#i'm sorry for taking a little long answering

[muqingslover]

Hi! If you're open to requests, what would you think the lads men (or just one guy of your choice!!) would do in the following scenario?

They are out with mc when they run into mc's ex, and mc's ex says, "Damn, your taste in men changed a lot" in like a condescending manner. (Or something along those lines)

I hope you have a great time!! I love reading your stories!!

[ Thank you for the request! <3 I did a little of everyone so enjoy! ]

Sylus

"Your tastes sure have changed since the last time I saw you." is the first thing that actually catches his attention during the otherwise boring conversation.

Sylus is not an overly jealous person simply because he is very secure of his love for you and how good he is to you. The only thing your ex does is greatly amuse him because the difference is too great to even be considered fair.

"Naturally. You surely don't expect someone to eat trash forever, do you?" He would answer for you in a smooth voice while he towers over the both of you with that confident expression of his on his face.

He feels almost sorry for you, who had to make do with such men, but, not to worry, he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

Xavier

Taunting his jealous side is the same as playing with fire while knowing you're going to get burn.

"Is that the type of guy you prefer?" He'd ask the second the two of you are alone again. His hands pin you to the closest surface so you're unable to run from the conversation and he keeps his face very close to yours to watch for even the smallest reactions "Do you like him more than me?"

My advice? Say no as quickly as possible and give him a kiss to shush him otherwise you're in for the long, loooooong haul. Xavier is not easily soothed once he's worked up and he WILL hold grudges.

The next time your ex shows up he is quick to cut the conversation before they can even get a good morning in and makes it clear you belong to him now.

Rafayel

"What did you just say?" His head never whipped back faster mans almost twisted his own neck.

Arguably the most aggressive per se because he's SO obvious. To him it's just staggering you ever went out with anyone else, especially a thing like that, and that it's here, again, approaching you. Does it not see him? He's right there for god's sake!

"She's on duty so she can't talk to you right now. Or ever." He'd grab you by the shoulder as he sized the guy up and down with the most condescending and judgmental look on his face before scoffing. what a diva

He'll nag at you later for being "distracted while on the job" and say you're supposed to pay attention to him at all times otherwise how will his dear bodyguard protect him? Please be more mindful!

Caleb

It was a school reunion party when your old high school sweetheart came up to the both of you.

"Oh hey, I remember you! Weren't you the guy who got kicked out for cheating on his graduation exam?" He says with an innocent grin on his face knowing full well the guy is a deadbeat and making sure others heard it too.

It's canon he kept track of all crushes MC had while growing up and I'm sure he goes out of his way to show you their bad points so you won't even consider looking their way.

In some cases, Caleb had to get rid of them by manipulating things behind the scenes if they didn't take the hint and this one was one of those cases.

The guy was struggling with his grades and who is he to deny a helping hand? All he did was slip the sheet of answers to the test without anyone knowing, it's not his fault if the idiot accepted it knowing it was against the rules. Such an angel, isn't he.

This interaction will lead to him being even more territorial around you and he wants you to just stay home with him where it's safe. Pretty please?

Zayne

He will step in if they are bothering you by pretending he needs your immediate help in the office but otherwise Zayne merely listening in the background.

Once they're gone the silence is so loud.

You can basically feel that he's bothered by something, but he won't open his mouth even if you ask him about it because it's 'petty and childish'.

"Are you happy with me?" He'd eventually ask you after stewing in his own thoughts for the day. What if your tastes hadn't changed and you were just too nice to tell him he's not doing enough? That he is not enough.

Please reassure this sweet man that you're happy in the relationship. Especially so if your ex is the type that is super extroverted and easy to get along with since that's one of the points he struggles with the most.

The problem goes away on its own after some good quality time together and affectionate words.

[slater-baby]

Tags: free use, degradation, slight piss kink (but no actual piss), dubious consent, perverted Simon

Notes: Dedicated to that one anon in my inbox who keeps asking for piss content!! I'm sorry to say I probably won't write your request, but hopefully this small blurb makes up for it ❤️

Simon had never been a patient man. He wasn't patient at work. Wasn't patient at home. And most of all, he definitely wasn't patient when he was inside of you.

Every time he crawled into bed, pinning you down with his meaty hands, biting at your throat nearly hard enough to draw blood, all the while bullying his red, leaking cock into your pussy.

Since the beginning, there was no point in fighting back. A man like him—with all his viciousness and strength—wouldn't be deterred by a thing like you. It was a point only made more embarrassing by the way he held you down and fucked you hard, muttering that demeaning nickname in your ear.

"Shut up," he'd snarl, balls slapping against your ass, "I'll fill you up 'n then I'll go—and you better not test me, little girl. Not right now. Not fuckin' today."

Most of the time, you couldn't do more than spread your legs for him and let him take what he wanted, whining every time he bent your body into a new position.

However, just because he was a brute didn't mean he was brainless. He was your brute after all. And, if you were good enough, he'd give you a bit of leeway.

Today, you bit the bullet.

God, Simon must have had you pinned down for hours, the bed sheets soaked through with sweat underneath your naked body. He was still dressed, but you were bare and raw, his handprints marked into your body from nearly head to toe.

You were so broken and bent you could barely breathe, legs pushed so far back your knees were resting on the pillow beside your head while Simon slammed his swollen cock into your pussy again and again.

"Ngh—“ you wince, scrunching your brow.

Another thrust, another unwitting moan. Fuck, he was ruthless. Every swing of his hips, every slap of his skin—god, he puts his entire weight behind it, the head of his dick pushing into your cervix regardless of how he'd gentle he said he’d be with you tonight.

But, with every thrust, he pushes into more than just your cervix. After so long playing his personal fleshlight, the uncomfortable feeling was beginning to distract you.

"Simon—Simon, wait. Stop," you shove at his shoulder blades, wriggling your hips.

At the tiny taps, he stops, still buried inside of you.

"You good?" he drawls, panting like some looming beast.

"Yeah, it's just..." you look away from him with a flush, slowly easing off of his cock, "I need the bathroom."

He cocks a brow, but otherwise lets you go. However, he certainly makes no effort to pull himself out of the warmth of your pussy, instead watching on with a straight face while you wiggle yourself out from under him.

Prick, you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"You just went," he huffs as you close the door behind you, "Your bladder can't be that fuckin' small."

"Simon," he hears you sigh on the other side of the door, "Look, it's just...when you're inside of me, sometimes you put a little more pressure on my bladder, okay? S'not my fault..."

Is that a whine he hears?

It's definitely a whine, his brain tells him.

Again, he rolls his eyes, irritation building. While you do your business, he looks down at himself, still poised in the position you'd left him. Idly, his leaking cock twitches between his heavy legs, and he scowls, watching as bubbly strings of your slick drip off of the tip and onto the bed. He scoffs as he wraps a hand around it.

"So?" he huffs, fucking into his fist.

"So," you pout, "Maybe you should be a bit more gentle..."

"Yeah, right," he chuckles, pounding his hips into his hand a few times, "Cause you'd still moan just as loud if I was soft 'n sweet wi' you."

There's no answer from beyond the door. Irritation creeps up on him quickly. Impatiently, he stands from the mattress, walking over towards the door. The hinges creak when he leans his weight on it.

"Hurry up," he demands, blood pumping.

"I am hurrying!!" you whine. Again. Like always.

"Fuck."

The vitriol is almost as loud as his libido, blood rushing south. Fondness transforms into want, transforms into sheer need quicker than he can reel himself in. And before he knows it, he's barging through the door. You gasp, having barely stood up from the stool.

"What are you—“ you begin, but you don't get the chance to finish. He merely wraps his ruthless hands around your hips, wrestling you into submission against his stronger body.

"Turn around," he seethes over the sound of your whines, "Bend over. Ass up. I need you."

"B-but, I—“ you mewl like a cat in heat when he swipes his cock between your legs; you're wetter than you've ever felt before, "Simon, I—I still need to go—“

"No, you don't," he grits, grabbing your hair to yank your head up when he slides home. Your entire body trembles against his, legs shaking so hard you stumble forward where you stand, forced to spread your legs over the bowl of the toilet.

You can only gasp in shock as he starts right back up fucking you again, ramming his hips into you hard enough to make you brace your hands against the white porcelain back.

"You don't need a piss, you need to cum," he tells you, as if it were a fact, "If you were smart, you'd be able to tell the difference between the two, love."

"Simon, not—not there—“ you gasp, that uncomfortable urge reeling through your nerves once again, amplified by the way he wraps his arm around your stomach to hold you in place. Shakily, you push a hand behind yourself to shove at his thrusting hips. If anything, it only makes him fuck into your harder.

"Hush," he seethes, thrusting hard to shove you forward. Tears begin dripping down the side of your cheek as that feeling of desperation floods your body, demanding that you cross your legs and hide yourself from him. But Simon won't have it.

No, he only bends you to his will, plastering his sweaty cheek against yours when he begins to speak.

"You need to go, huh? That it, baby?" he mocks, rocking into you slowly—almost as if he cared about your whining moans.

"I—I don't know," you moan, beyond decency now, "Please, just pull out and let me see if I—“

"If you need to go, then go. Right here. Right now," he teases, "Nothing's stoppin' you, baby. Y'won't make a mess or nothin'. Y'just gotta stop whingin' and go."

"Simon—I can't do it—“ you cry, cunt fluttering around him as you halfheartedly try and follow his directions.

"You sure?" he shoves his cock home once more, reaching around to fondle your clit; you flinch against him, "'Cause you feel pretty wet down here to me, baby..."

"That's not—" you try to protest, but find yourself leaning into the feeling, discomfort transforming into pleasure alarmingly quick.

"You clenchin' around me 'cause you're desperate or because you're close? Which one is it, girl? C'mon," he punctuates the words with a slap to your ass, "I don't got all day."

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you try in vain to decipher the feeling inside of you. Yet, the more he pushes into you, body strong and warm against your back, the more confused you become. The flush on your face is so severe you can hardly contain your embarrassed tears when you answer him.

"I—I don't know..." you practically sob, listless now. His faithful arms wrap around you, amplifying the emotion coursing through you.

"Aww, that's alright, baby," he coos, smiling wolfishly as he thrusts home once again, "I've got you."

His hot tongue skirts around your neck, laving into a slow, wet kiss beneath your jaw.

"S'okay," his chest expands on a teasing laugh, "Guess we're 'bout to find out which one it is anyway."

At his words, your eyes go wide and you can't stop the gasp that leaves you. However, when he grabs your trembling hands and shoves them up against the wall, perfectly positioning your pussy over the toilet bowl, you whine uselessly at him once more.

"Simon—please—“

"Did someone tell you to talk?" he bites back, wrenching your hair in his hand while he picks up his pace, "No? Then shut up and let me fuck you."

[takenbypeter]

<3

Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 682

A/N: Just a lil pure fluff for Bucky. I’m in my Bucky era again

You stared at your phone. Something was wrong. 

Right?

See you soon <3

You read the text again focusing on the heart at the end. This wasn’t him, right? It must’ve been somebody impersonating him.

You sat at the counter of your kitchen in thought with your phone laying screen up while your hands were interlaced pushed against your lips. 

You were starting to get worried. Should you call somebody, should you call Sam? No they were together, if someone got to him then someone got to Sam too. Your mind was racing in thought. The only thing that broke its focus was the sound of the front door unlocking. 

Your eyes darted to the sound as you grabbed a nearby knife. But the hammering in your heart stopped once you saw Bucky entering your apartment. 

You let out a sigh putting the knife down as he threw his duffel bag to the floor before looking at you for the first time. 

��Woah, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just thought something went wrong on the mission for a moment, that's all.”

He frowned, taking his shoes off and stepping closer. “I said I’d see you soon, why would anything be wrong?”

He planted a kiss on your cheek, passing by you to grab a plum from the fruit bowl. 

“I don’t know, I guess your message just threw me off.”

He let out a hmm, sort of in agreement. But that was it. 

“Well the ending was the part that really threw me off.”

He nodded again as if that was that. 

You were going to have to yank the bull harder to get the answer from him. 

“So yeah, what was up with that? That’s not like you?”

“What?”

You pick up your phone, “Bucky, come on…” he looked at you as if having no idea what you’re talking about, you had to fill in the answer for him to continue the conversation, “the heart at the end! You’ve never done that before.”

“Oh I just thought it was a nice thing,” he shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. 

“It is a nice thing, a really sweet nice thing but it’s just it’s so random, you know?”

Bucky sighed, “yeah I figured, you know I don’t tell you enough how much I care for you, so I figured I’d start doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Telling you I love you.”

Now that. That took you aback. 

“Huh? You don’t tell me how much you love me?”

“Yeah…it took me so long to say it and some guys were talking on the mission and it just made me realize that I don’t say it as much as I should.” He finally turned to you fully, “I’m sorry, I’ll say it more often from now on.”

You wave your hands in the air trying to shut down this whole claim of his, “stop just stop. You say it all the time. It might not be verbal but you say it in the little things; when you make dinner, when I fall asleep and you carry me to the bed, when you buy me something because it reminds you of me—that’s all you telling me you love me Buck. Come on now don’t be silly,” you continue, clearly upset that he would even accuse himself like this, “and you do tell me you love me, so whatever those guys said they can buzz off. If anything it’s not you who doesn’t say it enough it’s me who doesn’t say it enough, so Bucky,” you go to where he’s now seated on a stool and you put two hands to his cheek squishing them in the process, “I love you.”

Bucky’s stoic expression breaks in your hands, knowing you’re passionate about his feelings and that you just want him to know how good he is, “I love you too.”

You grin and kiss him chastely. “Now aside from that, the heart was a cute touch. I'm definitely screenshotting this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while a smile continued to decorate his lips. 

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 16 - Two of Cups & The Star

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

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

word count : 16,3k

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

proofread the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

masterlist．．discord ．．playlist．．my ko-fi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even with all my remarks?" you questioned.

"Even with all your remarks," he confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right," you nodded, a bit disappointed.

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

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

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

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

"No problem," you smiled.

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

You frowned. "About what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stopped chewing, surprise filling his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turned to her, confused. "How?"

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

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

"Do you usually hit Tyler this softly?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What a beautiful egalitarian spirit," you commented.

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

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

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

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

She smiled, and you were back on guard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Zaun?"

You shrugged. "A sly, dirty anthill."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. "Yes, they are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still got the balm?" he asked.

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

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

You nodded, and he pulled away from you.

"Play nice," you heard him say.

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

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

You shrugged. "Less than I thought."

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

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

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

"See you, Fiora," you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I help you, please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The same reason why you left that day."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks heated, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All good," he finally confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?" he questioned again.

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

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

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

"Can't tell me yet, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right," you nodded, understanding his situation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what are my fingers like?"

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

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

So far, nothing that seemed impossible about Viktor. 

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

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

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

"Much praise," he breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm," Viktor replied simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viktor. Viktor. Viktor.

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

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

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

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

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

What is he dreaming about?

The question had always remained unanswered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Almost midday," he informed you.

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

"What?" you choked out.

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

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

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

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

He shook his head. "No classes today."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. "Okay."

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

"Thank you, Miss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed quite positive, you thought, beating heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had feelings for Viktor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eris

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

✦﹒ previous chapter ✦﹒ next chapter

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

[thjsrots]

Can I ask for a counselor!Sevika and reader with social anxiety? And Sevika has to attend those fancy "parties" of the Council, and there are so many people there, the reader feels uncomfortable (she doesn't cry, but almost), and Sevika notices and takes her out of there and comforts her? Sorry if this is confusing, I'm writing this in the middle of the night and a little sleepy!! Thanks (And forgive me if I wrote something wrong, English isn't really my first language...)

-🦇

i love me some sappy sevika. here u go!!! hope its okay! <3 (also don’t sue me i couldnt find a good maroon button up pic. i’m sorry. luv u.)

never really alone

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sevika x reader fluff

It was nighttime, the moon gleamed down on you as you looked perfect. Your hair was styled, had on the most beautiful gown that Sevika picked out just for you, and your makeup was flawless. Everything about you was perfect. Except, you didn’t feel perfect. You felt the dress synching your waist in, making it hard to breathe. Your hair and face felt heavy, and the unnecessarily tall heels pinched your feet. But alas, you were doing this for your wife, so none of that mattered to you. You’d be able to suck it up just this one night for her, just for this one party.

The two of you walked in through the large doors, hand in hand. The immediate buzzing sound of people chattering, drinks pouring, and fancy music hit you like a truck. You gulped, squeezing Sevika’s hand, looking over at her. She looked straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed (per usual; she has a resting bitch face), maroon button up blouse semi tucked into her black slacks, belt buckle shining in the light. You could feel your cheeks flush underneath all the foundation as you stared, admiring but also trying to find comfort in her face. She looked over at you, eyebrows immediately relaxing, giving you a small smile.

“You ready, princess?” She asked, squeezing your hand back. A little sign to show that she had you, no matter what. You felt your tense body loosen up a bit, breathing out deeply, and nodding.

“Yes,” You started, smiling back. “I-I’m ready.” You pushed those words out of your mouth the best you could. Of course you weren’t ready. If it were up to you, the two of you would be at home, snuggled up watching a movie. Before you could even second guess your answer, she began to walk forward, leading you into the drowning sound. You followed behind her, of course. Those stupid heels were already hurting, so it definitely took you a second to catch up.

You knew Sevika didn’t necessarily enjoy these parties, but she had to show up and put on a face as best she could (which… was never really her best, you could tell she hated it). So you knew you probably wouldn’t be there long. All you had to do was suck it up and push the anxiety down as best you could for an hour or two.

Right?

As you were caught up in your own thoughts, you felt Sevika’s grip loosen and let go from your hand, making you snap back to reality. Your head snapped up, eyes darting towards her.

“Sevika! Glad you could make it,” Someone (of importance, you assumed) said, leading her away. You didn’t care much about seeing their face, your eyes stayed glued on Sevika. “There’s some people here who want to meet you. Follow me?”

She looked back at you, almost like she was asking for permission without actually asking. You couldn’t possibly hold her back from this, doing her job. So you forced the best smile you could, nodding. “Go ahead, darling. I’ll be here.”

She sighed annoyingly at the request, but smiled back at you. “Thank you. I’ll keep my eye on you, don’t stray too far. Okay?” She said before turning around and walking away. You watched her until she got lost in the crowds, leaving you by yourself. Your breath hitched once you lost sight of her, fingers twiddling as the panic began to settle in. You shook your head around, trying your best to push the feeling down.

I’m a grown being, I can do this. I can totally do this. You thought to yourself, trying to fake it till you make it. With the bit of courage you had, you made your way to the bar area, grabbing one of the drinks that were being given out. You sipped on it, face immediately twisting up. The alcohol tasted bitter, the cranberry juice doing absolutely nothing to mask the flavor, making it hard to swallow. You gulped it down as best you could anyway. You figured maybe getting a little buzz might cool the anxiety down, I mean, it didn’t hurt to try.

…So you picked up another drink after forcing down the first. You walked around, exploring the place, which was huge. I mean, truly, there was no ending to it. Halls after halls, multiple doors, stairs that led to Gods knows where. It seemed like you were doing fine. You were almost confident in yourself, dress shimmering, hair shiny, lashes batting.

Until… a group of women began to walk towards you. You stood there at first, trying to look nonchalant. I mean, no way they were coming to you. Right? Wrong.

“Hey! You’re Sevika’s wife, aren’t you?” One of them questioned, eyes gleaming as she stared. “Wow, what a beauty. She’s certainly lucky, isn’t she?” All of them giggled, touching your hair and dress. You felt it creeping up again, that same feeling that was always lingering in the pit of your stomach.

You cracked a smile anyway, hesitating before responding. “Y-Yeah, I’m her wife. Thank you. I should go find her, actually.” Was the best you could do. You figured you were coming off as rude, but these ladies did not catch the hint.

“What? Going so soon! Tell us more about her, she’s such a drag to work with usually. How could her cranky self wife up someone like you?” Another of them commented, their giggles turning into loud laughter. You could tell this was drunken banter, but that didn’t seem to help you at all. The feeling began to grow bigger, heavier, pushing down on your chest. It slowly became hard to breathe as their words overlapped, molding into something you couldn’t understand. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, so fast you couldn’t keep up. Your hands gripped on the cup, squeezing hard, shaking as they continued. How could they possibly not catch the hint? You regretted telling Sevika yes. Yes to joining her, yes to walking in, yes to letting her go join the others. You felt your eyes begin to water, hot tears beginning to build up, begging for their release. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, totally fucking path-

“Ladies,” Sevika’s husky voice broke your internal battle. The women immediately peaked over your head, looking at her as she stood behind you. She grabbed onto your waist, pulling you in. “Looks like you’ve bothered my wife enough. It’s about time you get going.” She said, voice stern and low. They smiled awkwardly, nodding and agreeing as they walked away, mumbling not so nice things under their breaths.

You felt Sevika grip onto your hand, leading you outside to the balcony, closing the doors behind you. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, making you spill your drink along the tile floor as you held onto her, face nuzzling in her neck. Although she was squeezing a little, you felt like you could finally breathe. Her hand ran down your back, then up again, rubbing it slowly.

“I’m sorry I left you alone, princess. Are you okay?” She said as she pulled away, cupping your face in her hands, her grey eyes full of worry. You held onto her hands as did so, resting your head against them. The anxiety began to melt away as you stared into her eyes, felt her skin against yours, her scent wrapping around you. This was your safe place.

“I’m okay,” You said, eyes closing, taking it all in. “I’m sorry I freaked out. Did I ruin it for you?”

“Of course not, I get whatever I want around here. So, my work for tonight is done.” She said, scoffing a bit.

Your eyes opened, immediately raising an eyebrow at her, giggling at her sassy remark. “Is that so?”

“It is so, and you know what it is I want now?” She asked, leaning closer into your face.

You giggled. “What does her highness want now, hm?”

She suddenly grabbed your waist, pulled you in, then kissed you. It was a soft and slow kiss, taking the time to feel her lips melting into yours. This was heaven, you were sure of it. Her soft and salty lips, gentle yet secure hands holding you, her care for you. She was your heaven. She pulled away, smiling softly, staring into your eyes. “I want us to go home and have the night to ourselves.” The moonlight hit her face just right. Her eyes glistened as she looked at you, skin glowing, and muscles showed through her shirt.

Your heart fluttered, ears reddening up a bit. Gods, you were so in love with her. The corners of your mouth lifted up into a toothy smile, one that Sevika absolutely adored. “I’d love that, Vika.” You said, pushing her hair back to get a better look of her face in that moment. You wanted to remember this, have this memory of her forever.

She grabbed onto your hand, kissing it softly, then looked back down to you. “By the way, alcohol is horrible for anxiety.”

Your eyes widened at the sudden comment. “How… did you know?” You questioned, blinking quickly.

“I tasted it all in your mouth, babe.” She started as she began to lead you back inside. “Plus, I had my eye on you the entire time, you were never really alone. I’d never do that to you.”

You blushed, smiling at her comment as the two of you walked back inside. She wasn’t usually this sappy, but when she was, you ate it up. You’d definitely bring up how hot her need to always protect you was later. She quickly said her goodbyes, brushing off the small talks, then led you outside the giant doors you had came in from. You couldn’t help but stare at her lovingly the entire time, wanting nothing more than to kiss her over and over. Maybe do even a little more than that, but you’d save that for the bedroom.

[cherrycheolkat]

heyyyyy kat, this bingo card game is so fun!! im always looking forward to your next post. please can i request something from it too? i would like vehicle sex and oral fixation pretty please 🥺

hihiii ofc you can ^^ also that's sweet - i'm glad you like my fics <3 um i am maybe a little stuck on mingyu x noona but hope this is fun and sorry it took a few days for me to figure this one out

♡ kat

bingo square: vehicle sex + oral fixation

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader | mingyu x noona reader

summary: y/n was heading back to her apartment when mingyu offered her a ride - she didn’t realize her least focused student could actually be fully engrossed with a single activity 

genre: college au, collegestudent!mingyu, teachassistant!reader

word count: 1.8k

rating: 18+, mdni

warnings: explicit language, smut, age gap, car sex, topping from bottom, penetrative sex, finger sucking, nipple play

she had packed up after another class where maybe a quarter of the students actually paid attention to her - just because she was the ta, which was annoying. she was the one who graded all of their horrendous papers. and then there was maybe her most annoying student, kim mingyu - she rolled ideas, just thinking about him.

when she walked around the class for the last few weeks, she had noticed that he was literally watching march madness coverage and completely ignoring her lectures. she had gotten annoyed this evening and used her laser pointer on his screen. and just because that didn’t seem to phase him, she had called him out. she grinned as she replayed it in her mind - his half-stuttering bullshit answer that she meticously corrected. she had seen the way he stared daggers at her the rest of the session. but she didn’t care, as long as maybe paid attention - that was the point.

she walked through the quiet halls and could finally breathe when she exited the building, feeling the cool night air - she caught the sharp scent of ozone, and knew it was going to rain. she groaned, realizing she hadn’t brought her umbrella. she made it just outside of the building when she felt the first few ominous drops. she sighed and pulled the collar of her jacket up closer - she would get soaked, but it could be worse. 

she didn’t initially notice the black car next to her. she was concerned with getting home, not some person who was lost on campus. 

“y/n?” 

she paused, glancing over to the car. the driver had rolled down the window closest to her - she leaned down and tried to control her face as she saw none other than kim mingyu leaning towards the open window, looking at her with a smirk. she rolled her eyes, “come to my office hours if you have an issue, mingyu,” she kept walking. 

but he stayed next to her, “you know it’s starting to rain, right?”

“and?”

“do you want a ride?” his voice was too sweet for her liking, especially since she had pointedly embarrassed him maybe 45 minutes before. 

she shook her head, “no, thanks - have a nice night,” she tried to sound cordial and nothing more.

“come on, y/n, it’s not a big deal - even if you called me out in class,” he almost whispered the last part. 

she tried to smile, “i shouldn’t take rides from students,” she mumbled.

he grinned, “you’re not the professor, y/n, even if you basically do his job for him.”

she could feel rain drops hitting her more persistently - she groaned, “okay, fuck, fine.” she got into his ridiculously nice car and immediately wondered if he were a trust fund kid.

“so where am i taking you?” he asked softly.

she didn’t love the idea of him knowing where she lived, but she gave him her address - well close to her address - it was her friend’s place a few houses down from her own. if anyone egged her friend’s house, she would have a top suspect, she thought wryly. 

she leaned on the arm rest, trying to make it clear that she didn’t want to spend anymore time in his car than was necessary. the problem was when she felt his hand brush her thigh, and she practically jumped. 

“sorry,” he mumbled. she might have believed him if he hadn’t looked so smug about it.

she pursed her lips, “you know, if you bothered to pay attention in class, i wouldn’t have called on you - so if you’re annoyed about something”—

he cut her off, “why would i be annoyed? i wanted your attention, and i got it,” he smiled. 

she flushed, not knowing what to say. 

“you could just say you aren’t interested - i’m in your class, blah, blah, blah,” he offered, his voice low and silky.

she stared out the window not wanting to think about that he was a student - a junior student to her, but just another student for all intents and purposes. like he had said, she wasn’t the professor. 

when he touched her thigh again, she barely noticed until he squeezed her thigh while they waited at a stop light.

she glanced at him, “so what do you want? what do you think is happening right now exactly?”

he glanced at her for a moment, “i’m thinking how much i want to know if you’re wearing a bra today or not.” he said it so smoothly - she looked at him, taking in his profile as he watched the road. she wasn’t unaware of the way some students looked at her. she hadn’t pegged him as one of ‘those’ students. 

she felt his hand slide closer to her groin. she should probably stop him, but in all fairness, she liked how his hand looked on her thigh. she liked that he had thicker fingers - she liked that he had the hands of a man - there was nothing dainty about his fingers. she wondered how they would feel stretching her pussy.  

when they got to her friend’s address, she sighed, “it’s actually further down,” she pointed. 

he laughed softly, “ah - so you were going to hide in the bushes?”

she rolled her eyes, “no, it’s my friend’s place, and i have a spare key,” she responded tartly - as though she would hunker down in the bushes.

he was already pulling into her driveway. it was darker than her friend’s - there was more tree cover from heavy oaks on both sides. 

she didn’t touch the door handle. she was patient, wondering what little fantasy was playing in his mind. 

when he shifted in his seat, “come here,” he whispered. 

she glanced over, seeing the room between him and the steering wheel. it felt distinctly high school. but she wasn’t above that. she shifted to straddle him. he was fast to shove her jacket out of the way, and even faster to shover her thin sweater up to expose her tits to the cooler air of the car. 

she wasn’t prepared for the way he moaned at seeing her, “fuck,” he muttered, “look at you, baby,” he whispered. 

his hands slid over her breasts roughly, squeezing them while he moaned softly. 

“so now you know - no bra,” she whispered, leaning down so her lips were just next to his ear. She leaned back, letting him have the view he wanted so badly.  

he nodded, swallowing hard, as his fingers traced over her nipples - she knew why his eyes suddenly flashed to hers.

“serioulsy,” he whispered before he was suddenly leaning into her and sucking softly at her breast. 

she knew what he had felt, the little tiny piercings she had - she could feel his tongue playing with the tiny metal barbell - she moaned softly, her fingers pulling his short hair softly, loving how warm his mouth was. she moaned when he sucked harder, his tongue alternating between making little circles around her nipple and playing with her piercing. 

it felt like ages before he pulled away from her left breast, groaning, “how the fuck are you single?” he breathed.

she laughed, “it’s not like they’re not magic.”

he shook his head, leaning in to kiss her right breast, “yes, they are,” he whispered against her skin, licking and sucking the nipple he had been neglecting. she felt him pull her hips closer to his. she gulped when she felt how hard he was. 

she bit her lip softly when she felt the rough way he was sucking at her skin - she knew he would leave marks. she had the feeling that that was exactly his goal. she found herself pushing him back, pressing her fingers between his lips instead. she blushed watching the way he sucked on her fingers - it was when she made him gag and he didn’t seem to care that she knew she was too far down the path not to fuck him. 

he whimpered when she pulled her fingers away, “want to fuck, baby boy, not just tease each other,” she breathed as leaned over him, her fingers tracing along his cheek. he stared at her, already looking dazed. 

she rolled her hips against him - he moaned softly. she smiled, “do you even want to move?”

he swallowed, “why? i like this view,” he murmured.

“you just want someone else to do the work for you,” she didn’t care that her voice had sharpened. 

he shook his head, “promise i can fuck you from exactly where i am.”

she grinned, “mhmm, i’m sure.”

she wasn’t sure how either really managed to get out of their pants, but she knew she was slick enough to take his cock without prepping. and the slide was absolutely worth it - she arched back against the steering wheel, moaning, not sure that she had ever been stretched so well as she was in that single moment. 

she heard him, “such a good girl, taking all of me like that,” he whispered, kissing her throat. 

and then he shifted her just right so he could fuck up into her. his cock hit every spot she needed him to, and the way he held her hips so tightly - she knew there would be bruises the next day. she let her hands slide under his shirt, feeling his toned stomach, and the way his muscles flexed as he moved his hips. her head lolled to the side - he really was good. so good. she knew she left thin, angry scratch marks across his stomach - she knew he was pulling moan after moan from her

but it was when he came that she yelped softly, she was already stretched completely and now he was fucking her full of his cum and stroking her clit. apparently, he wouldn’t be satisfied until she came too. 

she quivered from the attention, whining softly, saying his name over and over, and then her orgasm hit her - washing over her like a wave - her eyelids fluttered closed as she felt her body reacting to his. she was shaking, leaning into him, knowing she had come undone for him. 

she felt his hands tracing over her skin, like he was keeping her from floating away. when he tipped her chin back to kiss her, it was surprising to her - how gentle he was. 

it was maybe less surprising that she woke up late the next morning with him in her bed - their limbs tangled after they had spent half the night fucking like animals. 

when she tried to get up, he only pulled her back, “stay with me,” he whispered. he was much more beguiling than she wanted to admit, but she still stayed, happily wrapped in his arms. 

a/n: again, trying to force myself to write a drabble and not go over 1k words skssksksss so 1.8k is perf right?? T-T

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the newest bingo is [here] but there are still open squares from the previous two [here] and nsfw only bingo is [here]

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu ☁︎ @tinyelfperson ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin ☁︎ @starlit-rin ☁︎ @gigglensnort ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite ☁︎

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

[hello-gloomy]

Maybe a stanley x fem reader where she was friends with stanley and Xeno before the petrification. Stanley has a crush on her. Instead of senku being the one that got hit with the bullet, it was Y/N (or however you refer it as). Obviously she survives. Thank you!!!

I'm so sorry this took me so long to answer I've been tired from Work ngl. And forgive me if some of this is different from the manga/anime.

-------------------

The One Holding The Gun

Stanley Snyder x Fem!reader

-------------------

Description: In the end, your kindness turned out to be a weakness, and not only did you have to pay for it, but so did Stanley.

Warnings: Maybe OOC, THE ANGST, there is a happy ending, I promise, violence, blood, injuries. MANGA SPOILERS.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, and sorry if it's too short, I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Words: 836

-------------------

"Take the shot." Xenos's voice crackles over the earpiece, and Stanley looks down the gun's scope before pulling the trigger. It's funny how much can change in a few seconds; by the time the shot rang out, you had instinctually moved Senku out of range and taken the hit instead; it got so quiet so fast until you heard Luna scream out at the sight of your blood dripping onto the deck. You stumbled a little bit before you dropped down into a puddle of blood that was growing fast. It smelled terrible; someone moved you onto your back, and you heard some shouting and felt someone moving your now red-stained hair out of your face. You refocused your vision the best you could and noticed Stanley holding you and Senku right near you as well; you felt some pressure on your stomach and saw their mouths moving, saying something. You think people are running around the three of you, and you decide you are too tired and close your eyes.

It felt like Stanley would throw up his heart with how panicked he was. You were bleeding out fast, and the bullet didn't go all the way through, which meant it was stuck. He didn't care how exposed he was right now. He was more worried about you.

"We have to get her below deck before she bleeds out." Stanley grits his teeth and holds you tighter before deciding this is the best hell you have right now without you potentially losing more blood trying to get you to Xeno. He picks you up and lets Senku lead him to a room where he can lay you down to help. A boy in a captain's hat gives everyone else directions while an older man follows him and the junior scientist. He lays you down on the temporary bed while Senku and the older man rush around for supplies.

"Do you know basic first aid?" Stanley looks up from you to Senku and nods his head; the boy hands him a white coat and gloves before bringing over the supplies to get the bullet out of your abdomen. They got to work on saving you the best they could.

--------------------

Your ears rang when you woke up; you blinked open your eyes and noticed the warm light surrounding you; it was late, and you were probably still on the ship. You try moving and hiss in pain when you do; you touch your midriff and feel the bandages around it; you rub over it gently and whimper at the pain. You shift to get more comfortable and notice a quiet argument happening outside your door; you try to tune in the best you can and make out one of the voices as Stanley's, being half lucid and in pain and shout out his name the best you can and the conversation outside stops. The doorknob jiggles, and then it opens; Stanley and Xeno both step in, the latter looking agitated and relieved at the sight of you awake.

"Hey, sweets," Stanley calls you in a low tone while Xeno closes the door behind them. Stanley stands beside you, and Xeno pulls up a chair to sit on the other side of you. He looks stressed, and Stanley looks like he went through an entire pack of cigarettes. He brushes a hand over your cheek, and you lean into him, relieved at his gentle touch.

"How long was I out?" You ask with a coarse throat. Xeno hands you a cup of water before answering.

"A week. We couldn't risk moving you with the amount of blood you lose." He informs you seriously while Stanley helps you drink. You nod to him when you are done and sit calmly, taking them both in.

"How are the kids?" You question while staring down at Xeno; he scoffs and looks away, a sore subject you seemed to miss while out.

"We've come to a temporary truce." He mumbles while looking away. Your getting shot scared him as much as it did, Stanley. He announces that he needs some air and excuses himself. Leaving you and Stanley alone, you invite him up on the bed with you and shift over to make room for him; he hesitates, so you pull him down with you. You lay his head on your chest and rub his hair gently; he moves and buries his face into your chest while wrapping his arms around you. He listens to your heart and finds comfort in it, still beating. He removes his face from where it was lying to look you in the eyes. You press your heads together, continuing to stroke his hair, and eventually, he gives you a long overdue kiss, expressing all his feelings with this one action. You reciprocate it fully, happy with how it all turned out okay. He shifts to lay on the bed to lay with you entirely, and you both hold each other until you both fall asleep.

[radsoldier]

you're a bad idea - Part 2

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N tries to avoid Cairo while the latter finds herself falling deeper.

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: cursing

a/n: hi guys, sorry for the eternal delay but a lot of shit happened and i'm not sure how i made it out alive but hey! i'm back! anyway, hope you enjoy :)

(poem's "did you think i was a city" by rupi kaur)

part 1

You were never one for gossip. You were simply not interested. Being the center of rumors for as long as you could remember was no fun at all so when all the stories about Cairo hit your ears you were annoyed. You didn’t really care if it was true or not, it was none of your business. But you knew she was bad news and that’s why you chose to let things cool off and tried your best to ignore her. 

You moved here to avoid drama, to start fresh or however your old therapist would like to call it. You knew you were just running away from it all. 

_______________________________________________________________________________ 

A week later, soft rain was pouring as you got off your bike, some students scrambling to get to class before getting soaked. 

You opted for lighting up a cigarette under the small roof right at the entrance. You were already late, might as well enjoy the little time you had outside of the college halls.  

Wishing you had stopped for some coffee, you started walking towards the library, not feeling like enduring another creative writing lecture. It felt like the perfect excuse to keep avoiding Cairo. And you also had to rehearse your piece for the poetry reading later today. 

“Fuck me” you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo was annoyed. No, she was outraged. You were ignoring her yet she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to you. It was torture, you were pestering her mind like she had no control over it. She hated it. She hated how you seemed unfazed every time you caught her staring while she had to hold her breath as if even the smallest movement would make you disappear. She had replayed your interaction over and over in her head getting little to no answer as to why you could go from hot to cold just like that. It made no sense to her. 

That’s why when your professor asked for someone to deliver some notes on your most recent work, she volunteered to be the one doing it. 

He told her where to find you, given that he knew about your poetry reading and she began to gather all her things and started walking toward the auditorium. 

She hesitated at the slightly open door, the dim light making her unsure but the sound of your voice coming from the inside was enough to shake her doubts and stride into the room. 

“Did you think I was a city 

big enough for a weekend getaway.” you paused. 

“I am the town surrounding it 

the one you’ve never heard of 

but always pass through.” 

“There are no neon lights here 

no skyscrapers or statues 

but there is thunder 

for I make bridges tremble. 

I am not street meat, I am homemade jam 

thick enough to cut the sweetest 

thing your lips will touch.” you glanced around the room, letting the words sink in. 

“I am not police sirens 

I am the crackle of a fireplace. 

I’d burn you and you still 

couldn't take your eyes off me 

cause I’d look so beautiful doing it 

you'd blush.” Cairo was taken aback by the emotion in your voice. 

“I am not a hotel room I am home 

I am not the whiskey you want 

I am the water you need. 

Don’t come here with expectations 

and try to make a vacation out of me.” 

you finished as the few people in the room stood up, clapping. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Y/N” a young professor started. “Can’t wait to read your small piece for your assignment” he smiled like you were the only one in the room. 

Cairo watched as you exchanged pleasantries with a few peers, looking relieved when someone else took the spotlight. And then you saw her. Doe-eyed and slightly parted lips, she looked like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“What are you doing here, Sweet?” you spat.  

She tried to hide her disappointment at your cold demeanor but you could see the small changes in her face even if it was just for a split second. 

“Professor Brooks wanted me to give this to you” she said, gesturing towards the folder she held out. “You know, since tomorrow is the deadline and he left some corrections and notes for you” 

“Fuck” you sighed. 

Only then did she look at you, a teasing glint in her eyes, the ghost of a smile over her full lips. You took the folder from her, your hands barely touching. The moment felt charged, none of you ready to break the eye contact. It was almost like both of you were fighting to see which one would cave in first. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Thank you” 

She nodded, not saying a word before leaving the room as you stood there, still reeling from the tingling sensation you felt when your hands touched. 

‘Did she feel it too?’ you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo laid awake well past midnight. Her laptop long forgotten on the side of her bed, a cigarette on her lips. Her thoughts kept drifting towards a certain someone. 

You were right: you had burned her, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off you. 

Your eyes haunted her, that piercing stare that made her feel like she couldn’t hide from you even as you were a complete mystery to her. It was unnerving. 

She remembered how your hands moved during your reading. The same hands that held her waist and throat just a week ago. The very same hands she couldn’t stop dreaming about, doing unholy things to her. 

She kept thinking about your low, rough voice and how good it would sound moaning her name. 

God, she needed to get laid. 

It had been a while since she felt this kind of obsession over someone. Last time didn’t end well. It kind of scared her, in retrospective, the lengths she was willing to go in the past. But this time it was different, she could feel it. Or maybe it was just a stupid white lie she told herself so she could avoid the guilt that was slowly eating her up. 

That night Cairo dreamt about you. 

[hiseyeisonthesparrow]

Hiya! Mormon here, so I'm sorry if I seem like a heretic taking over your post, but I actually have a half-decent answer!

So, in the Book of Mormon, there's an anti-Christ named Korihor who goes around preaching that Christ won't come and that everyone is a fool for believing in the traditions of their fathers. Alma, the prophet at the time, deals with Korihor in a couple of ways:

Ask WHY they hold the opinions they do. Alma teaches that you can't really overcome pure hate with a logical argument (as much as I wish that I could... ;v;), so the only thing we can do is question the source of the opinions. Instead of telling them their opinions are fundamentally anti-Christian because of x, y, and z, we can invite them to think more deeply about the root of their hate. The American Republican party is deeply rooted in fear (there's a very cool neuroscience study about it if you want to hear), so debating them will only solidify their beliefs. Instead, truly seek to understand them.

Preach the true gospel of LOVE and ACCEPTANCE. You cannot make them shut up, but you can proclaim your faith in God and Jesus louder than they can hate. Testifying with all the pure love of Christ that you can does wonders.

Invite them to leave! Ignore them! It is not your responsibility to convince them to be good people -- that's for the Holy Spirit to handle.

Here are some pieces of dialogue I've used to defend my positions to Christian Nationalists without coming across as inflammatory or offensive:

"Well, I remember that Jesus was a refugee, and he taught us to love "the least of us", so I really want to love my immigrant neighbors. Like the Good Samaritan -- the person that you help might be someone you don't agree with."

"God gave us the ability to choose between right or wrong. He also gave us the ability to choose to follow His path; not having a choice at all is Satan's goal. I think we should let people choose what they want to do, as long as it doesn't hurt other people."

"Sometimes I find that Satan tries to trap us by making us zoom in and only focus on one tiny detail. Taking a moment to look at the bigger picture helps me not get caught up in Satan's web of lies."

"I hope you find enough faith to overcome the fear in your heart. He wants you to have hope!"

"What are you worried about? ... Why are you so worried about it?"

"I think that God's love is the most important thing in the whole scriptures, don't you? That's why he gave us Jesus! So, because of that, I think treating people with love is more important than any rules or opinions."

The tricky part is to not come across as patronizing or insulting. Make sure to explain or defend your position rather than attacking theirs. It won't be perfect, but hopefully we can fill this world with a little more love and a little less MAGA idiocy (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Guys how do you deal with the, what feels like, hypocrisy of calling out Christians Nationalists. Cause like I won’t lie it feels weird calling them out for judging other because like… yeah I’m judging you. Ya know? Idk if I’m putting this correctly.

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[gummydummy19]

No one else

Summary: You see Price again for the first time after he went on mission…and after you slept with him months ago

Content Warning: mentions of smut, angst, age gap

Pairing: John Price x reader (NO GENDER/LOOKS SPECIFIED)

A/N: short, sweet and angsty, folks! this has been in my drafts for a looooong time, enjoy <3

Word Count: 1100+

“I…I haven’t...been...with anyone else, you know?”

“What?”, He looked down at you, your head resting on his sticky chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Since you left…I uhm….I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

It had been months since you last saw him.

You and John had been friends for years. Sure, he was a little older than you, but you never cared. He was handsome and smart and kind and he always knew what to do.

He was the one you called when your car broke down on the side of the road. The one who took you for a drink after a long day at work.

And last summer, he suddenly became the one who made you cum so many times you forgot your own name.

It was a one-time thing. A moment of heated passion between two friends. The fact that you'd had a crush on him for over a year played no part in the matter.

Besides, you didn't have much time to dwell, because the next morning when he got called into work, he was told that he was needed for another mission.

Well it turns out, that did actually leave you lots of time to dwell. Six months of it.

It had gone by incredibly fast and agonizingly slow at the same time, but there he was, back home, taking sips of his beer on your couch while you cooked him his first decent meal in half a year.

You'd been eyeing each other all night. Small talk paired with small touches. After dessert, when there were no more dishes to be washed, no more stupid questions to be asked, nowhere left to hide, he kissed you.

And that left you here, in your bedroom. Tangled in the forest green sheets, sweaty and satisfied. His rough hands drew gentle shapes on your shoulder until you opened your stupid mouth.

“I havent been with anyone else…”

Price was quiet, with an expression on his face that gave little away.

The silence grew thicker by the second. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach and you started to regret even saying anything.

You were about to mumble out an excuse, apologize, tell him never mind, and that it was silly. Your mouth opened but before the first sound could fly out of your throat, he broke the silence.

“Neither have I.”, he stated dryly.

“You haven’t?”, you sat up a little, getting a better look at his face.

“You thought I had?” He raised his brow a little, you could tell it was a reflex. He almost looked…annoyed.

"Yeah, I mean...no....I don't know", you babbled.

"Well, I didn't."

"You could have."

"I didn't want to." he replied with just a twinge of irritation, “Did you want me to?”

“No I just…I wouldn’t have been mad…if you had.”

His brows twisted in what can only be described as a dumbfounded frown.

“What the…” he grumbled, sitting up fully too. “So if I would have fucked some other lass, you would’a been totally fine with that?”

Your eyes darted around nervously as you tried to figure out how to answer that question.

“I just…you can do what you want. You don’t have any responsibilities towards me. I would have understood if you had…if…if you’d…”

The thought of him with another woman made you sick to your stomach, but you knew you couldn't have expected that of him. That he'd stayed loyal to someone he'd slept with once.

Well...twice now.

"Alright then, good to know how you feel," he said as he got out of bed, quickly grabbing his boxers off the floor and pulling them on.

"W-, Price, where are you going?"

"I clearly got this all wrong, that's on me."

"No wait, please! I...I'm sorry I just...I..." you babbled. Your chest felt tight, that familiar feeling of panic settled in the pit of your stomach as you watched him grab his stuff off the floor.

“Can you please just hold on a minute? Please?”, you pleaded, “John!”

That got his attention. His eyes locked with yours as he stood there brooding like an angry bear.

“I thought…” he started, you could tell he was trying to keep himself composed, “I thought we had something. I thought we were something. A thing. The pair of us.”

You sat there on the bed, with your thin sheet wrapped flimsily around yourself, staring up at him.

“John…I”

“I know we didn’t exactly have a conversation about it…but after what happened I just sort of assumed…and I shouldn’t have.”

“No! God, I’m such an idiot…I'm just expressing myself all wrong…", you tried explaining, “I wanted you to know I hadn’t been with anyone else…because I don’t want anyone else…but I also know we didn’t talk about it so I would have no right to be mad if you…if you had…”

“Screwed someone else?”, he damn near barked.

“Yeah…", you visibly flinched at the thought this time. "Can you please sit back down? Please?"

He obliged. The mattress dipped a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his back toward you. The room was quiet again. You didn't really know what to say or do...you had missed him so much...all you wanted was to be close to him, that was all you had wanted for months.

You were staring at the freckles on his back and you couldn't help but lean closer, your lips carefully brushing against the skin and pressing a loving kiss there. You felt him tense up, yet he remained quiet.

"The thought alone makes me sick..." you started, hoping he would get what you were referring to, "but I would have understood, you were gone for a long time and you didn’t make any promises to me”

You felt him tense up again when you said that last part.

“M'not angry at you sweetheart, I'm just angry at myself ", he turned around, his sweet, blue eyes gazing at you with nothing but love and affection.

"I promised my heart to you a long time ago, I was just too dense to tell you about it..."

"Oh, John..", was all you could muster, you reached out and gently put your hand against his bearded cheek. He leaned into your touch, placing his own hand over yours.

"I should have at least made it clear how I felt, sweetheart, instead of leaving you wondering if I was fucking someone else for six months. Because I wasn’t. All I wanted was to be with you. There’s no one else I want, love.”

You were at a loss for words, so you settled for a kiss. Not that he was complaining, because he immediately maneuvered you onto his lap, mumbling praises and apologies.

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo

@princessayveke

@montsepliego

@scxrletrecsmarvel

@hopelesslyrogers

@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer

@tfandtws

@vicmc624

@ahahafudge

@enchantedbarnes

@wickedravyn

@pono-pura-vida

@amayaraestyles

@matchat3a

@fictional-hooman

@sebastianexplicit

@peaches1958

@avengersfan25

@jamneuromain

@tryingtoliveonmywishes

@mrsevans90

@daybreak96

@tiredqueen73

@fallingforunrealisticromance

@identity2212

@randomweirdoss

@ragamuffin285

@juliaorpll78

@geralts-yenn

@imjusthereforliam

@bangtanstoeart

@squeezyvalkyrie

@enchantedbytomandhenry.

@superduckmilkshake

@kingliam2019

@bascmve01

@missgaygurl

@foxyjwls007

@mollymal

@urmomsgirlfriend1

@luxeydior

@beck07990

@liecastillo

@warriormirkwood

@vintage-is-my-middle-name

@lucinapomona

@madebylilly

@nothingbettertosay81

@est1887

@whoemj

@notanotherpotter

@morganlolitta

@cashmereandcookies

@secretdream2

[ivystoryweaver]

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 4: It Came From Outer Space previous

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Quality time and a day at the fall festival with Poe, who doesn't really get the point of a ferris wheel. Oh and your ex is there.

Content/Notes: fluff, tw food, language

Word Count: 3.2k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"That everything?" Poe asked, securing the final basket in the back of your truck. Heaps of fresh organic produce, homemade jellies, herbs and eggs from your chickens were loaded and ready for your little farm's booth at the fair.

The warmish weather had finally eased into a crisp, cool morning, invigorating your fall spirit and giving you a boost of energy needed to peddle your wares.

Poe, dressed in his boots, jeans and a flannel button up of your dads - a dark green and navy plaid over a white t-shirt - gazed at you expectantly, hands on his hips.

"I think so," you answered, granting him a bright smile. "Thank you so much for doing this. It would have been a lot with Chester away in New Jersey. I've never done it by myself." Your thoughts briefly drifted to your father. This was only your second year without him at the festival.

"Glad I can help," he grinned, pushing a hand through his curls.

Since you'd bought him hair products and toiletries, he'd attempted new styles with gel and hairspray, usually preferring his hair off his face. Today it seemed he didn't bother, remarking how his hair had grown longer than ever, and beyond his control.

You offered to cut it for him soon, after the festival was behind you.

Right then, your cat Cheddar darted out of the barn, with Marigold and Kit Kat hot on his trail. Your three barn cats had added themselves to the long list of animals who instantly loved Poe. Cheddar had almost convinced the both of you that he was truly a house cat who needed to sleep in Poe's room at night, rather than out in the barn with his siblings. Almost.

Curling around Poe's legs adoringly, Cheddar meowed, waiting for attention, which Poe was more than willing to give.

"Heyyyy, little buddy, came to say goodbye? Don't worry, I'll be back."

Kneeling down, he granted some attention to Marigold, while Kit Kat hissed in jealous protest.

"All right, you guys, go back to catching things. We have to go." You playfully rubbed each of their heads before gently shooing them away.

It was then that you noticed Poe eyeing you with about as much fondness as Cheddar had displayed. It caught you off guard for a moment, until he held up the truck's key and dangled it in front of you.

"Can I drive?"

"Give me those," you laughed, yanking them out of his hand and bumping shoulders with him as you headed for the driver's side.

"Come onnn, please," he whined, following you closely.

You reached for the truck's door, but he pushed his arm up against it to stop you, trapping you there against the side of the truck, with his arm caging you in. Noticing how close your bodies were, he lowered his arm slowly, licking his lips as your eyes locked with his.

"Sorry." He backed away to give you some space, noticing how your breath stuttered and your eyelashes fluttered. "I'm the best pilot in our fleet, I swear. I can definitely handle a truck."

"Wow," you whistled, pulling open the truck door finally, but Poe noticed you still had a playful glint in your eye. "You actually insulted my truck while bragging. Well done. Passenger's seat for you."

He groaned, but complied, leaving it alone while you cranked the truck and backed it away from the house. Stopping at the end of your long driveway, you peered over at him.

"I know you can drive my truck. It took you like half a day to get what usually takes us regular people a few months to learn. It's just that you don't have a license and we cannot have any questions asked about who you are and where you're from. You understand, right?"

Poe swallowed, nodding, noting how serious you were. "Sorry. I just thought it would be fun. I didn't realize..."

"It's okay," you smiled warmly. "I just...I get nervous thinking about if someone found out. I mean, Poe, to think of what could happen to you..."

"Is it really that dangerous here? In the United States?" He asked, as you eased onto the main road and started driving.

"It could be. It really could. We are in a kind of war right now. A cold war. No one's firing, but it's tense. And if they find out you're from space, they'll never let you go. We have to keep it a secret no matter what. Let's go over our cover story again."

So you spent the drive into town reviewing the story you'd concocted. Poe had come to work on your farm temporarily, as a replacement for Chester, who was with his ill mom in New Jersey. Simple enough. For now, the story would be that Chester gave a friend of a friend-type recommendation. You would loop Chester in on the plan ASAP, when he wasn't preoccupied with helping his mom.

Poe would be called Joe, which sounded a little more run-of-the-mill Earthy, and would be from Florida. The next step was to somehow get him some convincing documents without drawing attention from the wrong people.

This story should be easy enough to maintain. If someone were to question you about Poe's past, you could simply claim to not know, since you truly met him so recently.

Something heavy settled in your stomach as you drove toward the first public outing with this man who fell to earth.

"Look, I'm sorry about the driving thing," he offered, once you'd double checked your story together. "I know we have to be careful. I promise I won't get you in any trouble."

Glancing over at him, you realized this must all be frightening to him, or at least alarming. "It's okay. You must be bored out of your mind on the farm." Pulling into a parking space in the grassy field outside the fair's entrance, you turned to face him. "You don't have to stay in the booth with me all day. You should ride some rides. They're fast. Probably not as fast as an X-wing, but...could be fun."

"Okay. Only if you ride with me."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

To absolutely no one's surprise, Poe was a perfect addition to your booth. Chester was a great help when he was around, but he was more of a behind the scenes worker.

Poe was a people person, charming customers, introducing himself as Joe, as instructed, and making them feel at ease. With the way he was able to add a dozen farm fresh eggs or a jar of your jelly to each order, you were certain he could probably persuade anyone to do anything.

"You know, maybe I should go ride rides, since you've almost sold all the eggs before lunch," you teased during the briefest lull in customers.

Dark eyes went wide until he realized you were messing with him. "Oh...I thought I was doing it wrong for a second."

"No, please. The sooner we sell out, the sooner we can pack up and the less we have to carry home. Be my guest," you grinned, folding your arms over your chest. "Exactly how many dangerous situations have you charmed your way out of?"

Poe laughed, pushing his fingers through his curls again. "Way too many, Trix. You have no idea."

"Oh shit," you whispered, ducking behind the corner of your booth, frantically waving Poe over to join you.

"What's wrong?" He whispered, conspiratorially huddling with you. "Is it someone from the government?"

Shit, you probably scared him. "No. Sorry, no, it's just my ex."

He gazed into your eyes. "Your ex...boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Ex asshole," you failed to clarify, groaning as you realized it was too late. You'd been spotted.

"Heyyyy, it's my favorite organic farmer," you ex boomed, embarrassingly loudly, as he was often prone to do. At one time, you had adored his exuberance and bold personality.

"Hey there," Poe interjected, "what can I help you find today? We have homemade jelly."

Your ex made a sour face at you and hitched his thumb at your new, shorter friend. "Who's this guy?"

"Joe," Poe responded, thrusting his hand between you and your ex for a handshake. "Just started at the farm a few weeks ago, while Chester's away. So what can we get you?"

Ignoring Poe, your ex stared at you, waiting for your attention. Fighting a smile, you returned his rudeness and instead turned to Poe. "I think you've got this covered, so I'm gonna unbox a few more things."

"Take your time. We're good here." Poe sent you off with a wink.

Your heart raced as you darted around the side of your tent, so thankful for the embarrassing situation that didn't just happen. It wasn't that you couldn't take care of yourself, or handle your ex. Hell, you were the one who dumped him. You simply weren't in the mood for his loud mouth and embarrassing antics, especially if he tried to give Poe the third degree for simply existing in the same space as you.

Wondering, for a second, if you felt managed by Poe, or dismissed, you sighed in relief, realizing that his reaction was spot on, and just what you needed. He minimized someone who loved to make everything about himself. He kept the focus on your booth and your products, allowing you to get to tasks that needed your attention.

To be seen and understood so effortlessly felt really good.

Another hour passed before the two of you took a break for lunch, closing your booth for about twenty minutes to sit near the back and munch on some ridiculously fried fair food you insisted Poe try.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

By mid afternoon, you'd sold out of everything except a few greens, but Poe was determined, continuing to sell while you started packing up.

As the sun set, your booth was empty and cleared, leaving the two of you free to enjoy the festivities.

"Thank you so much for today," you sweetly said, bumping shoulders as you walked along rows of various carnival style games. "This is the most successful year I've ever had."

"Happy to help," He smiled over at you, "with getting rid of produce...or ex-boyfriends."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry about that," you chuckled. "I appreciate it though. I was not in the mood to talk to him, believe me."

Poe focused his eyes ahead, enjoying the music drifting through the air, the smell of what you called popcorn and brightly colored balloons. "I thought it would be good practice for getting rid of unwanted attention," he shrugged. Waiting a bit, he added, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

You let out a long sigh, prompting Poe to say, "sorry."

"No, it's okay," you assured him. "We had some good times. He helped out, you know...when my father got sick. But I found out he was going to propose. And then I found out why he wanted to propose."

Poe groaned, "Don't say he wanted your farm."

"Bingo," you remarked, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. "I mean, really, is this 1881 or 1981? He was after my land?"

"I guess there are worse reasons to marry. But I see your point," Poe conceded. "Was he good to you?" He flinched. "Is that okay to ask?"

"He was until he wasn't," you confessed. "Kind of ruined the whole, benevolent 'help my father' thing when I caught him with another woman."

Poe whistled. "Okay, now I have to kick his ass."

That made you laugh. "He's not worth it. Come on, let's ride the ferris wheel."

Less that ten minutes later, you and Poe sat side-by-side in the bucket seat...of the world's slowest ride, apparently.

"What does this thing do?" he questioned. "It's really slow. And goes in a circle. Is that fun in Iowa?"

You burst out laughing, swatting him on the arm. "It's peaceful and kind of magical because it goes up high and you can see the town." You explained this as your gondola climbed to the ferris wheel's highest point.

Poe nodded, taking a moment to enjoy the highest vantage point he'd seen in weeks, since his ship crashed here. Normally, he was used to being up in the air on a daily basis, so this was nothing too special. Until he glanced over and noticed your eyes shining as you gazed out across the festival and surrounding, rural fields.

Peering over the edge, you remarked how high up you were, bouncing with excitement before looking back at Poe, eyes bright and filled with wonder.

"You're right about the view," he said softly, eyes never leaving your face as the ferris wheel slowly brought you back down to earth.

Next you dragged him to a mini roller coaster, promising it would go at least somewhat faster. Hands gripping the safety rails, you squealed in delight as Poe grinned, enjoying the ride almost as much as he loved riding full speed on your horse Annabelle a week ago.

"I'll take you flying someday. Somehow," he promised. You appreciated the gesture, but your heart burned at the faraway look in his eyes. It sobered you to remember, again, that he needed to find a way to get out of here eventually.

"I'll probably embarrass myself and scream or get sick, but I would love to see you in action."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your face heated up. And he noticed.

Leaning closer his eyes dropped to your lips before he smiled knowingly, nodding behind you. "You want to see me in action, let's go."

Brushing past you, he left you a bit speechless until you realized he intended to play a shooting game. With perfect precision, he used rubber darts and a plastic gun to take aim at, and perfectly eliminate yellow duckies in a row, earning some oohs and ahhs from interested onlookers, and the game's attendant.

"Best shootin' I've seen all day, son. Pick a prize from the top row there." The older gentleman pointed up to the row of ridiculously oversized stuffed animals.

Poe grinned at you. "Which one?"

"You won it," you giggled. "You pick."

He chose a gigantic plush lizard.

"For you." He presented it with a dramatic flare.

"Wowww, this is...this is really something. Thank you." You laughed in spite of the weird but oddly cute offering.

"Well you have lots of animals at home, so I thought you might like something different," he explained as you headed for the cotton candy tent. "Besides, all the animals here are really...hairy." He squeezed the giant lizard. "This guy looks more like my galaxy."

"I love it then," you decided. "What should we call him?"

"Toe Dameron," he teased, a twinkle in his brown eyes. "That way, you'll think of me when you hug him."

For the first time in a while, you enjoyed a good belly laugh. "I don't need a giant lizard named Toe to think about you, but okay."

Poe carried Toe Dameron around while you bought some cotton candy, which intrigued him immensely. He gobbled it up quickly, which let both of you know he was actually hungry. So next up was the pizza stand, of which Poe was definitely a fan, polishing off three slices while you sat at a small table with Toe Dameron on the ground beside you.

"A picture for the lovely couple?" A photographer asked, appearing beside your table, with his camera at the ready.

"Uhh, not a couple, and no, actually, it's okay." You waved him off. Digging into your pocket, you gave him a small tip. "Thanks anyway."

"What was that?" Poe asked through a mouthful of pizza.

"Nothing, he just wanted to take our picture - like the ones in my hall, you know? A photograph?"

Poe nodded, polishing off his meal.

"But, even though I would love to have a picture with you, I just think it could be dangerous. Better to keep a low profile."

"Right, good thinking." Glancing around, the idea that he was an unwelcome guest on planet Earth seemed to sober him. "You're sure it's safe to be here?"

"Yes, it's fine," you assured him.

Hoping to cheer him up, you took him to a very spinny, very fast ride that he loved. But as soon as it ended, you both realized what a terrible idea it was to ride the spinning ride after eating a ton of pizza.

"Ready to go?"

Poe was gazing past you again, as he'd been doing all day, his interest piqued by every different or similar thing to his home galaxy.

This time, his ears perked up at the sound of live music and his eyes gazed at couples dancing on a makeshift dance floor.

"Come on," he urged, taking you by the hand. "Dance with me."

"Oh...okay," you smiled at his exuberance. Poe was so full of life, so interested in every little thing.

Swallowing down any trepidation you felt about making a fool of yourself on the dance floor, you eased into an embrace with him, swaying to a medium tempo song, getting used to the feel of one another.

The song cadenced and the beat kicked off a lively tune, which delighted Poe. He took the lead, guiding you through steps that were probably not of this world, but seemed to make sense. He certainly had a good sense of rhythm and was no stranger to dancing.

You slightly stumbled once, but he steadied you with his palm spread across your back. "Just follow me, I've got you." He smiled brilliantly, giving you a twirl and guiding you around to his opposite side, before somehow doing the same thing in reverse. You weren't sure how he managed it, but it was fun and you found yourself laughing and relaxing all the way through the end of the song.

The music slowed into a couples' dance, so you stepped back to give Poe an out, but he held out his hand. "One more?"

You smiled sweetly at him in spite of yourself, taking his hand as he pulled you close, somehow still keeping time even with the slow tempo.

"Is this okay?" He breathed against your cheek, arm cinching you closer even as he asked permission.

"Yeah...it's okay. You're a good dancer," you breathlessly whispered on his ear. "Which isn't surprising. You're good at everything."

"Thank you," he granted you a sincere reply, which you appreciated. "We danced a lot growing up. Not exactly like this but...anyway."

Easing back, you gazed at him questioningly. "What is it?"

He gently smiled, eyes fixing on yours. "Nothing. I just...I haven't had a day like this in years. A day off, to have fun and dance and eat and laugh." He sighed, peering up at the night sky. "I think this is one of the best days I've ever had."

"Really?" You gasped, surprised and touched, honestly.

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes finding yours again. "Really. I think maybe Iowa is a special place."

That made you laugh.

"Or maybe it's because you're here." His arms wrapped all the way around you now, palm pressing along the curve of your back.

You reached up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Bet you say that on every planet you land on."

"Maybe, maybe not. But there's definitely only one Trix."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

thanks to @silvernight-m for the names-that-rhyme-with-Poe exchange and @reallyrallyauthor for pointing out that many animals in Star Wars world are reptilian

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Follow @ivystoryupdates and turn on notifications to never miss an update

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my tag list

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

real life. l Joel Miller

Summary: maybe this was the life you were both waiting for

Warnings: some sad, but a lot of fluff, some smut at the end (+18), worries; Ellie and Tommy mention, mention of pregnancy

A/N: I'm very glad that you received the previous chapter so well. I think many of us are waiting for a happy ending. This chapter is something different, I hope you'll be gentle with me. I've seen lately that many new people are reading this series. I'd love to know what you think.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

He saw her again, she was just as he remembered her. For the first time in a long time, he dreamed of her differently. More alive, happier.

He was home again, and everything was as it should be, and she was there too. Damn, he could feel her so well as if she was really standing right next to him. A smile lit up her face, she gazed at him with feistiness but also love.

"She's waiting for you in the garden." Sarah said.

He looked out the window and saw a familiar silhouette. You were standing in the middle of the lawn, your face turned to the sun, so beautiful. He smiled and looked back at his daughter.

"She'll understand. She understands everything." he replied, stroking the girl's cheek. "I miss you so much, baby girl."

"I know." she snuggled into his hand, narrowing her eyes. "I'll always be here for you."

Sometimes he dreamed of Sarah as a little child, sometimes you were with them and everything seemed so natural, so normal, like it was a life he had experienced. Joel couldn't remember when he had started dreaming like that, but he didn't want to think about it. A soothing feeling filled him and he felt lighter.

"So I can count on you? Joel?"

"What?" he looked at her a little confused.

"You seem a little distracted." Hazel smiled. "I asked if you'd come over and take a look at the sink."

He didn't quite remember what they were talking about. It was a nice day, warm and sunny. Joel had just left the Tipsy Bison where he'd met Tommy and was about to join you across the street where you were shopping, when Hazel stopped him. And even though the woman was talking to him, his eyes and thoughts kept wandering to you.

He noticed you talking to the woman behind the counter. There was something about your movements, something that caught his attention. Joel couldn't help himself lately and often, when he watched you, he realized one thing - you were carrying his child. That thought consumed him completely.

“I’ll send Barry over to you, he’ll handle it,” he said finally, giving Hazel a quick look.

The woman had a disappointed look on her face. “I’d rather you handle this. I trust you.”

His gaze wandered back to you, you were putting bread and some fruit in the basket. "And I trust Barry. He'll show up today."

And before Hazel could answer, he headed across the street.

He entered the store before you could even realize it, nodded to the woman behind the cash register and quickly reached for the basket, almost ripping it out of your hand.

"Jesus! Joel." You sighed, rolling your eyes. "You scared me."

"You shouldn't be lifting." He muttered quietly so the saleswoman wouldn't hear.

"It's not that heavy. Come on."

"No." He grabbed it tighter and placed his other hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the building. "I hope your stubbornness isn't genetic, because I'm going to go completely gray because of you."

He did it again. Completely unconsciously. You didn't talk much about the baby or the pregnancy. Joel was relieved that you didn't insist on taking part in the patrols, but you still didn't talk much about it. Less than two weeks had passed, everything was still fresh.

"Let her get used to it. She's been through a lot, and now this." Tommy said when Joel confided in him about the situation between you "She must be scared."

“I know.” Joel nodded. “But I can’t stop thinking it’s my fault. I want her to know I’m there for her.”

It was a quiet evening. Rain was lightly pattering against the windowsill, and you were curled up on the couch, reading a book you found in the Jackson library. Ellie managed to get out of the house before the rain started, and the place fell silent. Until.

You didn't recognize it at first, but soon your keen ear caught the first notes. The old record player you had in the hallway was playing music. You turned around and saw Joel.

"I found this a while ago. It's old, but maybe you'll like it." he said, and then he walked up to you, extending his hand to you "Will you dance with me, babe?"

It's been raining since you left me Now I'm drowning in the flood You see, I've always been a fighter But without you, I give up

You wordlessly grabbed his hand, letting him pull you into his solid body. Warm lips brushed your temple as you slid your fingers through the hair that fell to the back of his neck. You swayed gently to the rhythm of the next words.

I'll be there 'til the stars don't shine 'Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind And I'll love you, always

"I know you're scared. I am too." His quiet voice echoed in your ear. "But we're in this together."

"What if I can't handle it? What if I'm not cut out to be a mother?" you asked quietly.

These questions must have been worrying you for a long time, because Joel felt your voice tremble. He hugged you tighter so that you could feel his heartbeat.

"You're already doing everything to keep him safe. I know what you're like. You'll be the best mother to him. Or her."

What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair To touch your lips, to hold you near When you say your prayers, try to understand I've made mistakes, I'm just a man

He heard your quiet sobbing and his heart skipped a beat. You'd buried all your fears and worries so deeply that only now did Joel realize what you had to deal with. If he was afraid of whether you'd be safe, then you had to create this child and give birth to it. 

He remembered when Sarah was little, he remembered the sleepless nights and colic when he spent hours massaging her belly and she cried. He remembered when her teeth were coming out, or when she first got sick. But the world was different then.

"I'm with you on this, baby. I give myself completely to you. Remember that. You’re not alone."

If you told me to cry for you, I could If you told me to die for you, I would Take a look at my face There's no price I won't pay To say these words to you

You woke up feeling his hand on your belly, under your shirt tenderly lying where new life should be hidden. The quiet snoring was evidence that Joel was doing it unconsciously.

Ever since you found out about the pregnancy, you felt fear above all. You knew that Joel was on your side, that Ellie was delighted. Recently, even Tommy quietly mentioned that if you needed anything, he and Maria were ready to lend a helping hand. The people closest to you were with you, but fear settled in your heart and wouldn't leave you.

You never saw yourself as a mother. Or maybe you never had the opportunity to consider such a situation? God only knew. And then Joel and Ellie appeared on your path, your life took on new colors. You were no longer lonely, you had them. And although it wasn't always nice, although there were also difficult moments, you were together. So maybe now it all made sense too?

You turned gently and looked at Joel's sleeping face. The wrinkle between his eyebrows seemed softer to you, you saw all the small wrinkles on his face too, the gray hair intertwined with the darker ones, the lips that you adored so much.

You loved him. You were as sure of it as the fact that the sun rose every morning. This guy was your everything and most importantly - he wanted everything with you.

You gently touched his cheek, Joel quivered. Old habits are hard to break. You smiled, stroking his stubbled cheek and feeling his hand now resting on your lower back move slightly.

A quiet groan escaped his chest. "Go to sleep."

"I can't." you replied quietly. "You snore terribly."

He lifted his eyelid slightly, looking at you indignantly. "I don't snore."

"Yes, you do."

Joel sighed and turned onto his back, rubbing his face with his hand. He sighed when he felt you snuggle up to him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He liked mornings like this, although he deliberately pretended to be grumpy.

Your warm body lying so close to his, your soft skin. Damn, he loved it all.

"Joel?" your voice was still hoarse from sleep, but he heard it clearly.

"Mhmm." he mumbled without even opening his eyes.

"I was thinking..." you started and suddenly moved, before Joel could react you were already lying on him with your arms resting on either side of his head. He opened his eyes slightly and waited. "I was thinking that since I can't be more pregnant, then..."

"Stop right there." he mumbled, placing his hands on your hips "You'll be more pregnant. You'll be much bigger, darling."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Okay, but what I mean is... I meant that if you wanted to, maybe we could... You know." you made a small circle with your hips and felt his manhood twitch. You smiled mischievously.

"Christ!" Joel moaned "You're serious."

You nodded, your messy hair falling over your face. "You know, now you can finish inside me without worry. You can't knock me up any more..."

He frowned and looked at you seriously. "You're not kidding?"

You shook your head. "It's been a while. After all this happened... I miss you. Your closeness..."

"Fuck, I miss you too." He replied and lifted his head, capturing your lips in his.

It was one of those kisses when you were happy and horny at the same time. You kissed him back in an instant and soon your tongues were tangled and his strong hands were gripping your buttocks tighter. 

Damn, he wanted you like never before. Not only because you haven't had sex since you saw the two lines on the test, let's be honest - sex wasn't on your mind then, but now a lot of things between you have become clear and even more bonds have been created that have connected you to each other.

You wanted to feel him with your whole being, you wanted to make love to Joel and show how much he meant to you, but also to feel the same love from him. 

His warm skin beneath your fingertips, the soft groans that filled the bedroom in the early morning… Yes, this was real life. And while you might as well have been stranded in the middle of nowhere with him, you were tangled in the sheets with Joel, moaning softly as he moved inside you. Gently at first, like he was afraid he might hurt you.

"You won't break me, Joel. I'm all yours."

That was enough for him. His movements were strong and decisive. He thrust in and out of you, taking your breath away. Your body submitted to him, and he took and gave at the same time.

And then, as you collapsed next to each other, trying to calm your breathing and your racing hearts, Joel thought he had never felt so alive around anyone before.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[tactical-jellyfish]

The Mistakes That Have Been Made

Part Four <3 This is where shit will get GNARLY, lovelies, so mind the gap (between Reader and their three awful boyfriends [not counting Gary, obv])

Warnings!: Angst, angst, and more angst. Reader will be MAD sad for most of this. Poorly-practiced, unhealthy polyamory. Reader will experience a LOT of gender and body dysphoria over the course of this (though I will do my best to keep it gender-neutral throughout, bear with me), but there WILL be comfort over that.

You're comfortable there, in that bathroom.

Gary, even after he's wiped you down, treats you gentle. Sits you up in your own little corner and has you sip on some water as he showers in one of the stalls.

It felt nice, just letting yourself cool back off, but not really being on your own.

Gary was very kind with you.

Should bring him food, some part of your lizard brain supplies, he looked like he was struggling a little his last set.

With the new mission in mind (and a spare* hoodie that Gary keeps in his gym bag), you knock on the shower wall to alert him that you're leaving, and shove your phone from your own bag into your pocket without even taking a glance at it.

The calmer, almost content feeling abandons you as soon as you open the door and spot Gaz walking into the gym room.

Of course, his hazel eyes catch onto you, and of course (because you really can't catch a fucking break), he trots over.

He doesn't greet you as he typically does, not with a sweet endearment and a firm hug. Instead, you're met with an appraising, almost judgy glance–knowing Gaz, he probably is judging you–and a cocked brow.

"Didn't pick up your phone before you showered?"

The question rings out to you, but you know he's not all that in your answer. It's not a warning, but a reminder that Gaz has never been the most patient. He's never liked to wait.

"Haven't checked it in a couple days, actually."

You impart in kind, crossing your arms over your chest for your own sake. You really don't want to have any face-downs today. You'd been feeling so good before.

He looks you up and down once more. It feels like his eyes peel your skin back, taking in the appearance of the ugly, squishy bits inside you before he clicks his tongue and steps back a bit.

"Right then. Just so you know, Johnny's right miffed with you. Told me you were being a prick last night. You know why?"

You hate this. You hate this so much. You would have never signed up for this if you knew It would be so draining.

Soap who couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to treat you like a partner, Gaz who seemed to want to cut your head off every time tension arose, and Ghost. The romantic equivalent of an absent father you only see on Christmas or birthdays.

Maybe you're letting the anxiety of the last few days talk. Maybe it's rash (no, it's definitely rash), but you can't handle a second more of this.

"Yeah, I was, sorry." You pause, before just coming out with the rest of it: "I'm thinking about cutting off this... thing. Thought you should know."

Ooh. Spoken with tact. Good job. Your own thoughts mock, but the very worst part of this is that Gaz seems to finally snap out of whatever haze he was caught in. His face twists, and your stomach twists with it as you watch his brows pinch and hear his voice quiet.

"...What? Love, you can't-"

You've pushed him to the back foot now, and it feels horrendous. So, you try to harness the grossness you always feel when he touches you, the aching emptiness of your room when you hear Soap on top of Gaz.

Or the knowledge that Soap and Ghost stay with him longer than they ever have you.

You were too green, too new to the team and too stupid to remember that of course the others wouldn't offer too much. But something between waking up from emergency surgery alone and making friends with the guy who dragged you away from death's door made you open your eyes to it.

"It's fine. Not your fault, just my mistake."

"Mistake, what do you even mean mistake? We were supposed to be partners. You're supposed to be my partner, luv, can you not see that-"

"You're not missing out on much, don't worry. I can't fuck anybody for at least another week anyway."

"What the bloody fuck are you talking about?"

The door to the bathroom opens behind you at maybe the worst moment in history, revealing Gary, still a little damp-haired from the shower. His boots squeak against the floor as he pauses in his step, watching the conversation confusedly.

Gaz's eyes widen, and before you can stop him, he's giving you the nastiest glare you've got in your life, spitting words like venom.

"Oh, so that's why you've been so distant, huh?"

Words choke and tangle in your throat as you look forward at him, watch the resentment in his eyes undoubtedly grow into a bruning hatred.

"It's not-" You try to start, but you never get to finish.

"No no, I get it. Must be real hard hiding how much of a slag you are from the team, yeah?"

You're not sure if you want to punch him or cry out of anger. You end up doing neither, clenching your hands into fists to avoid dishing out pain.

Gary looks confused, and you lack the control to hold any amount of civility anymore. He didn't need to be involved with this.

You didn't want Gary to think you were some sort of slut. Not him.

"I had an appendectomy, you stupid prick! Days ago, if you really wanna know"

You've never been one to raise your voice. It feels rude, but when Gaz quiets, there's nothing to be done but go in for the kill.

"You didn't pick up. I could have died in a bathroom stall because you were so busy that you couldn't check your phone and help me."

Gary puts his hand on your shoulder as you step forward, silently talking you back from wailing on Gaz in the middle of the gym.

When you look back, he signs to you.

There's time for that later.

You grit your teeth, but nod, offering a simple affirmative sign in return before turning back to Gaz with venom on your tongue.

"Fuck you. If I see your face before the end of my break, I'll make sure no one ever calls you pretty again, hear me?"

He could beat the shit out of you. But he doesn't. Gaz looks... upset. You can't muster sympathy right now.

"Break?"

Gaz questions, quiet-voiced and not quite looking you in the eyes.

"Yeah, the brass gives you breaks after fuckin' surgery, numb-nuts. Might as well take it if I've got it, right?"

You're verbally shoving his face into the curb, grinding your boots down on his throat. It feels better than you thought it would, finally just letting it all out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Gary packed an extra hoodie because you seemed to like them. He's a little sad you didn't get to enjoy it too much. He has a feeling he might have more work to do for you to feel that comfortable again. (P.s. really just need to get it out of my drafts at this point, looking at it makes me sick now. So, enjoy what you can. Take it, my children.)

[thedelicatearcher]

Hii I think that finnick was the middle child, how you said something about him trying to stand out and enjoying the perks of being the youngest, but why add happy stuff when he can not have them😀 also I think for a family he has a father that got into a serious accident and can't work, his mother saw him in his father after the accident and became a creepy toxic boy mom. You know how they are, they get obsessed with their sons and hate their gfs (poor annie) and say shut like (Beings boy mom feels like the slowest breakup " and yeah shit like this. He has two brothers and two sisters and he's exactly in the middle. The kids have to work so they could have money and finnick was accepted into the career academy with a scholarship, his little brother, who is in my hc in Annie's friendgroup and has a situationship with her best friend, also had one but managed to stay for more than the 3 years it provided bc of finnicks victory money. Finnick went from unnoticed to being the star, including in his family. Sorry for yapping hope I'm not annoying <3

anon you're definitely not annoying!! i love reading other people's interpretations of finnick. it's so refreshing that even after YEARS since the movies and the books came out, i'm still reading new takes.

i agree. being the middle child between many siblings also fits him, but you're evil for taking away his younger sibling's privileges (jk!!). i can only imagine what finnick felt. the urge to stand out among his many siblings, getting so obsessed with it to the point he wants to volunteer for the games just to be the only victor in his family. 

also, him being the victim of a creepy, toxic boy mom makes me want to vomit😭 poor little finnick wouldn’t have peace, not even in his own home. maybe that would be one of the reasons he would want to volunteer: to escape his house and the guilt and manipulation that comes with living there.

i think this situation could mirror katniss'. a dad that unfortunately passed away in an accident, and a mom who has such visceral reactions that end up shaping their kids behavior. while katniss goes out into the woods to hunt and bring food for her family, finnick is gone most of the day to avoid being at home. when he’s not working, he finds informal ways to train, like sparring with the air using a large wooden stitch he found near a tree, or practicing catching fish with made up spears.

i like your idea of how he ends up with a scholarship to the training academy, but it’s already so ingrained in my mind the angst that comes with finnick being a naive kid victim of capitol’s propaganda in a career district, who ends up volunteering during the reaping before anyone else could. (even though it might  not make complete sense).

he used to sit down and watch reruns of older games on the tv, feeling nauseous from the horribly graphic violence, but powering through it and trying to think of strategies that would work for him. maybe his older siblings catch him and tease him endlessly, only fueling his desire to go and prove them wrong.

i can definitely see him going to mags’ door, the kindest district 4 victor he can think of, kindly introducing himself to her, and asking her tons of questions about the games. mags tries to persuade him not to volunteer, but he’s so fixated on standing out that he can only picture the pride he will bring his family when he ends up winning his games.