her life, he could somehow atone for his sins, could somehow make amends for the pain he had inflicted upon her. But now, as he looked upon her frail form, he realized that forgiveness was a distant dream—one that may never come to fruition. Tissaia could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, a wordless plea for forgiveness that echoed in the depths of her soul, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, and couldn't bear to confront the tangled mess of emotions that churned within her heart.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Vilgefortz approached her with a sense of urgency in his eyes. "Please, Tissaia, talk to me," he pleaded, his voice a mere whisper in the stillness of the room. "What do I need to do for you to talk to me?"

She regarded him with a mixture of resignation and bitterness, her gaze unwavering as she struggled to find the words to convey the depths of her anguish. "There's nothing you can say, Vilgefortz," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "You've already said and done enough to last a lifetime." 

Vilgefortz's expression softened, his features wrought with remorse. "I would do anything for you," he continued, his voice trembling with desperation. "I would burn the world down for you if you asked, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences."

Tissaia's breath caught in her throat at his words, the weight of his declaration hanging heavy in the air between them. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his intentions were pure, but doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve, whispering tales of betrayal and deceit.

"That's the problem," she finally replied, her voice nothing more than a whisper, and yet it felt like shouting in the quiet of the night. "You still don't understand. You still don't care about anything or anyone else, only you. You just want everything your way."

Vilgefortz's expression darkened at her words, his expression a mask of wounded pride. "That's not true," he protested without hesitation, his expression tinged with desperation. "Not anymore. I just want you."

She raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched into every line of her face. It was funny in a way. If she manages to pull herself together, she might be able to use it to her advantage. "Tell me what you need of me?" he continued, his voice growing more insistent. "I will give you the world. We could rule the North; I could even kill Emhyr for you. We could rule the whole continent together, make things the way we want them to be."

As the silence stretched between them, Vilgefortz's resolve seemed to falter, his gaze dropping to the floor in defeat. But then, as if a spark had ignited within him, he straightened his shoulders, his eyes blazing with newfound determination.

"We could be the most powerful mages in history," he declared, his voice resolute. "We already are. We just have to take one final step to achieve greatness beyond measure. Together, you and I could reign over everything."

Tissaia's breath caught in her throat, shock and disbelief coursing through her veins. She had never heard him speak with such fervor, such conviction. And yet, even as his words echoed in the darkness of the room, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped her heart.

"We could rule the Empire, the whole continent," Vilgefortz continued, his voice growing more impassioned with each passing moment. "We could reshape the world in our image; there would be no one who could stop us."

But Tissaia remained silent, her mind heavy with conflicting emotions. She couldn't trust him, not after everything he had done, not after the pain he had inflicted upon her. And yet, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance for redemption, a chance to forge a new path together. Her heart was heavy with the weight of her own uncertainty; she was lost in a sea of conflicting emotions that threatened to engulf her in its turbulent waves. She couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered like a ghost, haunting her every waking moment with its relentless presence. Vilgefortz's words echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the fractured state of their relationship, of the chasm that lay between them like an irreconcilable divide.

She longed for clarity, and for a sense of purpose amidst the chaos that surrounded her, but the path forward remained shrouded in darkness, obscured by the fog of doubt and mistrust that clouded her vision. She didn't know if there was still hope for them, and she didn't know if they could ever find their way back to each other amidst the wreckage of their lives.

And yet, despite the uncertainty that plagued her, there was a glimmer of something within her heart, a flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. She couldn't deny the pull that drew her to Vilgefortz, the magnetic force that bound them together in spite of everything that had transpired between them.

She knew that forgiveness wouldn't come easily, and that healing would take time. She needed space to sort through the mess of emotions that churned within her, to find her footing amidst the ruins of her fractured existence. And until then, she would remain silent, a testament to the pain that still lingered within her wounded heart, a heart that longed for solace amidst the storm of her soul’s turmoil. She didn't know what the future held, didn't know if there was still hope for them amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship. All she knew was that she needed time, time to heal, time to find herself again. So until then, she wouldn’t and she could’t say a word, an evidence to the heartbreak that still consumed her in every moment of the day.

And so they remained locked in a quiet battle of wills, two souls adrift in a sea of uncertainty, each longing for the solace of redemption, each yearning for the chance to find peace amidst the chaos of their tumultuous love. 

[justamaddream]

11.08.03

Cologne, Germany

Last night was one for the books. I played a mind-blowing set at an underground party that felt like stepping into another dimension. The night started with my usual ritual of speed, but this time I added a twist – a powerful drop of liquid acid that Lena had given me. The combination was surreal, making the world around me seem almost cartoon-like, with vibrant colors and exaggerated movements.

The party was already in full swing when I arrived, the air thick with anticipation and the thumping bass of techno beats. As I took to the decks, I felt the energy of the crowd wash over me. People were dancing with wild abandon, their bodies moving in sync with the music. The acid added a layer of euphoria, making everything feel heightened and intense.

My set was a hit. The crowd responded to every track. At one point, I looked up and saw a group of people getting naked, their clothes discarded in a pile as they danced freely. It was a delicious blur of music, movement, and raw human connection. One beautiful german girl sat cross-legged meditating wearing only an open shirt, as if her third rye were opening up to swallow up the room. Some moments felt disorienting, the lines between reality and fantasy blurring in the haze of the night.

As the party wound down, I found myself still wide awake, the effects of the speed and acid keeping me alert. Back at Lena and Max’s apartment, I ended up talking to a guy who didn’t speak much English. He was a bit of a weirdo, with wild hair and a manic energy. We communicated through The adrenaline from the gig and the effects of the acid had me buzzing well into the morning. As the city began to wake up, I decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would help clear my mind. With a joint in hand, I set off to explore Cologne in the early light.

Everything seemed surreal, almost magical. The city was bathed in a soft glow, and every detail, from the cobblestones underfoot to the graffiti on the walls, felt more vivid and beautiful than ever. The quiet streets, the occasional sound of birds chirping, the smell of fresh bread from a bakery – it was like stepping into a painting.

As I wandered through a small park, I spotted a beautiful girl from afar. She moved with a grace that caught my eye, her presence almost ethereal in the morning light. She was sitting on a bench, lost in thought, her gaze focused on the distance. I watched her for a moment, captivated by her serenity and elegance. There was something about her that made me wonder if I would ever find love, if I would ever have someone to share these moments with.

After a long, much-needed nap, I spent the rest of the day with Max and Lena, unwinding and recovering from the big set. We lounged around their apartment, listening to records and talking about the party. Max rolled a few joints, and we reminisced about the wild moments of the night. Lena cooked up a delicious meal, her laughter filling the room as we shared stories and reflections.

Reflecting on the evening, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The gig had been a success, and I was starting to feel more confident in my craft.

Later, I checked my email and saw a message from Tobias. He’s planning to visit in a few days, and the thought of seeing him again brought a smile to my face. It’ll be good to catch up and share these new experiences with an old friend.

But there’s also a bittersweet realization creeping in – my time in Europe is drawing to a close. Soon, I’ll be heading back to the USA. The thought of leaving behind the vibrant energy of Berlin, the warmth of Munich, and the new connections in Cologne is bittersweet. Part of me is excited to see what’s next, but another part is reluctant to leave this incredible journey behind.

The mix of emotions is overwhelming. There’s anticipation for the future, nostalgia for the past, and a sense of gratitude for the present. Each city, each person I’ve met, each gig I’ve played has shaped me in ways I never expected.

As I sit here, writing this entry, I’m ready to face whatever comes next.

[kanisema-blog]

So here I was, in the familiar cafe

Rain lashed against the cafe window, blurring the world outside. Inside, the aroma of cinnamon swirled with the bittersweet sting of regret. Three years. Three whole years since I'd last seen Liam's eyes, the ones that once held galaxies within them. We were supposed to be forever, two teenagers with scraped knees and dreams bigger than the sky. But forever, I learned, had an expiration date.

The bell above the door chimed, and my heart lurched. Was it him? No, just a harried businessman seeking refuge from the storm. Disappointment settled over me, a familiar weight I'd grown accustomed to. I was in the same cafe, the one where we'd spent countless rainy afternoons huddled over steaming mugs, writing our futures together. Only this time, I was alone.

Liam and I were a whirlwind romance, the kind that consumes you whole. We were inseparable, two halves of a whole. But somewhere between stolen kisses under starry skies and whispered promises, cracks begin to show. We were young and ambitious, both chasing dreams that took us in different directions. College acceptance letters, a thousand miles apart, became the final blow. The goodbye was a choked sob, a promise to make it work hanging heavy in the air.

It didn't work. We tried, clinging to phone calls filled with static and visits that felt like stolen moments. Distance grew into a chasm, and the silences on the other end of the line became deafening. Eventually, the promise turned into dust, a painful reminder of what we'd lost.

Three years later, I was a travel blogger, my life a kaleidoscope of foreign destinations. Yet, the emptiness remained, a constant ache in my chest. Then came the email. A book reading in his hometown, the city we used to dream of conquering together. It was a sign, a pull I couldn't ignore.

So here I was, in the familiar cafe, the scent of cinnamon awakening a thousand memories. The bell chimed again, and this time, my breath caught. There he was, older, a touch of grey at his temples, but the same glint in his eyes. We stared at each other for a beat, the years melting away, leaving only the raw ache of what we used to be.

He spoke first, his voice hesitant, "Elena?"

The dam broke. We talked for hours, laughter and tears blending into a beautiful symphony of shared history. Time slipped by unnoticed, the rain outside forgotten. We talked about our dreams, the lives we'd built, the pain of letting go. But most importantly, we talked about the connection that still thrummed between us, a melody neither time nor distance could erase.

That night, under the same sky we used to dream under, Liam held my hand. It felt like coming home, a familiar warmth spreading through me. We weren't the naive teenagers we once were, but the core of who we were, the love we shared, remained unchanged. Maybe forever had an expiration date, but sometimes, love gets a second chance.

We didn't rush back into the arms of forever this time. We took it slow, rebuilding trust, navigating the baggage of our past. It wasn't easy. Forgiveness danced on the edge of our conversations, and doubts lingered like shadows. But with each passing day, the love we'd nurtured years ago bloomed anew, stronger for having weathered the storm.

Three years apart taught us a valuable lesson. That sometimes, love needs space to breathe, to grow into something stronger. Maybe forever wasn't a promise we could make, but in the present, hand in hand, we were writing a new story. A story with laughter lines around our eyes and a love richer for its scars. Our million-dollar love

[stuffnonsenseandotherthings]

Something I need to think about more: what does it mean for character consciousness that Kawi made reference to Pisaeng's time travel in the hospital? Did Kawi and Pisaeng of the past forget that Pisaeng had time travelled after Pisaeng moves forward to the future, until the timelines converged again? Did just Pisaeng forget, so Kawi could not make reference to it anymore until the timeline has caught up? I'm inclined to the latter because if I were in a relationship and knew they were going to do something reckless for me but they didn't know about it for years, I would be desperate to tease them about it once they had finally caught up too lol (the other option is they both retain their memories, of course, but then they both would have known in advance that the time travel was taking place so I don't think that one is right. But it's an option!)

Okay theory time: Pisaeng's time travel adventure is a "new" memory for Kawi and Past Pisaeng never knew it happened (until it did).

I want to start out by saying that I cannot remember which time travel narrative this came (but it was probably Doctor Who). All I can remember is that I've definitely seen or read a story with a similar plot point, in which one character goes back to the past and, once they've returned to the future, those events manifested as a "new" memory for those who were aware that time travel involved and, for the time traveller themselves, it was an event that had only just happened.

Personally this is what I also think happened with Kawi and Pisaeng because:

1) Past Kawi is shown to be sensitive to time travel events and is able to pick up almost instantly that Pisaeng has time travelled. It would make sense that time travel (including that of other people) doesn't have the same effect on him as it does everyone else as he's done it so often and is, technically, living outside of his original timeline. Our man Kawi is basically a time wizard at this point, he knows what's up and is able to notice when he suddenly has a memory from 10 years ago that wasn't there before.

2) Pisaeng may have gone back in time but he barely changed anything. Him and Kawi just went on a better date this time round and were able to talk as equals who were both aware of the role time travel had played in their lives. Everything else stayed the same, as shown by the fact nothing had changed in the future when Pisaeng went back.

I could be wrong but it felt very much like the show was implying that, unlike Kawi who basically ended up blurring the lines between past and present with how much time he spent in the past and how much he changed and ultimately ended up "belonging" to the past, when Pisaeng time travelled he still "belonged" very much to the future. Instead of becoming Past Pisaeng for a day, he briefly replaced him, meaning Past Pisaeng actually had no (different from the original) memory of their date together.

So basically Kawi recognises that he now has a different memory to his original one (which he's had for 10 years) and Pisaeng has literally just made the same memory by time traveling. Neither one of them could have forgotten or teased the other about it because it was something that previously hadn't existed. It's their little time travel secret, their shared little glitch in the universe..... That's rather romantic if you ask me :P

(I don't know how well I explained that or if it made any sense but I had *ideas* and I wanted to share)

Ok I powered through watching the episode on train WiFi and Tumblr is barely loading so I can't do much but I just had to say:

[cut for spoilers]

1) Loved this episode, I think they nailed it at least for me, and I'm satisfied. I knew we weren't going to get everything I could want and am not surprised the show decided to make the higher philosophy point rather than the political point, even though I would have loved the latter. I am very satisfied with Pisaeng and Kawi agreeing together to not change their future and for Pisaeng to have gone back to the present rather than relive their lives as result.

2) I think the award for most correct about what was going to happen goes to @marbles290 ! Congratulations, I will send you a clowned correctly gif later if nobody else does it first.

3) This show continues to do things that I didn't even think of but love; did anyone else interpret what happened this episode as Kawi figuring out by Pisaeng's behaviour that he had time travelled (since he saw him with the music box), and baiting him into confessing by pretending to have deja-vu?

4) On the same track, how is everyone interpreting Kawi being braver this time? I took it that hearing he and Pisaeng last is what gives him the confidence to try things and be more himself or at least less fearful of making a fool of himself.

4) while we didn't get anything about Pisaeng and Kawi joining the good fight (tm) or about marriage equality exactly, I would like to think that the show is subtly choosing to tell us to keep it up via Max, and giving the audience hope that marriage equality is or can be achieved in Thailand in the future.

One thing: if we could not get Not being clowned by the narrative then I wish he had just faded away rather than being at Pear's wedding, he doesn't deserve to even be near her happiness (though I did notice he was not in the friendship group pic on Pisaeng and Kawi's photo table and that was satisfying).

Something I need to think about more: what does it mean for character consciousness that Kawi made reference to Pisaeng's time travel in the hospital? Did Kawi and Pisaeng of the past forget that Pisaeng had time travelled after Pisaeng moves forward to the future, until the timelines converged again? Did just Pisaeng forget, so Kawi could not make reference to it anymore until the timeline has caught up? I'm inclined to the latter because if I were in a relationship and knew they were going to do something reckless for me but they didn't know about it for years, I would be desperate to tease them about it once they had finally caught up too lol (the other option is they both retain their memories, of course, but then they both would have known in advance that the time travel was taking place so I don't think that one is right. But it's an option!)

This show is definitely winning an award from me for the biggest turn around from expectation to delivery (positive) lol. I've had a lot of fun!

Very excited to read everyone's thoughts when I can get Tumblr to load 💕

@waitmyturtles @dribs-and-drabbles @pandasmagorica @rocketturtle4 @thegalwhorants @visualtaehyun there are so many more people I am forgetting, pls forgive my elder millennial brain I will find you later!

[filmtv2022]

By Your Side: Chapter 1

Image Credit - IMDB The Void

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Returning to Wabang was never something that Y/N had planned on, but with the loss of her father leaving her the sole owner of her family’s farm she must go back. Time spent at home forces Y/N to face the people she left behind. Will Y/N be able to navigate the murky waters of her past and present as the lines between them blur? 

Warnings: Mourning/grief + swearing

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. I have had the general idea for this story swimming around in my head since July when I watched Outer Range for the first time, and I have finally decided to put it down for others to read. I do have to be honest though, this story is going to get dark. There will possibly be themes such as abuse, alcohol and drug use, and stalking throughout. So please read with caution. There is nothing in this particular chapter that dictates the need for an 18+ rating, but many of the future chapters will be in that territory. As always forgive me for any errors

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The smell of dozens of casseroles mixed with the stale air of the church's banquet hall, and the din of conversation filled the room with an echoey buzz. Your ears tuned out the words, the voices turning into white noise as you pushed the food on your plate around with a cheap plastic fork. You had the entire long white table to yourself as the rest of the guests milled about the rooming talking with one another. The look on your face was far off and haunted, a red rim around your eyes defined your emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion. The tears had yet to fall as your mind and body grew numb. The reality of your father’s death was just not something you were fully ready to process. You were now the sole survivor of your family. Your mother and father are dead and buried, both leaving this world much sooner than was fair. But the grief of losing your family wasn’t the only demon you carried with you, but for now, it was the one you’d try your hardest to deal with. 

It felt as if all of Wabang had shown up for your father’s funeral, and logically, you knew that there should be a sense of comfort in knowing that your father was well-loved by the community, that his final days were spent surrounded by people who cared for him, looked out for him, were there for him. But instead, you felt the hot crawl of guilt as it worked its way through your body. You needed to get out of here, but this was your responsibility, and there was nowhere to go but back to the soul-crushing empty of your childhood home.  

The gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder caused you to startle, your head whipped to the right as a person took a seat in the empty chair next to you. The abrupt lurch back into the present sent your body into a momentary bout of fight or flight. It wasn’t until you had a chance to process the person next to you that your body began to unclench. It was Cecilia Abbott, dressed in black dress pants and a black button-up detailed with an intricate pattern of white embroidery along the shoulders. Her hand dropped back into her lap once your eyes met hers. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you thought about what to say to her. Thankfully, she bit the bullet for you, and spoke first, giving you time to figure out how to talk again. 

“Hey, Y/N, so sorry for your loss.” Her eyes were so kind as she wait for you to form your thoughts.

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott.” 

“Please, call me Ceci.”

“Thanks for coming Mrs. Abbott… Cecilia. I know it’d mean a lot to him to know that you and Royal were here today. He thought the world of you and your family.” Even this little bit of reminiscing tore a hole through your heart as it brought back images of you running around the Abbott ranch as a little girl, raising hell with Perry and Rhett while your father and Royal sat on the front porch drinking whiskey and talking shop. 

Nodding her head somberly Ceci struggled to find the right response as those same memories flooded her mind. You watched the emotions roll across her face as she decided how best to continue such a terrible conversation because there is no good way to go about comforting a person in times like these. She had lifted herself from the chair as if to give you a hug when the sound of approaching boot steps brought both your attention to the space behind Cecilia’s shoulder. Royal Abbott was on his way to you, his hand tightly gripped at the hat that normally covered his head. Perry, Amy, and Pastor Paul trailed alongside Mr. Abbott as he weaved his way through the crowd toward your table. This was the man who welcomed you into his home when you’d needed a place to escape the horrors of watching your mother wither away further with each poisonous treatment. Both you and Cecilia stood when the group stopped in front of you. A few more seconds of awkward silence passed before Mr. Abbott finally broke the silence.

“Y/N, I...” You could tell he wanted to say more, but his voice was strained with the emotion he tried not to let slip. Royal Abbott was many things, but comfortable with emotion he was not.

“Thanks for coming, Mr. Abbott. I really appreciate you being here.” A curt nod was thrown in your direction before Royal decided to change the subject slightly to something he was more comfortable with.

“Uhh, Pastor Paul and I were talkin’, an’ it sounds like there might be some work to be done around your family’s land. An’ I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy to help, an’ if I can’t I’ll be sure to send Perry or Rhett out to take care of whatever needs doing.” 

“Thank you, really, that’s too kind. I truly don’t even know where to start.” You forced a small smile onto your face to show how thankful you were for the help. The farm had always been a huge undertaking, but clearly, during your time away things had grown too much for your father to cover, and now you were left with the aftermath of his pride and inability to ask for help. 

“I should’ve checked in on him more.”

“It’s okay Mr. Abbott, he would’ve told you that he didn’t need your help anyway. He always hated askin’ for help, but especially after mama passed.” 

“What about this Y/N? Why don’t you come on over to our place for dinner? It’ll be a two-for-one, you’ll finally get a good meal in your body, and you can tell the boys what needs to be done so they can start as soon as possible. How’s that sound?” Cecilia’s voice was so kind and encouraging as he spoke. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose Mrs. Abbott.” Cecilia gave you an eyebrow raise at the continued use of her formal moniker. But you didn’t have time to contemplate that as you could feel anxiety creeping into your system at the idea of who could be waiting for you out at the Abbott Ranch. The idea of seeing him in person again after all these years sent your stomach rolling.

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all Y/N.  Lord knows it’d make my heart happy to have you back with us for the night.”

“Besides, Uncle Rhett’s gonna be back tonight.” Amy’s bright voice cut into the conversation with the most deceivingly innocent tone. Perry’s grip on his daughter’s shoulder tightened as she spoke. Amy was too young to understand the complexities of you and Rhett, but Perry knew it better than most. He’d seen everything unfurl right in front of him, and been unable to stop the storm. You took a quick look at Perry before opening your mouth to speak, and the tired look in his eyes paired with the sallowness of his skin told you all you needed to know. Life had not been kind to Perry Abbott in the months since Rebecca’s disappearance. Seeing him like this made you regret staying away so long, but you knew that coming home sooner was just not a possibility. The only reason you’d known about what happened was due to a news story that played on TV in the bar you were working in a couple months back. It had been an outcry for help in finding anyone who might know what happened in the case of a missing Wabang woman, you’d nearly passed out when you saw Rebecca’s picture up on the screen. 

“I…”

“You know you can’t say no to this one girl. Once she gets an idea in her head it’s as good as done. You might as well just accept it.” Royal gave you and his wife a knowing look as he spoke.

“You’re right. Umm, thank you, a home-cooked meal that hasn’t been congealing in a crockpot for hours sounds lovely.” Your joke sent a small laugh through the group, easing the sadnesses momentarily. 

“Then it’s settled. We’ll see you tonight at 6:00 for dinner.” Cecilia gave you a hug before turning to address her family, “Alright, we better head back home an’ get things settled for later.”

Royal gave you a pat on the shoulder as he followed after his wife. Now it was just you and Pastor Paul.

“Y/N, why don’t you go ahead and go. We’ve got everything here taken care of.”

“Thank you, Pastor.”

On your way out you grabbed your jacket and purse from the coat closet in the entryway. The bright blue sky bit at your eyes as you blinked quickly with the change of lighting. Once your eyes were settled you slowly made your way over to the rusted red pickup truck you had borrowed from your father. It had been his for as long as you could remember. Even though it was a hunk of junk it was still better than having to rely on others for rides, which would have been the only other option for you as you’d taken a series of buses, taxis, and questionable hitches to get back to Wabang.  The rattling roar of the diesel engine soothed your nerves and you made the trip back to your parent’s home where the silence would only be cut by the creak of the wooden floor under your feet. 

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You weren’t really sure how much time had passed, but the sound of a distant phone ringing drew your attention away from the photo album in your hand. Looking around you remembered where you were. After the funeral gathering, you’d made your way into your parent’s bedroom, sliding one of the dust-covered photo albums from the bookshelf along the far wall before sinking down on the floor next to the bed. And there you’d stayed for hours, flipping through the pictures that documented the happiest moments of your childhood. Summers on the farm riding horses, and playing like fools in the hayloft, winters spent ice skating on the pond by the far western fence of your property, and the most gut-wrenching, all the pictures of you and the Abbott boys. Always together like peas in a pod. The three of you had been inseparable when you were younger, and as Perry grew up and fell into the “too cool to be seen with my younger sibling phase”, you and Rhett had grown even closer. He was your everything. The person you confided in whenever life brought you obstacles that seemed too difficult to face alone. The person who celebrated with you for every victory large and small. And you did the same for him. You talked him through every bad decision, every step, and stumble off the beaten path, you helped him pick up the pieces when it felt as if all he’d ever be was the second son, incapable of pleasing his family. 

The incessant ringing continued to vibrate through the quiet house as you snapped the album shut and hoisted yourself up from the hard ground. Your backside was tingly from prolonged sitting causing you to move more slowly at first. Your bare feet padded lightly on the wooden floor as you made your way into the kitchen where the phone was hung on the wall. 

“Hello, Y/L/N residence. Y/N speaking.” 

“Hi, dear. It’s Cecilia, I was just callin’ to see if you still planned on coming for dinner tonight. I totally understand if you’re not up for it. If that’s the case, just let me know and I stop by with a plate of food for ya.”

Quickly you glanced over at the clock on the wall, it read 6:35 p.m.

“Oh, I am so sorry Mrs. Abbott. I totally lost track of time. I’m gonna throw on some fresh clothes, and I’ll be headed your way as soon as I can. You can start eatin’ without me, again, I’m so sorry.” 

“No worries dear, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And nonsense, the food will be just fine for a few more minutes. Drive safe, okay.” 

“Will do. See you all in a few.” 

Without thinking you grabbed a pair of well-worn jeans, yanking them on your body without regard for the fragile nature of the material. Next, you grabbed a hoodie from the depths of your bag, adjusting the neck and hood before pulling it down your frame. It was really too big for you and was a bit worse for wear from years of use, but it was your favorite, and in times like these being comfortable was a priority.  Hurriedly you moved towards the front door where your keys were thrown into a bowl on the table nearby. Scooping your keys up you threw them into your purse which had been discarded on the floor earlier when you came in from the church. Bending down you reached for your boots, slipping your feet inside and adjusting the wrinkles at the knees of your jeans before standing up again. 

You could feel the bumpy texture of the worn handle in your palm as you opened the door. With a bit too much force you closed the door, and locked it, your keys jingled as you turned them in the lock. Walking to the truck you sent up a silent prayer that it would start when you got in. The torn leather of the seats could be felt even through your jeans as you waited for the engine to turn over. Finally, the car rumbled to life. Your hand settled on the gear shift, your foot on the brake while anxiety filled your heart and mind. Taking one final deep breath you put the car into drive and made your way to the Abbot Ranch for the first time in years. 

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Flipping on your turn signal you make your way up the driveway passing under the arch of the ranch. As if no time had passed you found yourself pulling into what had always been your honorary parking spot in between Perry and Rhett’s trucks. Rhett’s vehicle was noticeably absent. Conflicting emotions flashed through your brain as you contemplated what it meant that Rhett was not here after Amy’s comment this morning. Was he just not back yet? Had he left to avoid seeing you? Motion on the front porch caught your attention, it was Amy waving at you to come in. You flashed the young girl a big smile as you hopped out of your seat. 

“Come on Y/N! I’m starving!” Her dramatic sigh comment made you laugh.

“I can tell, you're just wasting away.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm which brought Amy to the point of laughter too. You had always loved that little girl. She was a little bit of a thing when you’d last seen her, but she was just a bundle of joy. You’d spent countless days babysitting to give Perry and Rebecca a chance to spend time together. You and Rhett had often played doting “aunt” and uncle to Amy. Playing rodeo, reading books, braiding hair, going to get ice cream. It truly broke your heart to think about the fact that she was going to grow up without her mom. You knew how it felt to lose your mother, and you couldn’t even fathom the idea of not having her around for the most formative years of your life.

When you were close enough Amy pulled you into a hug, her thin arms wrapping around your middle as your arms settled around her shoulders. Leaning down you pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. 

“I missed you girl.”

“Missed you too Y/N.”

“Let’s go get some food, it smells delicious!”

“Grandma made your favorite, chicken pot pie.”

“Well then, we really better get going or your daddy’s gonna eat our helpings too!” You both burst into laughter again at the thought of Perry filling his plate full of three generous servings because you both knew he would if given the chance. 

Amy led the way into the kitchen where her dad and her grandparents were all seated at the table quietly talking. Seeing you Cecilia stood up and greeted you with another hug. Amy brushed by you and took her normal seat at the table next to her dad. 

“I’m so glad you’re here Y/N. Saved your old seat for ya.” 

And there it was, the place you’d eaten at countless times over the year.  To your right would be Amy and to your left Rhett. Amy was already piling food onto her plate as you noticed the fact that Rhett’s spot was set with all of the proper utensils as if they were still expecting him to be coming. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Abbott.”

“Come on now girl, it's Cecilia please.”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” 

“It’s okay. Go ahead and sit down and fill up a plate. Rhett should be here soon, but ya never know. So we are gonna start without him.” 

You had no more than sat down at the table when the sound of another large diesel engine came floating in through the window. The loud noise abruptly stopped and was followed by the slamming of a metal door and heavy boot steps crunching on the ground and pounding up the front porch. Rhett’s voice curled into the kitchen from the front door where he’d stopped to remove his muddy boots. 

“What’s Mr. Y/L/N’s truck doin’ here?” His voice caught as he saw you sitting at the table. His beautiful blue eyes locked on yours as he stared at you, it was as if he was trying to decide whether the scene before him was real. You were home, after all these years. His heart beat faster in his chest at the sight of you. 

“Y/n” 

“Hi, Rhett.” It was obvious from his attire that he’d just gotten home from his latest rodeo. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him take in the sight of you. You felt bare, exposed as his eye raked over you, pausing slightly as he looked at your hoodie. 

And that’s when you realized, it was his hoodie. It was the hoodie he’d let you borrow the night after your junior prom when you’d snuck out to meet each other and spent the dark hours together in the bed of his truck getting drunk and sharing your hopes for the future. It was the hoodie you’d been wearing when you’d called Rhett to pick you up from the hospital after your mom died. And it was also the hoodie you’d been wearing when you told Rhett of your plans to move away from Wabang for college, when you broke his heart along with yours. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout your father. I shoulda been there today.”

“Me too, and it's okay Rhett, I understand. Did ya win?” 

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good.” 

“Go get yourself cleaned up boy. Foods gettin’ cold.” Royal barked the order at his youngest son, his spoon full of pot pie nearly to his mouth when his wife slapped at his hand. 

“Not before we pray Royal.” 

“Fine.”

Rhett tried to make his way upstairs to get out of his filthy clothes, but his mother stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh no, Rhett Abbott. You can join us for the prayer before you go.”

Cecilia extended her hands and waited for her family to follow suit. Moving to the empty spot next to you Rhett hesitantly slid his rough right hand into yours as his left was gripped tightly by his mother. The feeling of his hand in yours sent your head buzzing, taking a deep breath you refocused on the prayer being spoken by Cecilia. The second the prayer concluded Rhett was on the move. You watched him as he walked away, admiring the way that time and labor-intensive work had shaped him into the man he’d become. Sitting down you tried to let yourself relax and enjoy the meal and the conversation. Amy had scarcely let anyone else get a word in edge-wise as she monopolized the conversation and you. But you didn’t mind, it warmed your heart to hear her talk about all the trails she’d hiked, her classmates in school, and everything else in between. Occasionally Perry would catch your eyes as you talked with his daughter. His eyes looked happier than before at the church, clearly seeing Amy so excited eased a bit of his worry. 

By the time Rhett returned you and the others had finished eating. Pausing, he took a moment to enjoy the scene unfolding in the kitchen. Amy was animatedly telling you a story about the time she brought a fake snake to school to prank one of the mean girls in her class. Cecilia looked horrified at her granddaughter’s antics, you on the other hand threw your head back with laughter. You looked so beautiful like this, sitting there with his family, and for just a minute it was easy to forget the fact that you’d left him behind.

“Amy Abbott, I cannot believe you did that! And where’d you get the snake anyway?” Cecilia half-heartedly scolded her granddaughter.

“What!? An’ don’t be mad at me, Uncle Rhett is the one who gave me the snake.” 

“My God, why does not surprise me one little bit!” Cecilia sounded fully exasperated at this point, but the smile on her face let everyone know that she wasn’t actually mad.  

Slowly, Rhett made his way over to the table, pausing again for a second before moving to sit in the empty chair next to you. Silently he filled his plate with food and dug in, letting the conversation happen without him. Eventually, the conversation began to wane as Amy let out a huge yawn. 

“Alright Amy girl, I think it’s time we get you into bed.” Perry stood from his seat at the table and moved to clear their plates. 

“But I-”

“No buts young lady. It's late, and you’ve been going at it all day.”

“But -”

“I know, but it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“How ‘bout this, you go get ready for bed, and then come back down and see me, and I’ll braid your hair. How’s that sound?” You gave her a huge smile of encouragement. 

“Really?!”

“Yes, really!” 

“Okay!” Amy took off like a shot, bolting for the stairs. 

“Man Y/N, I don’t know what the hell we did without you. Gettin’ that girl to go to bed has been like pulling teeth. But you come back here and make that offer, and she’s sprinting around like we’re going for ice cream.”

“I mean it’s the least I can do.” You chuckled as you stood to take your own plate to the sink when Rhett’s arm reached out to stop you.

“Let me.” Not waiting for your answer Rhett picked up your dishes and crossed the small space to the sink as you plopped back down into your chair.

“Thank you.”

“How ‘bout some coffee?” Cecilia stood and began to remove items from the cupboards to make a nice fresh pot of coffee.

“Sounds wonderful, Cecilia.” Your mouth watered at the thought of a hot, steaming cup of coffee to wake you back up after a long day. 

Having deposited the dishes, Rhett returned to his seat, a small groan of pain escaped him as he sat. The sound of it sent a wave of worry through you. He pushed himself back against the hard wooden chair in the hope that it would crack his back, but his stiff muscles kept his back from cracking. 

“You okay?” Your question was so quiet that you weren’t really sure you’d even asked it out loud.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got tossed around a bit more than usual today.” 

Before long Cecilia was setting down steaming cups of coffee for everyone, the smell filling the space. The five of you sat in silence as you worked your way through your first cups of coffee. Reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table, Royal spoke as he filled up his mug, “So, Y/N, I was drivin’ by your family’s place the other day & I noticed there was a section of the fence along the front gate that’s fallen. Is it okay if we start with that?” 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. The house and barn both need new shingles. It looks like a storm must've ripped off some.”

“It was probably that storm a couple weeks ago, the wind was whipping somethin’ fierce. We lost some shingles in that one too.” Perry commented to give you some context. 

“That makes sense.” 

“What else do ya want to put on this list Y/N? What do ya need?” 

You paused because the thing you really needed help with felt too intimate to share even with these people who’d watched you grow up. There were just some things that you believed were better kept secret. 

Feeling their eyes on you, you decided it was time to say something…anything. 

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to get the funeral together, I haven’t even had a chance to think about everything that needs to be done.” 

“It’s okay Y/N. You just tell us as you figure it out and we’ll be sure to get it done.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Abbott.” 

The sound of Amy bounding down the stairs cut the conversation short. Skidding to a halt in front of you she held out a brush and some hair ties. 

“I’m ready!” 

“Okay. Let’s go to the living room.” The two of you made your way to the couch, where Amy took a seat in front of you on the floor as you brushed through her hair, parting it in half to make two french braids. 

From the kitchen, the others watched you both, a mixture of sadness and comfort flooded each of them. The two of you had both experienced such great loss in your lives, but seeing the two of you together laughing brought them a sense that everything might just be okay. 

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“Alright baby bug, we’re all finished. Time for bed.” Standing you grabbed the girl’s hands and pulled her up from the floor. As soon as she was upright, she yet again wrapped her arms around you.

“Are you sure you have to go Y/N?” Her voice was muffled as she spoke into your stomach. 

“Yeah, baby bug. It’s been a long day, and I need some sleep.”

Amy pulled her head back from your stomach as she spoke again, “I really am sorry ‘bout your daddy Y/N.” 

“I know you are Amy, and I am too. But you know what? I’m thankful for you, and your grandma, and your grandpa, and your daddy, -” 

“And Uncle Rhett too, right?” 

“Of course. And your Uncle Rhett too.”  

“Come on Amy, it really is time for bed now. We’ve gotta let Y/N here get some sleep.” Perry gently tugged his daughter in the direction of the stairs before giving her a little push to keep going.

“Night Y/N” 

“Night Amy.” 

Perry watched his daughter round the top of the staircase before turning back to you. 

“Seriously thank you. She hasn’t been that happy since everything happened with her momma.” 

“It’s no problem, Perry. She’s a great little girl, I missed her. An’ I am so sorry about Rebecca.” 

You watched Perry’s throat bob with emotion as he tried to keep it together. You knew he wasn’t going to be able to speak further so you pulled him into a quick hug instead. Stepping back you let him follow after his daughter. Walking back to the kitchen you found Cecilia putting together a bowl of leftovers for you to take as Rhett and Royal continued to drink coffee. 

“Thanks so much for everything. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem dear,” Ceci placed a dish heavy with food into your hands as she continued, “Just promise me you’ll let us know when you need something, and make sure your eatin’.” 

“I will, I promise.” You gave her a one-armed hug to emphasize your thankfulness. 

“We’ve got a few things to take care of here tomorrow, but we’ll be over on Monday to start on the fence.”

“Thanks, Mr. Abbott. Alrighty, I should probably go, it’s gettin’ real late.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart.” Ceci gave you another tight hug before letting you make your exit. 

You waved a small goodbye as you turned around and made your way to the front door where you balanced the leftovers in one hand while you slipped your boots back on and fished your keys out of your purse. Closing the door you focused on the crunch of your feet on the ground. Wrenching it open, you sat the dish on the passenger seat and shoved the keys into the ignition. Twisting your wrist you waited for the engine to catch, and you waited, and you waited. Finally, after five tries you resigned yourself to the fact that your father’s trunk may have finally reached its own demise. 

“Fuck!” You hissed in frustration as you slammed your hands on the stirring wheel.

Sinking back into the seat you let your eyes close as you reflected on just how terrible this day had been. You weren’t sure how long you’d sat like that, but a sudden knock on the window caused you to panic. Your head turned sharply in the direction of the driver’s side window, where you found Rhett standing there staring at you.

The rusted metal of the door groaned as you opened it and stepped out. 

“Jesus Christ, Rhett. What the fuck was that? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry. I just heard your engine, and thought I might be able to help.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he spoke.

“Oh, yeah, thank you.” Neither of you was quite sure how to navigate the awkwardness of the situation. So instead Rhett moved to the front of the trunk and popped the hood while you moved to stand nearby. The darkness made it difficult to see, but the light pouring from the front porch was just enough for Rhett to assess the situation, and it wasn’t good. The engine was shot to hell. Just in the few minutes, he looked there were at least six things that would need to be fixed in order to make this care usable again. 

Standing upright, Rhett unlatched the bar holding the hood up, and slammed the metal down to lock it back in place. 

“So, what’s the issue? Why won’t it start?” Your voice was tired as you probed for the answer.

“Well, I can’t really be sure until I can take a look at it in the light, but there are a few major issues goin’ on. For one, it looks like the engine is leakin’ coolant. This baby isn’t gonna run until we can get in there and fixer up, and even then… she’s so old it might not be possible to patch her up completely.” Rhett’s large palm rubbed against the rusty paint of the hood as she spoke. Your stomach sank to your feet as you took in his words.

There they were, the tears that you had held inside all day. They poured in hot streams down your cheeks and your chest heaved with heavy sobs, your breath coming in gasps as you worked to take in air. Your body bent at the waist, your hands on your knees as you tried to stay upright. It was all too much to handle. The sight of you like this sent panic through Rhett’s body, and without thinking, he closed the space between, wrapping his strong arms around your body as he pulled you to him. One of his hands wrapped around your back as the other held your head to his chest. Your hands pressed flat against his chest as your forehead rested on the soft material of his t-shirt. The tears continued to flow as Rhett whispered comforting phrases into your ear in the hopes that it might quell your sadness. 

“It’s okay Y/N… I’ve got ya.” You could feel his hot breath blow over your ear as he spoke. The tears fell harder as you realized just how deeply you missed this, being in Rhett’s arms. You’d told yourself for years that leaving was the right choice, and that staying away was the logical way to protect your loved ones. But here, enveloped in the warmth of Rhett’s presence you finally understood just how far you’d fallen, and that terrified you.

[yeetlegay]

i'm so comflicted on how i should be interpreting the scene with porsche's flashbacks. like he looks sooo hurt and heartbroken but is it because he feels taken advantage of or because he did something he usually wouldnt and then kinn punished him? is he disgusted? in the novel he has a hard time because of internalised homophobia but he's not homophobic here, apo even said he sees him basically as pan so it just makes the scene in the show so hard to read for me

I took my time to answer this ask bc I wanted to be thoughtful and process how I felt before responding.

So first off, I think we can't really know where his head is at until Porsche actually communicates it in words. What I say is just based off the visual information we've gotten from ep 5, which doesn't tell us everything.

In the very first scene, we see Porsche facing away from Kinn, bundled up under the covers, clearly numb and traumatized by the previous night. Later we learn that he seems to remember having sex with Kinn, but not much or even anything at all prior. (Probably has to do with him throwing up and becoming more lucid by the time they get in the bathroom.) He doesn't want to be around Kinn in that scene. He wants to be alone. We're left to wonder if Kinn specifically is the person he doesn't want to see, or if he just needs space period.

Here's where I think we get the most insight into how he's processing what happened.

The bathroom scene:

This is where we see Porsche having flashbacks of sex with Kinn, from his perspective, for the first time. The tone is very different from how it was portrayed in ep 4.

The music is uncomfortable, harsh, like something you'd hear in a psychological thriller or horror. (I'm not a music expert or anything, but it sounds like suuuuper processed strings, which is part of what makes it so unsettling - it's a very unnatural sound.) It builds slowly, overlaid with breathing, moaning, etc. This music is like listening to an anxiety attack happen in real time. (And horrifically different from the Free Fall piano version we heard before.)

The flashback is hazy, disjointed, out of focus. In Porsche's memory, it's less clear and less cohesive, just snapshots, glimpses, flickers.

And when he moans in his memory, it's overlaid with the yell he lets out in the present.

The cigarette lighter, the flame he's putting dangerously close to his mouth, could indicate that he's even feeling self-destructive, and hints at the danger lurking nearby in the past and the future with Vegas waiting to pounce when Kinn pushes Porsche away.

This whole scene is designed to make us extremely uncomfortable, even sick to our stomachs, because that's how Porsche feels. No matter what his feelings are for Kinn or how much he may have enjoyed the sex itself in the moment, he still feels violated, hurt, alone. The punishment Kinn inflicted on him just cinches all of that and confirms that Porsche won't get comfort or care from him.

Also, @luckydragon10 we finally got Porsche alone in a mirror, but at what cost??

The failed sex parallels scene (idk what to call this lol):

This scene is a little harder to pin down because it mixes both Porsche and Kinn's perspectives. But I think that's also kinda the point. The lines are blurred between them, between the pleasure they got out of the sex and the other feelings: guilt, violation, hurt, fear, even loss.

They're both having sex with people to try and forget about each other, but I think what's interesting here is that Porsche's memory in this scene isn't necessarily misaligned with Kinn's. His memory might be a little blurry, but he's remembering that he liked the sex itself, even if ultimately it's not how he would've chosen to have sex with Kinn, if he would've chosen it at all. And that's got to feel... complicated, to say the least.

He can't get Kinn out of his head, and he hates it. But how much of that is because of what Kinn did to him that night versus what Kinn did the next day (punishing him, placing him at a distance, dismissing him, treating him as disposable) is something we can't really say at this point imo.

That's really all I've got at this point, anon. I'm sure a lot of brilliant people will put out really brilliant metas this week dissecting more of Porsche's headspace and feelings in this episode, but I think I want to just sit with what I got from episode 5 and see how things go in episode 6. It's clear that this isn't cut and dry on either end, that they both have really messy feelings about what happened between them and feel helpless to fix or even discuss it in plain terms. Which I guess is why they had to get dropkicked into a forest with their wrists handcuffed together, because that's the only way these two will manage to communicate.

[earnestly-endlessly]

*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).