#sorry about this. it will probably happen again

[emilys-bangs]

heaven is a place on earth with you | e.p

Tags: shy!hotch's assistant!reader, soft emily, just fluff, first date, one singular use of honey because emily is down bad, first kiss <3, emily being an absolute GENTLEMAN, reader gets treated so right, no use of yn

Summary: Emily asks you out on a date and gives you the first glimpse of something new. Requested here.

Word count: 1.2k

You suspect that Emily Prentiss has a soft spot for you. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to think—an even more ridiculous thing to believe—but most evidence you’ve gathered points to that exact conclusion. She gives you soft smiles and softer touches; more often than not, there’s a sweet nickname on her tongue to replace your name. Flirting is beyond her, thankfully—you don’t think you could handle that without turning into a ball of flame—but gentle teasing is not, her ribbing undeniably more tender than what she doles out to the rest of the team. 

And, the most prominent piece of proof:

“A date.” You echo softly. The thought makes your pulse speed up, thudding so hard beneath your skin you fear that Emily could hear it from where she leans over your desk. She nods, her face carefully smoothed out of any emotion, but her eyes give her away, the softened tilt of her lids turning them all the more doe-like.

“Yeah. If you’d like to.”

Of course you’d like to. You’d like to do a lot of things with her, most of which bring a flame to your cheeks. You’ve never felt this way before about someone, especially not someone like her, but it’s not her gender that scares you, nor what it means that you desperately want to feel her feminine soft curves up against your body. You’re just…achingly you, and she’s achingly Emily. Briefly you wonder if she’s messing with you.

“A non platonic date?”

Emily draws her bottom lip into her mouth, the soft pink of her tongue pressing it in before letting it go, shiny with color. “Very non platonic,” she confirms gently. Her eyes study you, no doubt taking in the hitch of your breath—and probably mistaking it for some other emotion, because she quickly backtracks. “I totally get it if you don’t want to, just say the word and we can just forget this ever—”

“I want to.”

Emily’s face clears. “You do?” She breathes, a smile teasing the corners of her lips. “Really? You’re not saying that just to spare my poor feelings?”

“Really,” you say, a hot glow warming you up from the inside. Emily is looking at you with far too much affection; you drop your eyes and fiddle with a random pen. “Besides, you don’t really spare my poor feelings half the time, why would I spare yours?”

Even without looking up, you hear the incredulity in her voice. “What? Honey”—your heart flutters at the pet name—“I have the highest regard for your feelings. Promise.” She says solemnly.

“You’re doing it again.” You mumble, looking up to catch her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Oh. It’s the—?” She gestures vaguely with her hand. You nod, chest warming at her out of place awkwardness. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, “I’m sorry—”

“No. Really, don’t, I—” You like it. You like her, and it makes your whole body thrum. Swallowing, you drop the pen, glad at least that this conversation is happening in the sanctuary of your office. “I’ve never done this before.” You admit softly, because it’s Emily. You’re safe with her. “A date, I mean. With…with a woman,” you shrug, not looking at her. There’s no doubt in your mind that Emily is well experienced in romantic affairs. The truth is, women or otherwise, you’re just not. A few tries, most of them mediocre, had convinced you to stop wasting your time. And besides, it’s not like people often ask.

When you chance a look at Emily, her mellow smile soothes the fast paces of your heart. Her voice is velvet smooth as she draws patterns on the surface of your desk, her fingertips occasionally skimming yours—ever so slightly. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?” She asks gently.

Not messing with you, you decide. Probably too late, but you can’t really care.

“No. Please don’t make me pick,” your tongue darts across your lips. “Anywhere is fine.”

Emily winks. You go boneless.

“You got it.”

____

She takes you to a botanical garden.

You’re more overwhelmed by her than you are by the flowers. The feeling has been steadily growing ever since she showed up at your door, tender gentility and a nervous smile and a bouquet of flowers, her voice lilting when she said, I think these might be a little too on the nose. You hadn’t known what she’d meant, but you were too endeared to try to figure it out. Now you smile. On the nose or not, Emily Prentiss is something else.

It hadn’t stopped there. There was her hand on the small of your back, her fingers around the car door handle as she pulled it open for you, her compliments shining down on you like the fading glow of a sunset. It’s not a side of her you’re entirely unused to, but the intimacy of an open setting with just the two of you made it hit hard on your cheeks.

“I thought you might prefer walking around,” Emily says when you stay quiet, trying to swallow the ball of emotion in your throat. “We could go somewhere else if you don’t want to—”

“Emily.” You cut her off before she can spiral. “Stop. It’s—it’s perfect. Really. Couldn’t have picked it better myself.” Your voice is soft with overwhelm, hands warming at your sides.

Emily’s smile is incandescent. “Okay,” she breathes out, clearly relieved, “if you’re sure.”

You nod, unable to help smiling back. When her hand returns to the small of your back you lean into it, both relieved and disappointed that she doesn’t reach for your hand.

She knows about flowers. Of course she does—murmuring in your ear about the symbolism of daffodils, the various meanings of all the colors of roses, the Persian legend of the red tulip. It takes the spotlight off of you, and before you know it you’re relaxing at her side, any tension broken as the two of you bend to sniff flowers, their scent sweet and fragrant under the sun.

When she offers you a fallen marigold, petals gently rumpled and bent, her smile hidden beneath its orange halo, you beam back unrestrained. She idly mentions it’s the October birth flower, and when you lean in, lips to her cheek, you surprise even yourself. You miss the mark by a bit, catching the corner of her mouth in your haste.

Emily’s eyes go wide. They glitter under the sun, crinkling at the corners when she grins brightly, dimples digging deep. She doesn’t mention it for the rest of the day out of courtesy for your poor nerves, but a smile never strays far from her lips. You take comfort—and a tiny swell of pride—at the way her cheeks color a light pink.

When you try again later that night, back to your front door, your mouth finds hers with careful precision. Emily smiles into the kiss, cupping your jaw with a reverent hand. You taste flowers on her lips.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[l-starsz]

Billie convincing reader to let her eat her pussy on her period

I'm inlove with your fics, you're such a damn good writer 🫶🏽🫶🏽

a/n: this probably isn’t great because i’m SOOO tired and my head is pounding rn but i hope it’s good at least🥲 and thank you so much ml!! i’m so sorry this took ages for me to write🫶

billie and i were laying in bed together, watching a movie. her back was resting against the comfy pillows on our bed, whilst my back was resting against her front. i was sat between her legs, and her hands were lightly resting against my thighs. we were both intrigued in the movie, or so i thought. whilst i was watching, and keeping up with the storyline, billies hands began to wander. they roamed up my stomach, cupping my boobs gently, before moving down again to this time, rest against my inner thighs.

i really tried to focus on the movie, but i just couldn't with her hands all over me. i knew nothing could happen, i was on my period, which meant that i had to wait a few more days until she could touch me. i'd been so horny. i was desperate for her, but we both knew that nothing could be done about it. well, she could fix my horniness, but i felt bad for asking her to do that when i was on my period. so i waited, and somehow put up with the feeling of being unbearably horny almost all day, every day.

soon enough, i felt her pressing light kisses behind my ear, down my neck, before lightly whispering in my ear.

"can i try something, baby?"

i slightly turned in her arms so that i could see her face, before answering her in a hushed tone.

"and what would that be, hm bil?"

"please can i taste you?"

my eyebrows furrowed and i looked away as i wondered why she was even asking. she knew i was on my period. she'd practically been taking care of me for the last few days. grabbing me a hot water bottle, or holding me in her arms whenever my cramps worsened. getting me whatever food i wanted when i was craving something. making sure i was drinking plenty of water. she really was the best. i just didn't understand why she was asking this now.

"i.. baby, you know i'm still on my period."

"i know.. i just can't wait!! i want to taste you please, love. i'll do anything."

i hesitated slightly. what if i made a mess, and then she got mad? what if i didn't taste good? she must have noticed the look on my face because she began speaking again.

"if you're not comfortable with this, then we don't have to do it. but i promise you that you don't need to overthink it, there should be no what if's filling your mind. you know i love you no matter what. i think you're the most perfect girl in the world."

how did she know?

it was like she could read my mind.

"pleaseeee? pinky promise i'll take great care of you, angel. just like always. pretty please?"

if i hadn't been so horny for the last few days, i probably would've said no, but that side of my brain just took over. i needed her so so bad. i reminded myself that she would always love me. this wasn't going to change that. she wanted this just as much as i did.

"if i say yes, can you put a towel down? you know.. just in case?" i mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

"of course, angel. whatever makes you feel the most comfortable." she answered me, placing soft kisses on my forehead.

once i'd spent a short amount of time thinking about it, i looked back into her eyes and nodded.

"i need you billie."

she just smirked at my words, before sitting me up slightly so that she could move from behind me, and settle in between my legs instead.

it didn't take her long to leave the room and grab a towel, folding it slightly and placing it underneath me. she sat on her knees at first, slowly pulling my pyjamas and underwear down so that she had the perfect view of me. once our clothes had been discarded in a messy pile on the floor, she leaned down to lay on her stomach, getting even closer to my core. i let out a needy whine when all she did was lightly blow against my pussy.

she could already see how wet i was. i hadn't told her about how needy id been for the past few days, but i think that as soon as she caught a glance of how wet i was, she immediately realised. she didn't bother to waste any more time, diving straight in. her tongue ran a long stripe up my pussy, before focusing on my clit. she was trying to get me wetter, it wasn't like she needed me to be wetter, she just wanted to tease. i reached my hands down to grab her hair, pulling her impossibly closer to my core in an attempt to get her to move faster.

we both knew that i was already pretty sensitive because of how long i'd needed this, so it wouldn't take her long to get me close, which was why she was trying to drag it out as much as possible. she wanted me to last as long as i could.

her tongue flicked my clit, before licking and slurping, just doing as much as she could to bring me pleasure. after what felt like an eternity, she finally moved to push her tongue inside of me. she worked her tongue against my tight walls as they squeezed against her. my orgasm was approaching fast, and my arousal must have been dripping all over the lower half of her face. at that point, i'd completely forgot that i was on my period, and i think billie had forgotten too. we were both too focused on me finishing.

i was so close, and to add to the pleasure, she pressed her fingers on my clit, quickly rubbing circles against it, making my moans as loud as they could get. i couldn't hold it any longer. no matter how hard i tried, i was too desperate.

"billie! baby, can i cum for you? please?" i moaned out.

"that's ittt." she praised, "cum for me, my love."

as soon as i heard those words, my orgasm hit me. my moans and cries were broken whilst i let the feeling consume me. my back was arching off the bed, and my hands were still tangled in billies hair, gripping onto it tight to ground myself slightly.

as i started to come down from my high, my grip loosened on her hair, and i felt one of her hands gently rubbing my stomach to help me calm down. when i finally flopped against the bed, trying to catch my breath, billie pulled her face away from me, looking into my eyes with a proud smile. all i could see was a mixture of my arousal, and blood dripping down her chin and coating her lips.

my cheeks turned red and i covered my face, embarrassed even though i knew billie was just happy that she'd made me feel good.

i didn't even notice her come closer to my face until i felt her carefully grabbing my wrists to pry my hands away from my face, and i heard her pretty voice.

"don't be embarrassed, angel. can i go clean you up now?"

"please." i nodded and thanked her, allowing myself to be lifted up in her arms, my head resting on my shoulder out of exhaustion.

once we took a long shower, and pampered each other, it was time for us to get back in bed and watch movies for the rest of the day, enjoying each others company just like usual.

[idrawtooslow]

I've expanded the instructions I gave for apologizing into a detailed listicle. I hope it'll be helpful. Some of the points, however, are very specific to the English language.

1. Don't explain what happened, it will sound like you're justifying your actions. And because of the way our brains work, you're likely to actually start justifying your actions. At that point, you're no longer apologizing. Remind yourself that the apology needs to have priority right now, and that there will be time later to identify causes and solutions.

2. Be specific, or at least use more words than "I'm sorry." "Sorry" is used so often as a polite noise, nearly meaningless, that it's difficult to be sincere, or even sound sincere when using it for a formal apology. Again, this ties into what @theconcealedweapon wrote: we're trained to say "sorry" when we don't mean it, so that becomes the core of the word's meaning, without our even realizing it. And if you're Australian, it gets even worse!

Personally, I use "I apologize" or "My apologies," or in dire circumstances, "Please accept my apology." This allows me to break my conditioning and focus on my genuine contrition, as well as making it clear to others that I'm taking the apology seriously.

3. Apologize for what you did, and absolutely NOT how it made someone feel. The latter is often used for manipulation.

Other things not to apologize for:

that the consequences of your actions happened

what you don't like about the person or group you're apologizing to

being right

being better than the people you're apologizing to

allegedly not having any idea what you're supposed to be apologizing for

...you'd think all this would go without saying, but it can be subtler than you might expect, and sometimes we do it without thinking, because we picked it up as children, from the nastier adults around us.

Instead, take a moment to focus on what you did, and how to describe it clearly in a way that accepts your fault and/or responsibility for the situation. Again, don't bring anything else into the apology, lest you make it seem less of an apology. People are so used to hearing the above crap from unrepentant people, that they will not give you the benefit of the doubt.

4. Watch your tone of voice. This is actually two separate points.

First, yet another thing we unconsciously pick up as children is the obviously sarcastic mock apology. It's not always a bad thing, it can be a joke or a verbal gesture, but you have to make sure you don't let that habit find its way into a genuine apology, and ruin it. This is where the bit about "Say it like you mean it" comes from. The easiest way to say it like you mean it is to mean it. See next paragraph.

Second, if you can't be respectful and express regret, you shouldn't be apologizing just yet. You're not ready. Leave the art of convincingly faking an apology to the con artists and cult leaders. You will probably need to just keep your mouth shut for a while. Acknowledge (to yourself) the possibility that you might change your mind later. In some rare cases, it may be possible to tell people, "I'm not ready to apologize just yet," but don't count on it.

5. (optional) If necessary and you can do it honestly, either characterize what you did, or agree with others' characterization of it, or promise to/ask how to not do it again, or multiple of the above. Say that it was wrong or inappropriate or a failure or whatever. Name people who called you out, say they were right, and repeat what they said about what you're apologizing for. If you promise not to do it again, don't pivot to talking about how great you will be in the future, keep it focused on the apology.

This might be a bit too much for less dire apologies, and you may not be able to manage this if you apologize the minute you can bring yourself to be sincere, but otherwise, you can build yourself some credibility by immediately seeking to improve yourself and make sure that YOU never do whatever-it-was again. It's more for privately apologizing to your direct supervisor, or to a friend.

On the other hand, beware of doing this if you're the authority figure, or are apologizing to a large group, because politicians routinely pivot away from making actual apologies by making big promises for the future. People are wise to this, though, and your whole apology is liable to be dismissed as bullshit if you try to use it for self-promotion.

So many people seem completely unaware of what a genuine apology is.

And that's because children are forced to say sorry on command.

Before they ever had a chance to process what they did, why they did it, what effect it had on others, or what they should have done instead, they're expected to say that they're sorry. And they're expected to "say it like you mean it" with no indication of what that even means and with no time to figure out how to phrase it correctly.

Sometimes, even when the child's actions are justified by any logical reasoning, they're expected to apologize because an authority figure demands it.

The goal of saying sorry ends up being solely to avoid punishment. And they phrase the apology in whatever way the authority figure will accept.

The result is an entire society filled with people who give completely useless apologies that appear like they're only trying to avoid punishment.

[postracehair]

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

__

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

__

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

[mylovescara]

ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮♡

𝘤𝘸; 𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐!! 𝘨𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘺!𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰, 𝘴𝘶𝘣!𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰

choso sat in front of you his huge bulge showing through his slacks his hands fidgeting with a bashful look on his face “I-i don't know what's wrong with me… I was just daydreaming a-and this happened...” he says referring to his very obvious bulge

You look at the way he is looking away and can immediately tell he was not just “daydreaming” but alas you can tell he hasn’t a clue why his cock is hard and leaking in his pants “It’s ok Choso I’ll help that’s why am here ok?” you wonder why you were his first choice to call for help, he probably knew this wasn’t a situation where he could call Yuji or anyone else but why you?

Choso’s eyes lighten up when you say you'll help him and he finally makes eye contact “… really?” you nod and start to move closer to him “Can I touch you choso? Let me help you feel better sweetie” he gives you a verbal confirmation and you lean in putting your hand over his clothed cock eliciting a gasp from him.

“t-this feels…different,” he says confused having never felt these feelings before not knowing why all he can think about is how pretty you would look undressed, he bites his lip as you unzip his pants and start slowly rubbing your hand up and down his cock the thin layer of his underwear making it feel as if there’s no barrier between your hand at all.

“G-God…d-don’t stop” you chuckle knowing you haven’t even done much yet and he’s already so worked up “Choso, can I take it out?” He nods his head frantically wanting nothing more then to feel your warm hands bare on him, as soon as you pull the band of his boxer down his hard erection springs out standing upwards at your attention.

You slowly start moving your hand up and down his cock causing more precum to spill from his redden tip “a-ah! fuck…y/n” he bites his lip and starts moving his hips subconsciously thrusting his cock in your hand “you getting close Choso?” He nods his head moans flying out his mouth not able to even realise all the sound he’s making.

“I-I feel like I’m about t-to explode..!” you start moving your hand faster and Choso can’t help but be restless, his body has never felt this kind of pleasure before and he doesn’t know how to handle it, it’s making him feel light-headed and confused at the same time the feeling of it being to overstimulating but not wanting it to stop.

“I-its g-gonna come out…!” choso not knowing what's about to happen throws his head back letting out a cacophony of moans as he shoots his cum all over your hand, his cock throbbing as he continues to cum for another 15 seconds painting your hand white going to show how bad he needed this.

you continue moving your hand letting him ride out the last couple seconds of his orgasm before he grabs your hand to stop it “p-please…t-to much” he can't help but have a submissive look on his face, drool spilling down the corner of his lips and tears brimming his eyes.

You smile and bring your clean hand up to his face stroking his cheek wiping the stray tears off his face “Choso did you enjoy it?” he nods slowly feeling embrassed once again as he avoids eye contact, you bring a kiss to his cheek and put his softening erection back in his pants for him.

“….thank you” he mumbles not knowing what to say to fucked out to think of words “if you ever need my help again don't hesitate ok?” he smiles slightly at your words knowing hell have to take you up on that offer.

y'all I'm so sorry for not posting for like 5 years sometimes I just icba 💔

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

[moonstruckme]

Inspired by this adorable fic by @inkdrinkerworld <3

cw: hospital, mention of surgery, reader has a fear of anesthesia/being unconscious

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

You wish that stupid heart monitor would stop exposing you to everyone in the hospital wing. 

“You’re fine.” James rubs his palm over your heart consolingly. “Deep breaths.” 

You inhale, and he does it with you, you feel his chest expand against your back. James got into bed with you soon after you got here, when you wouldn’t stop trying to get up and pace the room. After your IV was put in, Sirius threatened to sit on you if you tried to get out of bed again. James is a nicer compromise. 

“This is so stupid.” Your exhale comes out in a disbelieving huff. “I don’t even have to do this.” 

“Dove, you’re already here,” Remus reasons. “You’ve come this far, let’s just see it through. You’ll be alright.” 

Truly, you’re not sure how you wound up here. When your doctor recommended you for surgery, you said you’d think about it, but you were lying. You knew it, your boyfriends knew it, your doctor probably knew it too. Going under was something you had no intention of ever, ever doing. You didn’t know if the problems you were having would persist without the recommended procedure. You almost didn’t care. The one thing you knew for absolutely sure was that you did not want it to happen. 

And yet, it began to. All it took was one evening of lovingly made hot cocoa and sweet-talking from James to get you to set up the appointment. From there, the date marched continually closer, and all your boyfriends had to do was keep you from backing out. To their credit, they’ve had extraordinary follow through. Suddenly you find yourself in a hospital bed waiting for a surgery you could swear wasn’t going to happen. 

“You don’t even have to stay the night,” Sirius says. He’s sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs against the wall, undeterred by the plastic arm digging into his thigh. “We’ll have you home by dinnertime. Focus on that, doll.” 

“I want to be home now,” you mumble. You know you’re acting childish, but you’d rather gripe than cry, and the way you’re feeling those are your only two options. “Are we sure I can’t be awake?” 

“You don’t want to be awake.” James kisses behind your ear. “It’s quite bloody. You’d think it was gross.” 

“Don’t scare her,” Remus cautions quietly. 

You talk over him. “I’d rather be grossed out and know what was happening.” 

Sirius leans forward to grasp your hand, shushing you. “You already know what’s going to happen, baby. We’ve been over the whole thing. Do you want to hear it again?” 

“No.” In truth, hearing about the procedure had grossed you out. But that’s not your main issue. Tears prick your eyes. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. His thumb runs over your knuckles. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine. Home by dinner, remember?” 

“I just… “ You pull in a wavering breath. “I really don’t like the idea of being unconscious while people poke and prod at me, and I can’t wake up. It freaks me out.”

“No one is going to poke or prod at you.” Remus is leaning his forearms on his knees, eyes honey soft. “It’s a routine procedure. They do it all the time, it’s their job.” 

“I’d just feel better if I could be awake.” 

“It’d be so much scarier if you were awake. This way, you only go to sleep, and the next thing you know it’s done.” 

“That’s the worst part, though. It’s not like I can wake up even if I want to. I’ll be completely helpless.” 

“Sweetheart, no one is going to hurt you.” 

“I know that.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks gently. 

You shut your eyes, tipping your face down as tears start to drip from your nose. 

“Baby,” Sirius coos. His fingers feel cool against your cheek, cupping so he can kiss between your brows. James hugs you tighter. “Oh, shh, shh. I’m sorry you’re so scared, sweet girl. It’s really not so bad as you’re thinking.” 

“Can you come with me?” you whisper. It’s not the first time you’ve asked, but you’re hoping this display of obvious patheticness will sway things in your favor. 

“You know we would if we could, doll. They’re really strict about who’s allowed in the room.” 

You nod, taking in a ragged breath. 

“We’ll be with you until you go in,” James offers, “and as soon as you wake up. You’ll get to meet your anesthesiologist before, too. Her name’s Kara, she’s a sweetheart.” 

That James knows the person trusted with putting you out does comfort you some. He pats your chest with his hand over your heart, gentle and rhythmic. Slowly, it lulls yours into complaisance. Your heart monitor stops its ratcheting. 

“Breathe.” James exhales slowly. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re in good hands, angel, I promise.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, opening your sore eyes. “I know I’m being crazy.” 

Sirius is squatting by your bed now. He tuts, quick to right you. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re scared, it’s fine. I wish you weren’t because it’d be easier for you, but it’s not your fault.” 

“You’ll feel better once you’re in there,” Remus promises. “Really, lovely, it’s so much less daunting than you’re imagining it to be. It’s going to go by so easily. And then we’ll be with you, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. 

“What do you think?” James presses his cheek to your ear, pleasantly warm. “You think you can go an hour without us? You’ll be okay?” 

You make a low, reluctant sound. “Maybe.” 

“There’s our girl.”

[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?

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[pupyuj]

hi ena! long time no ask!!

with the recent miumiu wonyoung photos GOSHH MY MIND IS SPINNINGGF WITH THOUGHTSS😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

dubcon!!

what if…princess jang who comes from a wealthy noble family purchases you to be her pretty slave😁 the thing is you weren’t even being sold as one despite your family leaning towards the poorer class😱turns out she randomly spotted you at a market and ordered her people to do anything and everything just to have you in the palm of her hands! crazy!!!!! one day you were just taken away from your family! GOSH imagine the princess wonyoung herself carrying you to her room and gently laying you down on her bed🥺but, being the brat that you are you scratched and clawed at her, trying to resist her advances bc u were so so scared and confused :(( eventually, the remaining patience she had for you snaps and she just fucks you hard to remind you of your place!!!! u were nothing but her stupid little slut to use whenever she wanted :(

(she starts off really gentle with you but fucks you rough and hard for being so rude and disobedient to he princess☹️)

omg yk that video of her sliding off her gloves to sign for a fan?? IMAGINE IF SHE DOES THAT BEFORE FINGERING YOU UNTIL URE IN TEARS BEGGING HER TO STOPPP UGHH😫😩😩

- 🍒

MY FAVORITE CHERRY ANON!! i know, i know this ask took me forever to do again but we're all probably used to it to it to the point where i don't even have to address it 😭 since the photos are now not-so-recent, i'll attach them here so everybody can visualize it well hehehe 🤭

(@ CHERRY ANON IK YOU'RE WONDERING IF I AM ALSO WORKING ON THAT OTHER WONY ASK THAT YOU SENT AND I'M GONNA BE HONEST I THINK I DELETED IT?? which sucks bcs i was JUST thinking of answering it too just now until i realized it was nowhere to be found so IF UR STILL UP FOR IT AND IF YOU REMEMBER THE GIST, FEEL FREE TO SEND IT AGAIN! pretty sure it was about sororities?? 🤔)

p.s. you guys are crazy if you think i'm not gonna give this ask some meat (aka mini lore) so if this happens to be a long one that's why! 😭😭

[cw: extreme dubcon, (eventually) cnc, coercion, bondage, mild violence, obsessive-possessive princess!wony WOOO.]

you were happy as a commoner, okay!? even though your fate was sealed as a middle-class man's stay-at-home wife and child bearer in the future, you were going to make the most of your life despite it all! but that was before you encountered her highness jang wonyoung while you were out to shop for new formal robes. oh, sorry, you didn't 'encounter' her—she saw you animatedly chatting with the nice young clerk at the apparel shop and became obsessed fell in love at first sight 😍😍

your whole life took a whole other turn when a couple knights knocked on your door and took you from your family by force and with only a brief answer when asked: "her highness wills it so." 🥲 your family was then visited by the princess' retainer to give them a more detailed explanation of the whole situation but you didn't know that. you didn't have to. what only mattered from then on was whatever the fuck wonyoung wanted with you... and it was everything you anticipated it to be! almost.

nobles were all the same, after all. and the worst among them was the royalty. you half expected to have been stripped down in the carriage by the knights and dragged throughout the castle naked and bare before they throw you inside the princess' quarters where she would be more than ready to just... ravage you, but that didn't turn out to be true. not all the way! you made it to the doors of the castle with your clothes still on you and you weren't just haphazardly thrown inside the princess' room... the knights were given special instructions to treat you like glass! or else the princess would have their heads if they so much as scratched your beautiful, delicate skin.

wonyoung herself met you at the doors of the great hall, actually! she couldn’t contain her excitement because finally, she found someone that she knew was going to satisfy all her needs and make the perfect wife! never mind that you were some lowly commoner, you were beyond perfect in the princess’ eyes!

“do you know me… (y/n)?” you don’t even want to know how she just knew your name. you were confused, terrified, and furious all at the same time and wonyoung loved it. anybody else would have been scrambling to kiss her feet and beg for forgiveness even though they knew they did nothing wrong… but of course you’d be different. wonyoung was so happy.

nevertheless, you plucked up whatever courage you had left in yourself and answered her question, “the crown princess… jang wonyoung.” even the way you said her name was impeccable! ah, how wonyoung couldn’t wait to make you hers completely… and that’s exactly what she attempts to do once she took you to her room but of course, you fought back! 🥺

kicking and hitting wonyoung whenever she tried to get close to you on the bed, even shrieking and screaming for help just in case there was a servant who felt sorry enough to interrupt but who in their right mind would dare get in the way of the princess? 🤨 it was when you scratched her chin that she finally had enough of your shit and straight-up whacked you across the face... her highness has never had to use violence to gain control and advantage but goodness you really pushed all the wrong buttons!!

somehow it wasn't the painful sting on your cheek that made you settle down... bcs if you weren't directly staring at the small, bleeding cuts you've made on wonyoung's chin, you would've made an even bigger fuss when she roughly undressed you! sure, you feared the consequences of literally hurting the princess wonyoung but... she was still a beautiful woman!! what you did was like the equivalent of defacing a famed painter's greatest work—you definitely deserve whatever punishment was waiting for you 🫢🫢

wony won’t take your resistance seriously once she’s seen how drenched you are for her! she only takes that as a sign that she was welcome.. and that you did, in fact, want this! 🤭 she assumed that you can take her at whatever pace she decides to go with bcs you were a commoner that was gorgeous and deliciously naïve… surely you’ve been passed around before right?? but no… you were a virgin :(( but you were taking wonyoung’s fingers so well… meeting her thrusts halfway as if you’ve always known how to do it like that… moaning “your highness” so nicely against her ear that it gave her goosebumps… so ofc wony ignores your tears and your pleas to stop when you’ve already cum many times 🫠

but ah you were really testing her!! wony was bound to get some bruises with the way you’ve kicked and hit her so much… so she ties your hands up above your head and your legs spread apart with either ankle tied down at the edge of the bed! this way it would be much, much easier to punish you 🤭 she’s definitely relentless when using her mouth… esp since she just got a taste of her new food and oh, were you delectable…!

wonyoung couldn’t get enough… using her tongue on you over and over again throughout the night whilst talking to you about how perfect your life was going to be now that you were with her… and she very much liked how you didn’t even fight her words anymore! she knew that even though you cried gallons of tears and made your voice hoarse from wailing and moaning you wouldn’t dare look back on your past life anymore! 🤭

since then your daily activities as the crown princess’ future consort was to look pretty, study in both academics and noble etiquette, and most importantly, tending to wonyoung’s… needs 🫠🫠 you knew that every servant, knight, and nobles that frequented the castle talked badly about you. how a peasant managed to captivate the princess’ heart with ease. their words cut through you pretty badly but wonyoung was always there every night to mend your wounds… always.

you didn’t even care that wonyoung fucked you too hard anymore! bcs she has somehow led you to believe that she was the only one in this world that loved you and can stand to love someone like you 🫣 and you only believed her bcs you did feel her love with every thrust of her fingers, every disgusting thing that she whispers in your ears while she fucked you, every flick of her tongue as she ate you out, every bite on your lips when she kisses you. you were only right to love her back in spite of everything else bcs… like wonyoung always assured, this is what true love is, right?? 🤭

[alexlwrites]

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.

Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I’m truly sorry for this sad excuse of an update.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞

(<<< part two)

You were on a date. Or so Jungkook believed.

He was skulking outside yet another coffee place, as you seemed to have a financially unadvised obsession with those. And although it might’ve seemed so to any passers-by, he was not stalking you.

He just so happened to stumble upon this place where he knew you usually had a chocolate cappuccino on Tuesdays at around 3 in the afternoon, as you didn’t have classes after 2 on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

All of that knowledge had been acquired through days of observing and cataloguing your quirks and traits. Jungkook had decided upon further introspection that just his charm and thick, veiny arms would not be enough to lure you back into his bedroom and so he decided to do some research. His findings were both surprising and not at all: you were fucking weird.

There was the caffeine addiction, the concerningly decorated messenger bags and your fixation with small fuzzy animal figurines - which he had confirmed with his little sister were called Calico Critters and, according to the expert appraisal of the nine-year-old, your collection was worth quite the money… His investigation had brought him many findings and eventually led him here: your third favorite coffee shop where you seemed to be laughing way too hard at some guy’s probably lame jokes. Couldn’t be better than his, Jungkook thought bitterly. You had laughed way harder at your… Well, one date.

Jungkook was once again taken by irrational anger, as that was all you seemed to invoke in him. How come he was climbing up the walls of his tiny dorm, haunted by the thought of your psychotic self and you got to move onto the next man (or should he say victim?) as if your night together had never happened? He felt used!

He was so close to an epiphany with that particular thought, he could feel self-actualization kissing his piercings. Alas, Jungkook was not interested in facing his own hypocrisy that day. No, he only craved confrontation and so he stepped into the cafe with squared shoulders and puffed chest like a New York pidgeon on its way to the last breadcrumb.

“Y/N” he called while approaching your table.

Your tired eye roll sent a shiver down his spine, but with you he could never tell if it was annoyance or arousal. 

Most likely both.

“Jeon” you answered in a clipped tone “how unsurprising and unpleasant to see you yet again. This is Jihoon” you gestured towards the man sitting in front of you, watching the whole interaction with mild interest “Jihoon, this is my stalker.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your little date” the way Jungkook spat out the last word made it clear that he was not at all sorry. “Also, I’m not a stalker.”

“That’s exactly what a stalker would say.” Jihoon extended his hand with an amused smile “So nice to meet you, Mr. Stalker. And please, don’t worry about our date” you snorted, making Jungkook feel like he was being left out of a big joke “this is just a couple of cousins catching up. You can still stalk her freely, although I don’t see why you would. Is it like a romantic gesture?”

“He’s already obsessed with me as it is. Don’t encourage him or I’m gonna end up in his basement.”

Jungkook felt the sudden urge to bite his fist and let out a five minute long suffering groan. Of course you were related. That look of unhinged superiority could only run in the family.

“Jeon, can I talk to you outside for a second?” You asked, but it seemed like an order as you pulled him away by his arm, Jihoon waving behind as you left the cafe.

Were you about to whoop his ass, he wondered. He didn’t doubt for a second that you could.

“This has gone too far now, Jeon” You said as soon as you were out of earshot from your curious cousin. “It was funny for maybe five minutes watching you throw a bitch fit but I’m tired of being afraid of opening my fridge at night and find you lurking behind the milk. You’re in my classes, my favorite coffee shops, the library and God knows you’re not reading in there… I even had to learn your name and for what?! What do you want from me? A therapist recommendation? A fucking exorcist?!”

“I want to take you out again.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“I hope you mean take me out with a gun and put me out of my misery!”

“I want to take you out on a date” he repeated resolutely.

“Why?! You said it yourself, you don’t have feelings for me, we have nothing in common… Haven’t I treated you shitily enough? Aren’t you loved at home?”

Jungkook scoffed. “We have plenty in common!” he said with very little conviction.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well…” he scrambled his brain for something believable, because he doubted you would believe he also enjoyed reading mildly erotic retellings of Greek Mythology in the school yard, like you so clearly did “That movie theater on Fifth Street that you love. I also love that place.”

“You do?”

“They did a marathon of a couple of Marvel movies.”

“They only show foreign movies.”

“Well, that one happened in Wakanda, so… Foreign.”

You looked at him like he had just said the stupidest thing on earth. Honestly, knowing himself, he probably did.

“First of all, it’s weird that you know my favorite movie theater and it does nothing against the stalker allegations.” Jungkook just shrugged “But fine, if we got so much in common like you say, why don’t we go watch a movie tomorrow? Mind you” you pointed a stiletto acrylic nail at him before he smiled too hard “this is not a date. This is a friendly get-together. After all, we have so much in common, right? Surely we’ll be the best of friends, like rats and the plague.”

It was not what Jungkook wanted, but being your friend was better than hiding behind the shelves of the university library, so he agreed. This was just a start and the perfect one at that. What could be better than a movie date, right?”

***

Jungkook had been crying for the last 50 minutes. When you suggested watching a movie about a dictatorship, he thought it was going to be a war movie filled with action, like Wonder Woman or A Bug’s Life. Instead, he sat through the extremely emotional retelling of a family who lost its dissident dad to the military-forced disappearances and bawled the whole time, because, hey, he loves his dad, okay? Meanwhile, you were stuffing your face with popcorn and holding back a maniacal grin, patting his head softly like he was a lost child at the mall. 

When the movie ended, credits rolling down the screen, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and try to wash his tear-streaked face. Ok, so crying (sobbing, really) at the movies was not the sexiest move he could’ve pulled, but surely an intellectual woman such as yourself liked an emotional man, right? His manly empathy probably got him some brownie points, no?

“So” you started once he left the bathroom, dabbing at his eyes with a tissue “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“Ye-yeah, I did. I mean, it was kind of sad, I guess. Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, I had already seen it.”

Jungkook stopped “What?”

“Oh, yeah, I downloaded it illegally months ago when it first aired in the Venice International Film Festival but I wanted to see your reaction. Honestly, it was so worth it.”

Jungkook had never in his life had met a more infuriating woman than you and he had a younger sister with a mean streak. Everything you did and said sent him into a spiral of frustration that had him testing the enamel of his teeth from so much grinding. “Do you enjoy watching grown men cry?” he said through a fake gritted smile.

“Yeah, don’t you? This could be one of the things we have in common! Do you want to invite your friends next time?”

Honestly, that was not that bad of an idea. Jimin and Taehyung had both been on his face for the past few days, making constant fun of him for his useless attempts at wooing you, so Jungkook would really enjoy some revenge. Maybe he could film it and become TikTok famous, maybe… Jungkook shook his head. He was not about to agree with you!

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his annoyance at your constant nonchalant teasing “I thought this was a friendly hang-out. Why are you being a brat?”

You raised your brows and crossed your arms and Jungkook just knew he was about to get the verbal beatdown of his life. Even the weed-smelling teenager sweeping the carpet of the movie theater seemed to know that, as he quickly swept his way into the broom’s closet with a wince. “Trust me, this is not me being a brat yet. This” you gestured towards the both of you with a menacing finger “is me being friendly. This is me being friendly to the guy who has been following me around campus for a week, disrupting my studies and my schedule. This is me being friendly to the guy who has not been able to take a hint so clearly in his face that even a blind Sherlock Holmes would say it’s fucking elementary. This is me being friendly to the man who created a narrative in his hair-filled head where he slept with me, left me and got annoyed and offended when I didn’t want to do it again. This is as friendly as I can get with bored, spoiled men-children who seem to have nothing better to do with their days besides annoying women into going out with them to fill a void they refuse to address in therapy. This is all the friendly you’re going to get from me, Jeon.”

Silence reigned over the movie theatre and even the popcorns seemed to stop popping to listen to the on-going drama. It was hard to find something to say after being emotionally stripped naked like that on a Wednesday, but Jungkook had not yet learned to take an L and shut up. 

“Look, I get that I may have given you the wrong first impression” you scoffed and seemed to be ready to go for round two “but! BUT! People can change, can’t they? I get that I’ve been pushy and I shouldn’t have called you crazy…”

“That was actually the one thing you got right.”

“But I’ve been working on it! I found out the things that you like, I watched that sad as fuck movie for you, I even got you this!” he reached into the pocket and pulled out the last thing you expected from him.

A tiny bunny figurine with a baker's hat.

“Is this a Baby Bakers Edition Calico Critters Bunny?” you asked, voice half awe and half confusion.

“My little sister said they’re limited edition. See?” he pushed the small bunny into your hand, watching you cradle it gently “I’m trying out here. What is it going to take for you to give me a chance?”

You toyed with the miniature’s ears, petting it gently as you frowned deep in thought. 

“A good reason” you answered at last. 

“What?”

“You asked what’s going to take for me to give you a chance. That 's it. I need a good reason. When I ask you ‘Why do you want to go on a date with me?’ I need you to give me a good reason.” You pocketed the bunny and stared deep into his eyes, an unsettling feeling growing in his chest “I don’t want to be some sort of point you’re proving or a challenge you’re overcoming. So I want you to give me a good reason why you want me.” you started walking away, leaving him confused once more “When you have that, then we can talk.”

°•. ✿ .•°

✿ The next chapter called "Great distress and moral conundrum" is already available on my ko-fi to Calcifer Crew, my membership tier and will be posted here soon! Click here if you want early access to all my updates :)

✿ My taglists are open! Click here to be added <3

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE

How the gods would mourn after the reader died

A/N: Heyy!! I will be working on an alternative version in the next few days, what if one of the gods (who knows heheh) helps the reader to get back to Ithaca (she probably only returns to her family after the events of the Ithaca Saga).

And no, we don't greet happiness with open arms :)

°•○☆○•°

Zeus:

જ⁀➴Would mourn you for thousands of years.

જ⁀➴ Created a cloud that has your shape.

જ⁀➴Despairs because the cloud is not exactly like you. If you are mentioned near him, he would look at the person threateningly.

જ⁀➴Blames others for your death.

જ⁀➴"My beloved, not a day will go by that I won't miss you!"

Poseidon:

જ⁀➴After your death, the seas trembled and for years they were plagued with violent storms

જ⁀➴Tries to carry on as best he can Often argues with Zeus about who is to blame

જ⁀➴Would build you a monument that he would put in his palace

જ⁀➴All mortal women he fell in love with always resembled you in appearance or character.

જ⁀➴"My beloved, may the waves sing you to sleep, no matter where you are"

Hades:

જ⁀➴He mourned most of his brothers

જ⁀➴It tore him apart to see his brothers like this, but he knew it was best for you

જ⁀➴Yet he watched you every day from the underworld

જ⁀➴Even when you died, he immediately welcomed you into his home, but didn't say anything to the other gods.

જ⁀➴"Find peace in your end, rest now little one"

Apollo:

જ⁀➴THIS MAN IS SUFFERING

જ⁀➴He has lost the protégé he loved so much

જ⁀➴It seemed as if the sun wasn't shining as brightly anymore

જ⁀➴He dedicated songs, poems and works of art to you

જ⁀➴What had happened was something he never wanted to happen, he had lost the person he loved again

જ⁀➴He transformed something that had once belonged to you into a beautiful flower that could bloom even in the worst of circumstances.

જ⁀➴"The sun protects you everywhere, my sunshine, bloom where no one else can bloom"

Hera:

જ⁀➴Look you might think she would not be sad, BUT SIKE!!!

જ⁀➴Hera felt very sorry for you, you were just an innocent soul who couldn't do anything about the fate that had befallen you

જ⁀➴Hera grew fond of you and saw you like a daughter

જ⁀➴Hera took out her anger on her husband, how could he take her beloved girl!?

જ⁀➴Hera sees you everywhere, whether under the tree in the Garden of the Gods or in the Great Hall.

જ⁀➴"At least you don't have to put up with my husband anymore, my little girl"

Hermes:

જ⁀➴This boy will hide his sadness behind his usual smile

જ⁀➴He will crack jokes and play pranks on people as usual

જ⁀➴I would say he lives in a world where you are still alive

જ⁀➴He will look at others and think that you are standing right next to him

જ⁀➴He will not accept that you are gone, and the other gods will have to watch the messenger of the gods living in this illusion

જ⁀➴"What do you say Dawling? Oh I love the idea!"

-Peachyprophet

[bitter-me]

Hello! could you do Asaba Harumasa with A Loid Forger!Male!Reader who is his Fiancé? (For real not for a misson) And could you do like some general headcanons of it please?

Spy X Executive Officer

Harumasa Asaba | M. Reader as Loid Forger [SpyXFamily]

----------

"You gotta be careful. Because there's someone else back home who'd be heartbroken if anything happened to you."

----------

General Headcanons

First of all, the moment you two met Harumasa knew you are a spy. Come on now, he's responsible for Section 6's reconnaissance for a reason. In the main story he literally recognized the mercs are closing in on them by their shooting pattern alone. Are you kidding me.

Secrets out and from then on he'll rub it in your face that the Twilight was caught by an Executive Officer and through this process of endless teasing and "accidental meet ups" you two gotten quite close.

Yet despite making teasing the absolute daylight out of you his main mission. Harumasa would always comes to you for help with some missions of his. Come on! He has Twilight on speed dial! What kind of person would he be if he didn't abused use this power? The amount of times you have to pretend to be him for a meeting... too much to even bother counting..

Harumasa seems to have developed a habit since you two got together. One of which is how he looks like a wounded animal whenever you have to "be in a relationship" with someone. He's joking of course. But always seem to jump at the chance whenever Harumasa saw it.

But then again.. you're also using him for your own work as well. HAND has a lot of useful information and Departments. Having an insider on speed dial just make things ten times easier. In short both of you are using each other.. until it became something more as you two craves more with each interactions.

"You're cheating on me! I know I don't have much time, yet you--" "Darling, I am not seeing someone behind your back, it was a mission. We have this conversation before."

Endless teasing. Just endless.

By the way, are you a cat person? Well it doesn't matter you are a cat person now. Say hello to your son/daughter. Harumasa canonically has a cat, so..

Would jokingly as you to teach him some espionage with the excuse that it'll help him be a "more outstanding scout." You didn't, of course. Espionage is your thing. As if you'll let him steal your thunder like that.

Oh no. Harumasa isn't in the office again. He must have taken a sick leave. But how could he get another one? What? He has a doctor's note?

Yes, he would probably, maybe, say "please" a lot, just to get you to write him a doctor's note. Hey! Not his fault that your public image is a Psychiatrist! That just makes your notes 100% legal! And you are this awesome boyfriend of his right? So.. please~ he promise to give you kisses if you do write it~

Although Harumasa seems to know he can't use this trick a lot and uses it sparingly.

The proposal? It's the grenade proposal. I'm sorry but it's cute and it kinda fits ZZZ's world building. Both of you are running from the Ethereals and have gotten cornered. What a bad day it was. You were just about to propose when Harumasa got a call for a mission, since you don't want to waste any time. You decided to help your lover so that you can finally propose when all of these are done. But no, the universe hates you and decided to do this instead and damnit! You lost the ring! Cornered with nowhere else to go you spotted a grenade not to far away. Acting out of instincts you took it, pulling the pin and saying your vow as you put the "ring" on Harumasa's finger.

He ruthlessly tease you about the proposal though. Saying something like "Took you long enough. And here I thought I would die first before knowing the feeling of a ring on my finger." and, "A grenade pin? Seriously? How come those men and women you "marry" for a mission gets an actual ring while I--you're actual lover--only have this? I'm hurt!"

In the end you did get him an actual ring. As he deserved.

----------

Despite usually being seen slacking off. Harumasa works hard on his missions. After all, there's a reason as to why he's a member of Section 6. Naturally.

Yet he's not invincible. Harumasa knows that better than anyone else. Which is why he is now lying in the hospital bed with a sore throat and a heavy chest. It felt as if he were to somehow lie in a wrong way he'll start coughing out a lung. But he doesn't have to worry. He has [Name}. And that man would go full on doctor on him in a heartbeat.

"You're an idiot sometimes." [Name] sighs, sitting on the chair by his lover's bedside. He can't believe Harumasa had willingly injected that thing. Onto him like that. Sure, he understands. Harumasa can't let that thing exist in the world. But seriously?! Did he even think for one second what could have happened to himself if he weren't this lucky?! What if it's a one time thing?!

"You idiot." He whispers underneath his breath.

Harumasa really has to be careful.. because there's someone else back home who'd be heartbroken if anything happened to him.. and that person, is him. [Name] Forger.

For all of his time as a spy. No one had ever made him feel so.. complete. The thought of settling down never crossed his mind. But with Harumasa.. he might just consider it. But..

How is he supposed to settle when the one he loves is constantly on death's door?

[Name] snapped out of his thoughts the moment he registered the warm feeling on his hand. Harumasa's on top of his. Turning his head towards him, [Name] saw Harumasa giving him a reassuring smile. "I know.. but I'm your idiot."

"Don't worry too much. I'm not going anywhere. After all, no one cares more about my life than me."

[haich-slash-cee]

The exception (for me) is if the character is coming back to life. That's pretty whumpy.

And specifically, I think the best audience experience is when (during the initial read/watch) we can tell that the character may die but is very probably coming back to life. (I mean maybe a re-read/watch with new info could net some new whumperflies, but idk.)

Anyway, if I am reading or watching a story and I have to assume a character death is an actual character death... :( Well this is just sad, cancel the whumperflies (as people have said in the notes).

Examples:

Actual death is appropriate for the genre, tone, setting: the story has a realistic setting where dead characters stay dead; or the story is just very grim; or it is one of those horror stories where everyone really could just die including the main character.

Or the story is a one-shot, limited narrative - a standalone movie or book or story or even a short story. (You don't know what those short stories are going to pull. True wildcards. Maybe the story ends with the main narrator about to be eaten by giant snails.)

Or, the character dying is a side character: I could assume that's permanent in the narrative. (Again, wildcard, who knows what fates await side characters, sorry red shirts (tangental fun link)).

I should say, separately - while an actual character death may not be so fun and whumpy anymore (for me), it may have turned into Pathos and Catharsis instead. And I enjoy a good cry. We're on an adjacent narrative payoff, I can still appreciate it. It's like ordering fish soup and ending up with roast shrimp and I enjoy eating roast shrimp too.

But - what if the narrative, genre, format, etc makes it probable that this is a case of the character coming back to life?

Examples:

Format/meta: This is a TV show, it's mid-season, and the main character appears to die. No, we can't actually have the main character dead here - this character is coming back to life at some point.

Speculative Fiction: Listen, people sometimes come back to life in scifi or fantasy or horror. It just happens. This is one reason why spec-fic is fun. (*note: the side character death wildcard rule could still apply.)

Cape comics (Marvel, DC, superhero comics) where a franchise character has died: HAHAHA just wait a few floppies. (Unless it's one of those one-shot limited series which are a bit grim. In which case, this character may actually be dead, sorry.)

A book that is not only speculative fiction, but really going out of its way in the narrative to show that the character will probably be coming back to life: ie, we (the audience) are being actively told by that the space astronauts are racing to deliver the Dragon's Heart Crystal (which brings even the dead to life) to the main warlock character, who is dying, because this character sacrificed themselves to stop a wicked undead-plantation-owner-ghost from destroying Savanna, GA and all the residents in the city.

Also there are two more books in that series and the main warlock character's name is in each title.

With those frameworks above... Time for me to sit back and see what kind of not-death the narrative is going to pull off. Primed and ready. Read for some whump or hurt/comfort, even. Maybe the death and revival are going to be especially wretched and painful for my favorite main character >;) Perhaps other character will be very worried and there will be feelings and emotions >:D And characters will take care of each other and things will be vulnerable hohoho >:)

Don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion or whatever but if the whump leads to death then it isn’t whump anymore

[dreaming-marchling]

Snippet Saturday - Bobby Paternity Fic

Tagged by @eowon - thank you!

The first part of this that I shared is here

---

Maddie looked like she had been through war.

It wasn’t his fault, Bobby knew that, but he still felt responsible for this entire thing exploding when Maddie had an injured brother and a baby that was due to arrive in just a couple of months.

“Am I okay?” Maddie repeated with a shaky laugh, “I don’t know. It’s amazing how fast I can fall right back into it.”

“Into what?” Hen asked as gently as she could.

They didn’t want to interrogate Maddie, especially after she had just had a clearly difficult talk with her parents. Bobby wasn’t really sure if there was any way around it though. This was happening whether any of them were ready for it or not.

“Sit, sit…” Chim said, ushering Maddie over to the nearest seat.

Maddie sat. She shut her eyes and exhaled slow and steady.

Then she opened her eyes and looked straight at Bobby.

“Mom wouldn’t talk about it. She just keeps insisting that Dad is Evan’s father.” Maddie told him, sorry for reasons Bobby wasn’t sure of yet, “She was practically hysterical about it, even for her.”

Even for her.

Maddie didn’t stop to explain that, she just kept talking, “But Dad says that she only tried once.”

Only once. Only Bobby.

“If she’s telling her husband the truth.” Eddie said. He looked apologetically at Bobby, “Spare him, too ashamed, whatever. She might have been lying.”

She might have been.

How did Evan find him?

“I hate myself,” Hen said to the general group before she locked in on Bobby, “Condom?”

That he didn’t remember made him feel that little bit worse about all of this. Irresponsible. Maggie – Margaret – was probably the only woman in his life who he had slept with and then never seen again otherwise he would be panicking right now about other children out there.

“It was my college friend’s wedding weekend.” Bobby said, as if that made him being drunk better. As if they didn’t know. “I was drunk. I remember going up to her room with her and not much after.”

Athena’s hand went impossibly tighter around his.

Maddie let out a teary breath, “That makes it worse. Mom doesn’t drink like ever.”

Though he would never ask, Bobby had to wonder what had made her pick him. Was it that he had been drunk? He didn’t look much like her husband, so it couldn’t have been that beyond picking a white man. Had she just gone with any man that showed interest? He had looked healthy enough that she was reasonably sure he didn’t have any horrible family history of disease?

It was probably that he had been drunk.

---

(@ambernotember, @asmuchasidliketo, @rainbow-nerdss, @cathcer1984, @actualalligator, @inell, @daffi-990, @thunderstormoffawesomeness, @harmonic-intervention, @big-urchin-energy, @fyrehose, @princessfbi, @devirnis because you asked to be tagged and/or reblogged the first part - just let me know if you don't want to be tagged again and I wont!)

[bigmomma25]

Character Analysis of Josh Levy

Sorry if this is shit, idk how to word my feelings on Josh. Gonna go about each character very differently bc they're all complex in their own right and I have so many thoughts. Brain so full. He’s the most tragic of them all, super overlooked, misunderstood, and underrated. He’s someone who’s hard to analyze, since he’s so guarded. Plus I distance myself from him bc he's too real lol

I feel the most integral part of Josh's character is the fact that he's neurodivergent. He's always been very autistic-coded in writing, but it was also confirmed by Dorkin that he is somewhere on the neurodivergent spectrum, which changes his character completely from just a gluttonous selfish loser to a cautionary tale of what can happen when autistic children get no resources or room to be "weird" in public.

When we first meet Josh, it's established that he's the laughing stock of the group. In the first meeting that we see, the rest of the club has managed to get all types of pop culture merchandise from all over the place, but Josh's are more childish, like Animaniacs and Flintstones. He also went the easiest route, basically relying on his mother if he wanted to get anything done. All in all, not very complex, and this gets him laughed at immediately.

He is only treated with respect when he has something the rest of the club values, and has to use it as leverage to get any kind of positive feedback. During open debate, he's almost sneered at by the rest of the group and doesn't even realize it, since he's loud and corny and laughs at his own jokes. When they play DnD, he's shown to be very insecure and terrible at decision-making, once again getting him endlessly shit on by Pete. And once his leverage is gone, he's mocked again, especially for falling for such an easy scam.

There is a lot to unpack there, very quickly. The story almost makes it easy to point and jab at someone like Josh, without looking much deeper than the surface. He's the Eltingville Club's personal Chris-Chan, or Tophia, or Daniel Larsen.

Josh Levy has a Binge Eating Disorder

Josh has bad eating habits, both in the comics and pilot. He's willing to eat stale Doritos from a trash can, is constantly shoving fast food in his face, and bulk buys food constantly for the collectibles, eating it all instead of throwing it away like his friends. It even leads to health problems and discomfort, like when he was eating nothing but Batman-shaped Mac and Cheese for days and had extreme bathroom issues. This is meant to show his gluttony, but even that represents the issue Josh has faced all his life - his problems being portrayed as his own fault and made into a gag. Being fat is not a moral failure, but everyone has always told Josh that it was.

Binge eating stems from somewhere. You aren't born with those habits, and there's a reason he feels stupid and ashamed every time he participates in it. Josh has always faced a lack of control and emotional support from everyone in his life, leading to him trying to find it in both escapism and food binges. It's also a sign of even bigger mental health issues, but no one steps in. His own family shows a lack of care or consideration for their son, along with enabling his habits by constantly buying more for him. He has very little say in his own life, but he does at least have a say in how he eats and the things that bring him joy, even if it's destroying him.

Enabling Parents

While I wouldn’t say Josh has good parents, they at least have some type of care for him, and he obviously comes from a family with money. His parents are very old, and his mother is sickly, which means that they probably can’t discipline him in the way that he needed as a child. Even when Josh was grounded, it was a very light punishment compared to what he did (literally vandalism) and it’s clear there aren’t many rules in his house.

They essentially allow Josh to do whatever he wants, and throw money at him constantly, but refuse to actually look at what he needs emotionally that is causing all these outbursts. They show very little care when Josh is distraught, don’t address his binge eating habits or obsessions or why he’s having dreams of his friends beating him to a pulp. They constantly buy him a bunch of junk food when they can see the impact it’s having on his health, or maybe they don’t pay enough attention to notice. With his mother being sick, it’s very likely that he didn’t get much attention, and tried to get it from everywhere else in his life. He’s emotionally neglected and physically spoiled, trying to use material possessions to fill that void.

Josh’s Autistic Traits

I’m going to have to make a bullet pointed list for this, since there’s so many instances that it’s hard to pinpoint all of it.

Emotional Outbursts/Emotional Impermanence - Josh has been shown on multiple occasions to feel things very strongly, and acts out because of how emotional he gets. Particularly, his anger often overwhelms him. It’s very common for people on the spectrum to lack the ability to regulate their emotions and self soothe in a typical fashion, which leads to meltdowns, and angry outbursts. Josh clearly has a hard time conveying what he’s thinking when he’s upset, often getting tripped up and desperate, like trying to explain himself during the trivia-off, and trying to set boundaries with the club about the fat jokes only to be met with laughter and ridicule. I firmly believe he’s had meltdowns multiple times on screen, and it’s not always just him throwing a tantrum. He’s also able to switch his emotions very quickly, going from fuming with anger to beaming with joy, as if he’d felt nothing else beforehand.

Social Obliviousness - Josh often doesn’t realize he’s the butt of the joke when it’s not spelled out for him. His friends don’t even want to be seen next to him at times, and he never really realizes the degree in which they hate him. He makes a fool out of himself constantly, but doesn’t realize how people perceive him OUTSIDE of being a fat nerd, and has no desire to know and no self-reflection. Once again, I feel that the dream he has about his friends beating him up until he bleeds is significant, because he asks himself “what could that possibly mean” when it is VERY obvious to the rest of the audience.

His Special Interests Shape His World - Josh isn’t shown to be the brightest in many aspects; in the pilot he’s prone to making mistakes, he often comments in the comics about how he comes to realizations far slower than the rest of his friends. But when it comes to his special interests like Star Wars, he’s a human encyclopedia. He knows the most out of the group about anything sci-fi and comic related, even trying to build an actual functional Iron-Man suit by himself (before lighting himself on fire, but that’s still knowledge and dedication). The way he calms down is literally sorting his figure into lines. He can’t take his mind off of it even in important situations, like in the pilot when he’s being screamed at by Bill’s mom but is still caught up in the DnD game. His job in the future is literally him trying to be a comic writer. He cannot function in the world without his special interests being involved, and since most people were very hostile towards him and his interests, this manifests in him being defensive and obsessive instead of forming a normal relationship with it.

Lack of Empathy - Josh is very rude, like everyone in the club. While his harassment of others isn’t an autistic trait, it does show that he has a hard time putting himself in other people’s shoes. Even when he does care about people, like his mother, or Bill not getting a chance to get a Star Wars figure because Josh keeps hoarding them, or Pete after the zombie walk, he can’t conceptualize how they feel if it doesn’t affect him. It may not even dawn on him, because of his social ineptitude.

Missing Social Cues - Josh isn’t the best in social situations; from the painful conversation with the many cashiers at fast food places, to the scene during DnD, in the comics, when Josh is confronted with a social interaction with a girl and completely falls apart. He’s awkward, he’s loud, and he has no idea he’s awkward and loud. He’s also very blunt, and sincere with his words, not realizing that other people can say something and mean another, like when he showed up to job interviews and talked about Godzilla, thinking the hiring manager was interested.

Black and White Thinking/Paranoia - Josh jumps to conclusions often. With him, it’s either something is the worst thing to ever exist, or it’s perfect and you’re not allowed to criticize it. He has a hard time understanding that grey area, and this also reflects on how he views other people. Unlike Bill or Pete who form their judgements of “normies” on trends they’ve noticed and behaviors they’ve watched from afar, Josh thinks they’re all inherently bad based on his own experiences being bullied. And he believes all nerds are inherently better because of his friend group and experiences. Seeing someone who’s both preppy and enjoys nerdy media would probably turn his entire world view upside down.

Disorganization/Executive Functioning Issues - Josh can’t care for himself on his own, and has a hard time in public places. In the pilot it’s more evident, during the DnD game when he’d been shown to drop everything, make poor decisions, be hyper focused on small issues and details while ignoring the big picture, which can reflect how he conducts himself in real life. Even just making himself a meal or going grocery shopping is hard for Josh, which can be partly caused by his parents babying him too much, and partly from lack of executive functioning skills.

The Lolcow-ification of Josh

Unfortunately it’s a big part of his character stereotype that this story takes place in the early 2000s, which means the general population is very hostile to both fat people AND autistic people. Being both means that anyone and everyone will find an excuse to shit on you, and it will be socially accepted to do so. So it’s not unreasonable to assume Josh has been socially outcasted since his birth. Social Isolation is scientifically the worst pain humans can go through as a social species - it manifests in the brain as physical pain. And being exposed to that pain your whole life leaves you traumatized.

I’m going to be a dork for a second and reference my favorite book; much like how Frankenstein’s monster was not born violent, but grew to be so after being rejected and betrayed by everyone he knew, Josh‘s positive traits slowly became overshadowed by his insecurity and defensiveness.

It’s rather heartbreaking, how hard it is to analyze Josh when he is so clearly defined by trauma. Especially since it’s a fact that no autistic person in our society has really gone without trauma. It’s hard to know the real Josh when he’s always on defense mode. His trauma is also heavily overlooked, both in the story and in reality. Since he is most likely undiagnosed, he probably sees it as his own fault.

Josh’s Positive Traits

When he’s so often looked down upon, I feel like it’s important to have a little segment all about the good things in Josh that’d hard to notice.

Creativity - Josh is actually very imaginative. From his desires to become a comic writer, to his eagerness during the costume contest, he’s shown a desire to create and is always full of ideas. Good ones? Maybe not. But full of ideas nonetheless.

Loyalty - Josh puts up with shit no one in the whole world should let slide. When Josh truly loves someone, like the club, he doesn’t leave them. It may be partially caused by his follower tendencies, but he’ll stick by and defend his friends in any situation. Even when he swears he’s leaving for good, like when he daydreams of shooting his friends in the head, or claims the end of the Eltingville Club in the pilot, he always comes back.

Attention to Detail/Ingenuity - Josh is the type to notice things no one else notices, which often comes in handy, like during the trivia-off and how he managed to make the stash of collectibles in toy stores for the club. It’s an important skill, especially when the rest of the club doesn’t pay as much attention is he does. He tends to take the long way when solving problems, so this attention to detail often means coming up with unique solutions to difficult problems.

Honesty - Josh says what he means, which is real as fuck. Saying he’s gonna piss his pants in excitement is not only humorously blunt but also goes to show that he’s not gonna hide what he thinks or how he feels for anyone. The type of friend you go to when you want someone to tell you how it is and not sugarcoat it.

——

Yeah that’s all I’ve got for now. Too many thoughts and too little words I may explode. I just wanna squish him

[semisslave]

♡ Give me your sound, making your song going loud... ♡ (pt. 2)

Contents: WLW, Guitarist!Se-mi x Singer!R

Warnings: none!

Part 1

After you woke up, you showered really fast. You put on a pink crop top, a short black skirt, pink boots, a black hat, pink sunglasses and a pink with black bag. You put on some makeup and stylize your hair. You were really nervous because of today's results (and seeing Se-mi again). You grabbed your phone and saw a message in your band's group chat

"Mi-na will pick everyone up at 12 pm."

You applied some perfume and waited for them to come. They picked you up and went to the same place as yesterday to announce the winner.

All the bands stood on stage, nervous. The announcer started naming the bands from least voted to most voted. He ended naming the other places and stopped in the two last places, the finalist, Lost kisses, and The Roselights. He said that they would continue after a break.

You go to the backstage with all the other bands, some of them were leaving disappointed and some others wished you luck. You just sat on a chair and started scrolling nervously through your phone, trying to distract yourself.

Se-mi walked towards you and sat beside you.

"We're both finalists now... I'm glad I have a decent rival"

Rival? Is that what you were to her after what happened yesterday?

"Yeah... Good luck, Se-mi." You said smiling

"I like your smile, I guess that'll be the only good thing about you winning."

You smiled and blushed. How could she be so mean and sweet at the same time?

"You smell nice. What perfume is it?"

"It's a mist... Strawberry pound cake from Bath & Body works."

"Sounds like something that could give me diabetes... But it suits you." She said jokingly.

"Thanks...?"

"Well... good luck, pretty girl" She said before she walked towards her band mates.

"What was that?!" Asked Ji-hye, one of your band mates.

"We were just talking..."

"I hate that bitch, she's always so mean to everyone... She didn't tell you anything bad, did she?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Good, we'll have to be on stage in 5 minutes and prepare to receive our answer... Let's just hope we win... I'll see you there."

Now, you were standing on the stage, nervous, waiting for the answer that could change your whole life

"Thank you to every voter who participated in choosing our next big band! We'll finally tell you who the majority chose... The winner of this competition is..."

You grabbed the hand of your band mate, Mi-na, trying to remain calm. Se-mi seemed very calmed even tho this could change her life too. She even winked at you when the countdown started on the screen.

3

2

1

"Congratulations to The Roselights for winning and becoming Sony Music's next artists!"

You hugged with your band mates, crying, and not believing what was happening right now.

Se-mi just stared codly but gave you a small smirk before leaving the stage with her band.

You felt kinda bad now.

You and your band went backstage after celebrating. You found Se-mi alone again sitting on a chair.

"Congratulations..." She said to all your band. They just ignored her but you didn't.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry..."

"Why would you be sorry?" She said lifting you chin for you to look at her. "Your band was great too, you deserve it."

You smiled and thanked her.

"I need to rest after all this stress, but we should hang out some day."

"That'll be great... Rest well, see you anytime soon."

Se-mi smiled and kissed your hand as a goodbye. Then, she left, leaving you blushed and confused.

"She really is an opportunist" Said your band mate Hye-ju

"What do you mean?" You asked confused.

"I mean... We won and now we're signing with Sony Music, and suddenly she decides to be kind to us after all this time being rude. She's using us, using you to secure a place in this industry... She'll become your friend and then probably will try to ride on your fame after we debut."

"I never thought it that way..." You said thinking about it, it could be right or it could be wrong, but it hurted you.

"You're way too innocent when it comes to seeing through people, ___." Said Hye-ju after grabbing her things. "Are you coming to drink with us to celebrate?"

"No, I'll pass this time. I'm really tired."

"Well, next time it'll be... You must be really tired because you never reject a drinking invitation" She says chuckling as your band mates got into the car.

"I... I am"

You went back to your house thinking about what happened and what Hye-ju said about Se-mi... Was that true? You knew people had sex without giving it a meaning or developing feelings, but the way she took care of you after it was what made you feel butterflies. How she cleaned you up being extremely delicate, how she kissed your forehead after cleaning you up, how she brought you home making sure you arrived safe and sound and how she called you pretty every chance she had... Fuck, you were in love.

Many weeks passed after your band signed with Sony Music and now was working in their debut album under Sony Music.

Your "friendship" with Se-mi got stronger, even tho you still had some doubts on her intentions, you couldn't say no every time she asked you to go to the mall, to a restaurant or to fuck to relieve stress.

This time you were leaving her apartment that she shared with her band mates. She went with you to the elevator and said goodbye to you outside the building. You were walking until you noticed Se-mi's favorite headphones in your bag. You started doubting if you should return it to her now or just wait until the next time you see her. You decided to go back since they were her favorite ones.

You arrived to her apartment door but just when you were about to knock you heard something, something you wish you didn't hear...

I know this is bad, don't remind me 😭🙏

Listen to Cotton Candy by Loossemble btw, that's where the title came from (Promoting my girls)

Promise I'll drop a part 3 soon