#the bloody verdict

[consequencesofargentdawn]

In the scenario that the PCU's Alliance Bloody Verdict flagship project hadn't collapsed due to the paedophilia scandal and had got a foothold in Alliance/Stormwind roleplay what do you think the DiCU would've done about it? Didonus, Nasias etc never did like to share and they've 'dealt' with problems before.

Ultimately we are of the opinion that it would have likely ended with Stormwind RP and Alliance RP more widely being poisoned with the drama between the two groups in much the same way Horde RP has been irreversibly damaged by the PCU's long term cementing of itself across there.

[stardial]

christopher lee’s album on charlemagne is so goofy but the metal goes so insanely hard at the same time it’s kinda crazy

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder. 

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back. 

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling. 

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness. 

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember? 

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears. 

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you. 

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace. 

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene. 

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man. 

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief. 

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy. 

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering. 

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes. 

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again. 

You don’t. 

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?” 

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions. 

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling. 

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.” 

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms. 

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him. 

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.” 

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.” 

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.” 

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.” 

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so. 

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum. 

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.” 

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation. 

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.” 

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial. 

He’s right. He always is. 

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand. 

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say. 

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.” 

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd  a bid as that is. 

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you. 

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath. 

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing. 

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry. 

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch. 

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him. 

 “Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat. 

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you. 

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.” 

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise. 

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?” 

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions. 

— 

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side. 

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity. 

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it? 

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case. 

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum. 

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is. 

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone. 

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.  

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral. 

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts. 

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.” 

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning. 

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought. 

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march. 

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words. 

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?” 

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions. 

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 14 - Eight of Wands

summary : garen tries to help you out a bit after the events with fiora, and things start getting much better than you thought they would evolve to but also : what is this feeling you're starting to feel?

content warnings : hurt. (sorry), mention of blood and fighting + injuries, some sort of comfort? adults communicating (i know, that's so hot right), also omg um tension? hihi we're on the tension road now and it will escalate chapter after chapter

word count : 11,2k

author's note : okay this is a big boi of a chap here loves, and i hope you will like it! as always i'm in big doubts about it because i've been wondering about the pacing and whether i'm going too fast or not for it, let me know in the comments!!! speaking of which, i know i haven't been able to answer to all the loverly things you guys said, but i want you to know that i read everything i received and cherish it with my whole heart <33 thank you so much. imma try and work on some of my requests bc gadayum they've been in my inbox forever and i feel bad about it!!

proofread the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

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

vocab words for this : mais quelle anguille = what an eel.

Your fists struck against swollen, inert flesh, your red knuckles and dirt-caked fingernails mixing crusty blood and muck, curled tightly as you mechanically landed blow after blow.

The body beneath yours was still, an unrecognisable face below you, swollen and bloodied, red and blue blending unnaturally on youthful traits.

As your fist rose into the sky again, preparing to strike another blow, a huge hand engulfed your wrist like a handcuff and pulled you to your feet.

The bleachers roared out, their wood shaking and cracking as your fist was hoisted into the air.

Winner.

Your eyes stared at the ground for a moment before they reached the motionless figure you'd left behind. Vome came and crouched beside her, bringing his white sausage-like fingers to her neck for a pulse check, but you were carried out of the arena before he could deliver his verdict.

Fourteen found you, his tired features splitting his face and accompanying the few scars he had obtained. His eyes fell on your hands, gloved with blood that was drying unpleasantly on your skin.

He came over to you, his thin smile comforting, his voice low. He took your hand, not caring about getting dirty.

"Come," his voice was soft, contrasting with the shouts from the arena you could still hear a few seconds ago, "let's get you cleaned up."

He walked with you slowly, his hand keeping yours in a pleasant embrace like a comforter. 

You reached the dormitory, its name not particularly associated with its appearance. In a dim light made up of candlelit crevices carved into the walls of a damp cave, thin floor mats eaten away by rats and other critters stretched down a low corridor.

The rock was dark, hard and crumble-free, water from your breaths and compressed air dripping down the sides of the stone that made it one of the small sources of water available.

A few others were sleeping there, their bodies emaciated from lack of food, their skin dull from lack of external light, their greasy, stringy hair sticking unpleasantly to their skin.

Fourteen led you to your futon and sat you down. You remained silent, your jaw clenched as if opening your mouth was going to spill something inside you that you couldn't afford to let go.

He went away for a moment, but you weren't worried. You simply bent your knees, hunched your back as you came to rest your head against your knees. It was unpleasant - your cheek hurt, one of the blows had hit your cheekbone, but you didn't care. You were tired from the effort your body had had to make, and you would almost have fallen asleep if your eyes and your mind could have allowed you to.

Fourteen returned, a small bowl filled with water in one hand, a rag that held a strange, dirty tint in the other. 

"Let's see," he sighed as he sat cross-legged next to you and took one of your hands from the floor.

He dipped the cloth into the water, soaking it generously before your palm resided in his and he gently ran the cloth over the back of your hand.

The cloth was rough, coarse, scraping more than it softened. But it wasn't about comfort, it never had been. It was just a way of sleeping better at night, even if it was difficult.

Fourteen did the washing without ever pressing too hard, only trying to clean your fingers of blood and other dirt so that it didn't become uncomfortable, and probably because it was a human thing to do.

"You did well out there," he said as he dipped the cloth back into the bowl, the water tinting slightly in the little warm lights you could afford.

Well, you did well. Punching someone until they passed out while you were in the same situation as them was well. 

Your cheek still resting on your knee, staring off into space and letting that rough caress cover your skin, you felt tired.

"Did I kill her?"

Your voice was cracked, like the sound of a turntable with a diamond on it, but where the song never started.

Fourteen stopped in his tracks, his eyes shifting from the damaged knuckles of your hand to your eyes. He took a deep breath before sighing, and you could feel the warm air hitting the raw flesh of your hand - but you didn't care.

"She's under care," he replied simply.

Between life and death, you concluded, and you were responsible.

Every night, you wondered if you'd been violent enough to make a profit the next day. You wondered if, perhaps, you had fed their appetites enough for them to offer you sustenance.

You didn't dare look at the others, wondering if one day you'd have to face one of them. You were terrified from this very thought.

Terrified of finding yourself in the state you'd put a fellow kid in. Terrified of taking a life. Terrified that one day you'd have to face Fourteen.

"Do you think this will stop one day?"

Your questions were so heavy in your mouth, so light in the air, lost in the dark uncertainty of the room.

"It will," Fourteen confirmed as he brought the cloth to press it to your cheekbone, "I promise.

You woke with a jolt, your body drenched in sweat while the room was still bathed in the darkness of the night.

Water. 

You got up, the damp fabric of your bed sheet repulsing you as you made your way to the bathroom, gasping for air. Your body burned, your fingers swollen with heat as you turned the tap and vigorously scrubbed your hands under the coldest water you could get your hands on. 

You turned off the tap, letting the sink fill up as your bewildered eyes caught your reflection in the mirror. You breathed hard, your pupils small and your hair a mess. Anger bubbled up inside you, boiling up your gullet.

Your face contorted in the air one last time as you turned off the tap when the sink was almost full to the brim. You plunged your whole head in, hands gripping the pale sides firmly as you let the coolness of the water engulf you.

A deep roar rose from your gut, crossing your throat and bursting under the silence of the water, the boiling bubbles of your frustration making it shake.

The water would cleanse you, purify you, hold the heaviness of your pain in its path and carry it away with it in silence, without anyone seeing or hearing a thing.

After that cry buried under the surface, as you drew in a breath, you choked on the water, mixing the salt of your tears with the chalky petricite aftertaste it contained. You pulled your head back, coughing violently, your face aching with frowns as beads of water more unpleasant than your sweat dripped onto your skin.

Clean. I need to be clean.

You threw off your pyjamas in a panic, tossing them carelessly on the mosaic floor as you climbed into the bath. Your legs were too weak to stay up in the shower, so you repeated the same thing you'd done at the sink.

The bath began to run, the initially cool water reaching your toes, doing nothing to calm your incessant trembling but helping the heat in your fingers.

The hot water arrived shortly afterwards, lukewarm as it mixed with the previous chill. After the freshness that had bathed your face, you were looking for insatiable warmth, water so hot that it would pasteurise everything in you and wipe the slate clean until you were neat and pure and flawless.

But you didn't offer yourself that torment. You had already suffered enough physical pain the day before and you weren't going to punish yourself any more, even if you wanted to. 

It was just a mistake, an overreaction, you weren't going to do it again. Never, ever again.

You never wanted to commit this again anyway, it wasn't a desire, just a fiery response that you thought you'd buried deep in the cracks of your memory.

And all those eyes watching you, waiting in fear for your every move, a fear that had changed sides.

The water finally reached your chest, and you turned off the tap with your foot, sinking into the pleasant warmth that stopped the shaking.

Your hands gripped each of your shoulders firmly, holding you in place as if you were in danger of exploding into a multitude of shards of glass. You breathed in heavily, trying to calm yourself down.

You had to think of something else, find a way to anchor yourself, and you knew one that Selene had taught you. So you closed your eyes and recited in your head.

In a village, there is a house. It has yellow curtains, a red table and a blue sponge. What more can you tell me about it?

You breathed softly, trying to imagine its interior.

There are huge green enamel bowls, an orange sofa soaking up the afternoon sun with turquoise cushions. In the bathroom, there's a hot shower that's airing out the smell of shampoo and bubbles of foam on the walls.

The idea of being indoors again almost made you feel like suffocating though, so you changed your point of view.

This house has lots of windows and hardly any walls overlooking a garden. It has a small vegetable garden with tomato plants and basil, an arbour where wisteria grows in spring, and a deckchair where you can lie back and bask in the sun while reading a book. Butterflies flutter by during the day, fireflies light up the garden at night, and cicadas are always singing.

You felt your body relax, your heart less stressed as you sank into the bath until only your head emerged from the water and your ears were covered from reality.

When you come back into the house, pieces of crystal shimmer multicoloured lights on the walls as you pour lemonade into purple cups. Your lips pressed together, the memory of the coffee you shared the night before returning to your mind. Your heart began to beat again, your skin feeling warmer than the bath water.

You inevitably thought back to the look in his eyes, piercing yours with that dark glint that made your tummy feel so warm. Why did you feel that way? Why did his gaze on you mean so much to you? Why did you want more?

You sighed, your eyes opening on the bathroom ceiling. You turned slightly on your side, curling your legs up against you.

The warm bath water caressed your cheekbone, making you hiss. You'd taken very little care of your wounds yesterday. After your fight, you went straight to the hotel, never escaping the curious and worried glances of passers-by.

You changed quickly, cleaning your face and applying the compresses you always kept in your toiletry bag just in case before going out again. 

You needed to walk, you needed to not be solicited, you needed to get your adrenalin down and get as far away as possible from anyone you knew.

What you'd just done had the terrible potential to get you into a lot of trouble. This behaviour was unworthy of the greatness of Piltover Academy, you were supposed to represent the splendour of your excellence, not deposit a reputation for violence and rudeness outside the white gates of the great city of Demacia.

What if the Academy expelled you for this disruptive behaviour? What if, after this trip, you could never set foot in the Academy again?

Not only did this problem linger in the back of your mind, but there was another worry on the rise. Fiora was heiress to one of the most powerful families in Demacia, and you dreaded the reaction her parents would have when she returned and they saw the state you had put her in.

You had attacked their daughter on their own territory with blows that could have sent her to her death, and you didn't know what would happen.

You hadn't returned from your walk until night had fallen and you were beginning to feel hungry.

You had taken an empty table in the hotel, the eyes of the students and other customers on you, but you had yours on your meal, which you ate quickly before going to bed.

And there you were, in your bath, remorse biting you harder than rust on metal.

You took your hands off your shoulders, letting the warmth of the bath cover your palms before bringing them up to your face, grunting slightly as your swollen skin ached.

You didn't want to go out today, you didn't want to have to go to class, you didn't want to have to meet the same faces and stares that had seen a side of you the day before that you wished was dead and buried.

But you had to face this world out there, face it despite all this, and move on.

When the bath water was cooler than hot, you got out. You ran your hand over the steamy surface of the mirror, tracing a horizontal V to reveal your reflection, tired but less erratic than before. You sighed, needing to take care of your bruises, the fresh marks on your body before they got any worse.

You wrapped yourself in a towel, tidying up your hair and wringing it out before leaving the bathroom.

The second bed was of course still empty. You'd probably have had something to worry about if Fiora had decided to sleep in there with you, and you dreaded the thought of having to wake up with a blade to your throat, or never seeing the light of day again.

You dressed simply, there were still about four days to spend in Demacia, and you weren't as enthusiastic about it as you'd been at first.

The subdued light in your room wasn't going to help you with your patch-up job, so you decided instead to put on a jumper paired with jogging pants before getting out of your room to have breakfast, if the hotel was even open.

To your surprise, the staff were already busy in the kitchen, and the buffet table was filling up by the minute with pastries, breads and spreads, all different and appetising.

You took whatever appealed to you most, revelling in the knowledge that you didn't have to pay for anything during your stay. So you took a seat on a bench in a corner, near a window overlooking the city still bathed in the blue of the night.

You relished the silence, the blue glasses that calmed everything, the solitude. You regained a little of your peacefulness, fighting whatever was in you not to stuff your plate on the spot out of bad habit.

When you brought your cup to your lips, your mind inescapably went back to yesterday's scene. Could you get that memory out of your mind and off your lips? Or would you be doomed to replay it over and over again?

Did you really want to put it out of your mind, or did the novelty of it frighten you, despite your growing desire to hold on to it and ask for more?

Your lips kissed the rim of your cup in search of a trace he'd left in your mind, wishing you could find it again and again, to have his eyes burning like two suns letting your heart tan.

This thought evaporated, however, when Garen entered the hotel restaurant. He was wearing jogging bottoms, a hooded sweatshirt with the zip open over a white t-shirt.

He didn't fail to notice you, and with good reason - you were the only person in the room. He exchanged a glance with you before approaching, your gaze returning to the table.

A small knot formed in your throat, and you grabbed your cup to bring it to your lips and hope to drown the sensation.

He sat down opposite you, forearm on the table as he watched you. He sat in silence for a long moment, the two of you staying like that for a bit until he broke the silence.

"Wanna talk about it?"

You chuckled, regretting the way your mouth stretched into a smile as the wound on your lower lip reopened and you drowned it in coffee.

"About the way I almost punched your friend to death yesterday?" you questioned as your tired eyes met his. "That's a thorny conversation subject for such a calm morning."

He shrugged, crossing his arms on the white tablecloth. "I was going to ask more about the reason why you're up so early."

"Is waking up early illegal in Demacia?"

His eyes found the street, empty except for the few passers-by heading to work early. "I don't know many people who get up early without any particular activity for pure pleasure."

You looked at him for a moment. "Is that why you're up early?"

His eyes met yours again. "Among other things."

There was silence once more. But there was no pressure, no expectation that you'd say anything, just the silence of company.

Both your hands were around your cup, your thumb tracing where your lip had been.

"I..." you began tentatively. "I feel terrible." You admitted the words without looking away from your cup. "I didn't exactly have the most..." you inhaled heavily, "loving upbringing, and-" you shrugged, "I should never have fought with her. I feel like I regressed to an animal state in two seconds, like I couldn't control myself when I should have."

"You were angry," he said simply, "it's normal to lose your temper."

You sighed. "It was an overreaction."

"And she's the one who pushed you over the edge," Garen remarked, "and brought out a legitimate anger that seemed to have been buried inside you for a long, long time." He leaned slightly towards you, his eyes on you even though you didn't dare meet them yet. "She revealed personal information to everyone that you probably didn't want to divulge, and she did it in order to humiliate you. Not to mention the fact that she started spreading rumours to discredit you."

Just thinking about it made your muscles itch like nettles as you remembered your kneeling position in front of her, her pretentiousness. 

"I wish I didn't have to get rid of that anger like that."

"Better out than in," Garen said.

You were finally meeting his eyes. "I'm not sure that getting rid of this violence in this way is the solution."

"Well, that I concede," he confirmed. "But I don't think it's such an overreaction. You both had your reasons. The parameters of your upbringing came into play, as did hers. She had her honour to save."

"But I had nothing to save, I did it out of anger and because I could."

"And anyone in your place could very well have done the same."

"You literally had to pull me off her," you sighed, "who knows how far it might have gone."

"But that's as far as it went, thankfully," he smiled at you. "You can't get stuck in this eternal 'what if' mentality if it's holding you back."

There was truth in his words, and you couldn't deny it. The guilt of having let yourself get carried away gripped you, but you tried to lighten the balance by thinking back to what he was saying. 

Fiora had come looking for you herself after all, asking - no, ordering a fight with you and pushing you into it until you gave her what she had wanted. But what about the consequences?

Your eyes found your reflection in the coffee of your cup.

"My friends saw me," you began tentatively. "I'm scared that-" your throat knotted slightly and you cleared it, hoping to chase away the sorrow that was trying to spread through it, "that they'll see me differently, that in their eyes I'll be just that and nothing else."

"Viktor and Jayce, right?" he checked.

You nodded, your hand gripping the handle of your mug a little tighter as the terrible thought crossed your mind for a moment that Sky might have seen this.

"They came to see me after the incident," he revealed, "they seemed more concerned about your condition than Fiora's."

A warm stone dropped into your stomach. Worried? Jayce, you might have expected it, but the shock that flooded Viktor's face made you think it would be impossible for him to feel anything other than incomprehension.

"Don't lie to me to try and cheer me up," you chuckled nervously.

"Me? Lie?" he smiled. "Do you really think my Demacian soul spends all its time making up charades and lies just to flatter your ego?"

You relaxed your shoulders. "Got a point."

"I was with Viktor last night," he continued. "I gather he's not really the chatty type, we've barely spoken since we arrived, but last night he seemed more worried, a bit more talkative."

"Viktor? Worried and chatty? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?’

"He was asking me questions, wondering if I'd seen you later in the day, if I'd managed to find you."

"Found me?" you repeated.

"After you left, I looked for you a bit," he admitted. "But I soon realised that company probably wasn't what you were looking for, so I decided to wait. I was just going to go looking for you again if you didn't come back by nightfall."

"I didn't know you had tracking skills," your lips pressed into an inverted smile.

"I'm not fond of letting someone venture out at night into a city they barely know," he pointed out, a sneer stretching one of his lips to the side, "so yes, any means would be good to find you."

"Even a young woman who knows her way around a punch?" you questioned.

He tilted his head to one side. "If someone came across you with a staff or another sword, I've got enough memories of yesterday's little session to give me an idea of how you'd cope."

You chuckled, finishing the rest of your coffee and avoiding scratching your chin where the tip of his quarterstaff had resided. "I can never do anything right, can I?"

"I'm sure you're not too bad at jogging," he rose from his bench, taking your plate and cutlery in hand, "what do you say?"

"You want me to go jogging, with you?" you questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"Tell me if you see anybody else in this room apart from the two of us," he said before leaving to clear away your things.

You stood up, taking your cup in hand and following him. "Maybe you were asking a magical third individual in the streets."

“So that's a no?” he questioned, turning to you once the silverware had been put down.

"That's a 'I don't jog often, so please be kind as I'll try to keep up with you'," you replied, setting your mug down with the rest of your finished meal.

He chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

And you did, partly. 

He took you outside and started jogging with you. You didn't really have the time or the inclination to go jogging in the mornings in Piltover, especially these days when you'd been working yourself to death.

But running in a setting you'd only recently discovered wasn't so bad. Like Piltover and many other towns, Demacia had a different atmosphere at night and during the day. 

Garen took you around his usual route, showing you places that were not shown to tourists but were well worth a visit. From florists who had just opened their shops and were perfuming the air, to restaurants serving the previous day's leftovers and soups for stray cats and dogs, to little fountains hidden in the middle of cobbled courtyards from whose springs you drank.

You found it hard to keep up sometimes, but Garen was patient, letting you take as many breaks as you needed. He found himself teasing you. "I thought you could keep up."

"I don't do this every morning like you," you breathed, recovering from one of your side stitches as you resumed your pace.

He laughed, and so did you, gradually waking up the city with your mutual runs. There was something liberating about it, because for once in your life you weren't running to get away but to move forward. You were letting go of your tensions, freeing yourself from the weight of worries for which you were only partly to blame.

The ivory streets were bathed in the warm orange sunlight as you made your way back to the hotel. You almost regretted having taken a bath already, feeling guilty for using the hotel water. But the bill wasn't on you, and knowing you'd have the chance to shower again when you got home made you feel better.

"Take your shower," he breathed as you both reached your respective doors, "I'm gonna take a look at your cheek afterwards."

You almost forgot about the bruises spreading across your face. Fiora hadn't hit you too hard - not as hard as you - but it was still enough to leave marks and nail cuts on your skin.

"I can take care of it," you confirmed.

"Judging by the way you treat them, I doubt it," Garen laughed before knocking on the door to enter.

Viktor was probably still asleep, it was early, but Garen still had the decency to knock just in case.

You went back to your room, not having to worry about that matter from lack of roommate. You took off your sweaty clothes, and hoped very much that a washing machine would be put in order during the week. You had brought enough spare clothes just in case, but you could never be sure.

After your shower was over, you opened the door to your bedroom so that Garen could come in as soon as he was finished without worrying about knocking. His hair still dripping with water, he stepped out of his room.

It didn't seem to be plunged into darkness, and you deduced that Viktor was probably already awake.

Garen came in with a first aid kit, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"You carry that around in your luggage all the time?"

He smiled before sitting down on your bed with you. ‘You never know the kind of trouble you might get into along the way. Besides, I train almost every morning. If you only knew the blows Fiora can land with those damned training swords of hers."

You smiled as you listened to him open his kit and look for compresses and disinfectant. "I will lend you some of this for you to properly take care of this, this way you can do this yourself if it ever happens again on the trip, which hopefully, won't."

He took out some objects and placed them on your bed while he went looking for what was needed, a small pot with a golden lid intriguing you.

"What's this?" you asked, pointing at it.

His eyes drifted over the object, taking it in his hand and bringing it up to his head like a medal.

"This is the miracle balm," he began before holding it out to you, "it has saved me many times."

You took it in your palm, turning it between your fingers to observe it before uncorking it. It was a dark ointment, and you brought it to your nose. The smell was strong, and you put it away immediately. You recognised the scent, certain fresh, strong notes taking you far back in time.

"For knots under the skin, tired muscles, and other aches and pains - it's my saviour," Garen explained as he prepared a cotton ball, soaking it in alcohol. "C'mere."

You moved a little closer to him, your cross-legged knees almost touching his thigh. He brought his index finger under your chin, gently guiding your head to the side to get a better view of the damage left on your face.

You could see his eyebrows furrow in your peripheral vision, the thumb of his free hand coming to rest on the swollen skin of your cheek and pressing lightly.

You hissed, the pain spreading down the side of your face.

"Sorry," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your swollen skin gently like a silent apology, "I was going to ask if it hurts but I guess I have my answer."

He pressed the cotton ball between his fingers, bringing it gently to your cheekbone. Your eye near the wounds crinkled under the tingle. It was unpleasant, but not painful. He barely pressed the cotton against your skin, taking care that, despite his imposing musculature, he didn't let it define him in every way and thus reduce his gentleness to nothing.

"Where did you get it, the balm?" you questioned, your eyes resting on a point in the void while his remained riveted on your cheek.

"We have enough shops stocked with balms and other herbal elixirs here that the majority of Demacia's athletes all have one pot of it. I'll take you there on a market visit, which shouldn't be long now."

"There's one scheduled for this very afternoon," you confirmed as he changed his focus to your face, moving up to your temple.

"Well then," he smiled, taking a second cotton ball to soak, "I'll take you there."

His index finger still under your chin pulled you back to face him, his eyes settling on your lips.

You had a nasty cut, probably from an accidental bite during the fight or a scratch from Fiora. Either way, it wasn't pleasant.

"That might sting a bit more," he warned as he pressed the cotton against your lip.

The previously forgettable tingle was now impossible to ignore and searing. You recoiled at the sensation, but Garen's index finger under your chin was joined by his thumb to hold you in place firmly, preventing you from any escape.

"It'll be over soon," he promised, repeatedly pressing the cotton against your skin.

You clenched your fists, your eyes drifting to the corridor you could see from your bed. A figure stood there, your heart dropping into your stomach as the pain of the alcohol was quickly forgotten.

Viktor.

There, standing impassively still, he watched the scene. Your eyes met his and you felt very small.

His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he hadn't had much sleep the night before, and his dark circles seemed to bring out the amber in his eyes. You couldn't make out his expression, but it was definitely one of frustration. 

You lowered your eyes slightly as Garen removed the cotton wool from your lip, not feeling up to meeting his gaze. The weight of it seemed heavy, but you couldn't work out why. He must have been angry, or perhaps disappointed? Or even disgusted, by you.

"Oh, Viktor," Garen greeted as he began to put his things away naturally, "have you taken your breakfast yet?"

You looked up at him, hoping your eyes wouldn't cloud over with tears as all your shame rose in your throat. He parted his lips, and you wondered what he was about to say or answer. The whole tone of his voice would show where your friendship lay, and your heart was pounding just at the terrible expectation he was imposing on you.

"Come on, come on! Let's all gather together please," you heard Heimerdinger say in the distance, “I'm going to announce today's programme.”

You held your breath as Garen stood up: "Let's get going before there's no breakfast to eat anymore, I'm starving."

And so Garen took Viktor with him, and your breath caught and released as you inhaled violently.

The idea of Viktor hating you before was not a problem. You could have gone for days without worrying about it. Now it was a waking nightmare that was haunting you terribly.

You reached over and closed the door for a moment, taking advantage of this small moment to take your Tarot deck from your suitcase and draw a card for the day, hoping that it would help you.

And so the Eight of Wands fell. 

Intentions are sent. Energy is in motion. Intentions are powerful and this card is an illustration of action in motion.

Although you were hoping for quick answers, you felt stressed, but continued your rapid reading of the booklet.

What's done can't be undone. The send button has been pressed and the letter has been sent. The spell is cast. The words and incantations have been spoken. Although you cannot undo what is done, you can pause, wait and see what the ramifications are. The energy is strong and effective. Let the universe work its magic. Do not try to control what has been sent. The situation is beyond your control for now. Be patient and you'll get results.

So you were asked... to wait? To be patient and see what would come your way? Of all the answers you could have hoped for, this was probably the last one on your list.

Heimerdinger had explained how the afternoon would unfold. First of all, you would visit one of Demacia's great museums, to learn about their art and history. Of course, you would have to fill in a form with all sorts of information and return it at the end of the day. After this little excursion, you could wander freely around Demacia.

Thus, you found yourself in one of the long corridors with its glass ceiling of the great Demacian museum. The students' shoes echoed against the black and white chequered floor as Heimerdinger gave a final reminder of the instructions.

You stood slightly back, watching a few statues and trying not to drift your gaze to the back of Viktor's head incessantly. What's he thinking?

You were at least hoping that the card would be right, that your answers would come quickly, that the wait would be short, and that the revelation wouldn't destroy you. And if Viktor decided to cut you off, what would you do?

How would you recover from the loss? You didn't have a very wide circle of friends, and this event could prove to be the end of all friendships with Viktor, Jayce and Sky.

Would Sky refuse to be your flatmate from now on? Would she move out because she couldn't spend another moment in the same room as you? Would Jayce stop coming to the café and shower you with his enthusiasm?

Your life would return to a profound emptiness, and you didn't know if you were capable of returning to it so abruptly. Of course, you still had Eris, but you saw her too little.

When had you started to feel comfortable with the idea of having friends like that? When did you allow yourself to trust them? to like them?

Heimerdinger finished his speech, and the students dispersed, as did you. You needed to get away from it all for a while, to try and take your mind off things by doing the only thing you knew how to do well: work.

You played nervously with your pencil, tapping its eraser against the few sheets you had to fill in, while your eyes absent-mindedly studied a white stone statue of yet another legendary fighter whose name meant little to you.

You were immersed in your thoughts, in the multiple possibilities that rushed into your mind to take the microphone and shout out their merits.

"I didn't see you yesterday during our afternoon lesson."

You lowered your eyes to your right, Heimerdinger standing up straight as he watched the statue by your side.

You sighed, turning in front of the latter's sign to jot it down in a corner of your paper. "Good morning to you too, Professor."

"I assume your absence was due to the incident that took place yesterday's morning?" he asked, and you sensed in your peripheral vision that he was looking towards you.

You turned to face him, his eyes widening slightly at the extent of the damage before you spoke. "I wonder what brought you to this conclusion."

You couldn't help using sarcasm, no doubt to play down the situation, and perhaps to try and put some distance between you and the freshness of these events. He seemed to watch you for a moment, his curious little eyes observing the tint the blows had left on your cheek.

"My my, quite an imposing mark. I didn't know you were so, um," he pouted thoughtfully, one of his hands rising into the air to make circular motions as if he were shuffling a keyring of words he was looking for the right key to, 'energetic'.”

You chuckled slightly, lowering your eyes to your paper. "I hope this excess of energy won't get me into any troubles regarding the Academy."

You suspected that this conversation was primarily about that, and although you tried not to let it go negative, you couldn't help the nagging anxiety in your stomach.

"To the Academy?" repeated Heimerdinger, as if surprised by the idea. "No, you have actually made more of a significantly positive impression."

Your shoulders settled between anxiety and relief, frowning as you looked back up at him. "Positive?"

"From what the students have been nattering about, and what has been brought back to me, it seems that you slightly altered the Piltover Academy popularity towards the Demacian through a performance that has tipped the scale on our side," he explained as his index finger and thumb pinched the air. "They were surprised anyone from our little group could keep up in any affray against such trained students." He chirped as he rocked for a moment on his heels, his arms linking behind his back. "I have to say that I myself am quite impressed."

You felt very light, as if a vulture that had hitherto pressed its talons on your shoulders had just flown away out of disinterest in the prey that you were. So you were being watched not as a monster but as... a champion?

You were having trouble digesting the information. Had you become so obsessed with the harm you had caused that you locked yourself into an mentality in which you were only at fault? 

Did your friends feel the same way? Did Jayce, Sky and Viktor think the same as Heimerdinger?

"Impressed?" you repeated, as if to check that it wasn't a joke. "By what I did?"

"Absolutely," the yorddle nodded. "Now, I wasn't present and I would probably not have been in the opportunity had risen as I am not much of an advocate for the sweat of physical conflict, but I have to confess that through this opposition, you have brought a certain honour to the Academy." He turned to you, giving you a proud smile. "Well done!"

Were you dreaming? It must have been, wasn't it? But you'd never had such a beautiful dream, and given what had happened you weren't expecting to for a long time.

You blinked a few times, trying to digest this information. You weren't going to be expelled, or punished for what you'd done, and you were learning that some students might even have some respect for you as a result?

"I..." you searched for your words, the keychain of words passing in turn without your nervous fingers being able to find the perfect key. So you settled on a passe-partout that sincerely reflected your thoughts. "Thank you."

"No need for any gratitude," informed Heimerdinger, shaking his head, "all I ask is that I hope to see you in class. The taste of glory is exquisite, but I do not wish it to replace your diligence."

You nodded quickly. "Of course, Professor."

"Well," he smiled, "I'll leave you to your work from now on. I haven't finished exploring the immensity of this place yet."

And with that, he left, and you blew all the air out of your lungs, placing your hand on your chest then. You couldn't believe it, all the worries you'd imagined were crumbling away from your skin like dirt being washed away.

A nervous chuckle went up your throat and you smothered it with your palm over your lips, wincing slightly as the cut on it opened slightly and stung.

You had to pull yourself together. Sure, you'd escaped one problem, but another still remained - your friends. Should you go and find them and talk to them? Or would they come on their own?

You'd only had to move to another showroom to meet Sky and Jayce's eyes, your flatmate's face lighting up with shock as she ran to you and hugged you tightly, and you returned the embrace. Your whole body relaxed, and if you weren't in public you'd probably have been crying.

"You scared the hell out of me," you managed to decipher as her head was buried in your shoulder before she suddenly straightened up and cupped your face, watching your wounds with a frown. "What a viper."

"You should see her," you grinned, the tingle on your lip no longer mattering to you.

"I have seen her," Sky assured you, raising her eyebrows and smiling, "Jayce and Viktor told me everything."

"Oh yeah?" you questioned as your gaze drifted to Jayce who was coming towards you. His face was a mixture of joy and concern, and it hurt to see him like that.

"Mhm!" confirmed Sky as Jayce finally came towards you. "That she kept testing you until you agreed to a fight and brought her back to her place," she turned to him, "they kept saying you looked really, really cool."

Jayce nodded beside her, seeming to restrain himself from saying or doing anything.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, was he scared of you? 

"No Jayce hug?" you tried, teasing him.

He huffed, pained like a puppy waiting for a treat. "I don't want to hurt you by squeezing too tight. You already got wounds, I don't want to make it worse.’

Despite his imposing stature, you had always noticed how Jayce seemed to deliberately try to appear small or less imposing. Whether it was putting his shoulders backwards when his hands were behind his back, or crossing them when he was thinking, he always tried not to spread himself and to appear less big than he actually was.

You smiled softly. "I don't care."

He sighed in relief, pulling you into a hug and it felt so soothing. His big arms encircled you in a way that promised you everything would be okay no matter what, and that he'd always be there whatever happened.

"Vik's been wanting to talk to you," he whispered, so that only you could hear him.

The news made your cheeks flush with warmth, your heart pounding in your chest as you patted his back gently and he straightened up away from you.

"I didn't know you were into boxing," Jayce remarked deeply intrigued and back to his usual curiosity, "why did you never tell us that?"

You shrugged. "I didn't see a reason to."

"Do you know how expensive boxing classes are in Piltover?" quipped Jayce. "I had tried it once but never came back to it just because of the price."

He nodded, and a small silence settled between the three of you. There were so many things left unsaid, so many desires to talk that you couldn't quite grasp and start.

"Why didn't you come to us?" questioned Sky at last, breaking the silence. "We were worried.’

You sighed softly, lowering your eyes. You'd left them in the dark, deliberately distancing yourself from them by assuming ideas that could have been avoided by discussing it with them and setting the record straight.

"I..." you clutched your pen in your hand, trying your hardest not to let your voice crack, "I thought you guys wouldn't want to associate with someone that did that. So... yeah. I'm sorry."

Sky and Jayce's eyes softened, and your shame and guilt at having walked away from them weighed in your stomach heavier than ever.

"You're going to have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of us," Sky smiled, putting her hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

You smiled back. Every misfortune that had haunted you over the last twenty-four hours was being resolved one by one, naturally, and now there was only one person left to balance it all.

"Have you done the part on the origin of the magical wars yet?" questioned Jayce as if nothing had happened, pointing to your index card. "You definitely have to check it out," he pulled out his map of the museum, pointing to the few rooms that contained the exhibition in question, "it's over there."

The message was simple: you'll find him there.

"Good,’ you nodded, "I'll catch up with you guys later."

The three of you then confirmed that you would meet up after the visit so that you could explore the Demacian markets together, and you set off in the direction of the indicated exhibition.

Your heart was pounding. Your anxiety was gradually diluted and replaced by immense relief. Did Viktor share their opinions too? What would his reaction be? You dreaded it as much as you longed for it.

When had he become such a central part of your life? And why did you feel so affected by every move and idea he might have had about you?

You reached the area in question, completely empty. Given the Demacians' disdain for the origin of magic and their bitterness towards it, you weren't much surprised.

It was a large room with an open side from which you had just come, each of its corners seeming to shelter small rooms with narrower entrances acting as mini corridors of separation. You tried to walk along the left-hand wall and into the corridor leading to the first room. When you reached the end of the small hallway, you froze as a voice you recognised approached.

"Vikkie?" Fiora was calling.

You turned, fearing that she might see you, and took a few steps back.

You stifled a small scream as what appeared to be a thin, curved bar pressed against your stomach and pulled you back and then to the side as a hand took hold of your arm. Your back met the wall and your breath caught as Viktor's eyes met yours and he pressed his index finger to his own lips to urge you to remain silent, the knob of his cane hovering near your waist as his hand gripped your hip.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden stress faded from your tense muscles and another feeling took over. The two of you were close, Viktor cocking his head and leaving you to watch the angle of his jaw as he waited for the area to be cleared of her presence.

The warmth of his hand on your hip cut through the fabric of your clothes, and you found yourself wanting to press yourself against it.

What was this sensation? Why did this position make you feel all warm and fuzzy in your stomach? Why was your heart pounding in your chest now that the stress was over?

In the distance, you could hear Fiora sigh. "Mais quelle anguille," she sighed in her native tongue as the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance and Viktor let out his held breath.

He pressed his forehead to the wall against which you were standing, his lips to the level of your ear. "Hit her in the jaw next time, Miss," the nickname mixed with his low voice made your cheeks flush. "This way maybe I can escape her constant need for useless conversation."

You couldn't help laughing. "I'll note that for next time, Vikkie."

You felt him squeeze his hand lightly on your hip as he gave you a sound that was a mixture of grumble, sigh and laugh before straightening up.

His amber eyes found yours, and your heart leapt. You hoped it would calm down, but it seemed to you at the time that this was profoundly impossible.

"For once I would rather you call me any witty nickname you could have than this," he smiled.

"Mm," you seemed to be falsely thinking about it without taking your eyes off him, "I'll consider thinking about it."

He smiled, his eyes drifting from yours to rest on your cheekbone and your cheek before finishing on your lips. 

You swallowed silently as his eyes rested on it in a strange way.

‘Does it hurt...?’ he asked, his eyes finally returning to yours, a dark light flashing through his gaze.

You shook your head. "No."

He nodded gently. "Good."

His eyes, which this morning had been stern, were now more tender. He seemed to become aware of your closeness, his glance settling on his hand still on your waist.

He took a step back, and his absence from you and his hand on your hip disheartened you more than you thought it would. 

"Sorry for this measure," he said, tapping two fingers on his cane, "I had to make sure she wouldn't see either of us nor hear anything."

A warmth spread across the back of your neck at the memory of how he'd grabbed you and pulled you towards him, and you tried to shake away the thought. "It's okay," you reassured, "I was actually looking for you, too."

"And you were first at it, once again," he smiled, nodding. "I'm glad it's you that found me before her."

"I agree," you confirmed with a thin smile.

A moment of hesitation passed, an additional silence of expectation that twisted your throat as you searched for your words. You didn't sense any judgement on his part, or that he wanted to press you for answers.

"I..." you began, inhaling, shifting your gaze from his to one of the few paintings on the walls of the small room, "I'm sorry, that you had to see me this way. ”Your eyes returned to his. "I don't know how I must have looked to you and," you breathed, "I regret it."

He gazed at you for a moment, frowning as his eyes returned to where Fiora knuckles had had the misfortune to meet your face.

"Why are you apologising?" he asked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" he chuckled, one corner of his lips rising a little higher than the other and raising his mole. "No, I don't think mad would be the term. Surprise, more like it."

"That I almost sent this girl to the hospital?" 

"That despite all I seem to learn about you, I still want to know more."

A warmth spread through your chest.

He persisted, despite everything. He'd seen the vilest, most unbearable and stubborn parts of you, he'd seen you fight, and yet he stayed.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "I think I may have broken the second clause about helping each other and the sixth about honesty through this."

He looked surprised that you remembered so perfectly of the clauses' number, but he just shrugged. "If it is about telling me everything on your reasons for your reaction, I'm not hurried." He tilted his head to the side, his eyes on you. "I am patient, I can wait."

What had you done to deserve this? So much understanding, support and solidarity? You weren't used to it.

You considered telling him, about your past, about everything right here and there, but a thought occurred to you. If Fiora knew all the things she'd told you about your past, it was probably through him. You hesitated to ask him, parting your lips to inquire.

"And right here, in this very room, the birth of magical conflict," exclaimed the voice of a guide leading a group of tourists into the great hall.

You sighed, the little peace you had with Viktor vanishing into thin air.

"I guess we'll have to continue this conversation another time, Miss," he confirmed, "for the moment, we need to finish this damned file."

You returned to your little group like nothing had ever happened, filling in the answer boxes provided by Heimerdinger one by one. And when the visit was over, everyone returned to the hotel to get ready to visit the market.

Viktor left you all to take a nap, all that walking had made him tired. Garen, not wishing to intrude on this time of emotional reunion with your friends, provided you with a list of addresses and names of shops that might interest you.

And so Jayce, Sky and yourself wandered through the eccentric markets of Demacia. From wacky plant shops to armouries, you kept stopping and gawking. Colours and smells were all mingling together in this odd symphony that somehow wasn't too overwhelming

Each street was an exciting new discovery full of new things to uncover. You followed some of the names of the shops Garen had given you, taking the opportunity to get hold of his famous balm.

There was something strangely comforting about it, something familiar, and it made you feel good to have it close to you.

After a delicious snack of Demacian pastries and further visits to the length and breadth of the market, the three of you returned to the hotel with small bags of souvenirs and tired legs. 

The aches and pains from jogging and the physical effort of the previous day's battle were beginning to take their toll, and you couldn't wait to go home and get some rest.

When you inserted the key to your room to enter, however, you found it already open. You frowned, pushing the door open and freezing as Fiora stood in the room.

She turned towards you, and you could see the rest of the damage you had caused. She probably had a doctor attached to her family, and they'd really helped her out. She had a bandage on her nose, her cheeks and cheekbones had deflated, but despite the ice cubes she'd had to put on her skin to soften them, there were still some purplish marks.

My marks, you thought, I made them, but I'm not proud of them.

Her eyes rested on you, annoyed. She looked around the room for a moment.

"Not too bad for a bedroom," she nodded, "too bad it's for two."

You sighed. She didn't seem to want to budge from her attitude, and you weren't going to play her game. You walked over to your bed, putting your shopping bag on the side of it.

"Why are you here, Fiora?" you asked simply, crossing your arms.

You preferred to get to the heart of the matter, beating around the bush was pointless and this day had shown you that perfectly.

She sighed heavily, walking up to your level and stopping at a respectable distance.

She put her weight on one of her hips, crossing her arms in turn. "I came here to apologise."

You frowned, doubting the veracity of this gesture. "Did Garen pay you to do this?"

"Pfft," she chuckled, "I wish I had been paid to do this."

"Did Madame Diane ask you to come here then?" you continued.

"Nope," she replied, emphasising the end of the word.

Had she really come to apologise of her own free will? It was almost doubtful. 

"So why are you coming here to apologise?" 

She sighed, her eyes drifting over her nails resting on her biceps. "I guess I feel, well, guilty."

She said the words as if she had to get rid of them, and you could feel the frustration building.

"How old are you?" you suddenly asked.

She seemed confused by the question, arching an eyebrow. "... Twenty four?"

“You're twenty four, you know what a word means, so what the hell took you?”

"I know, okay?" she grunted before taking a breath to calm herself. "Let's not start arguing, I didn't come here to nudge you to fight, just to get a conversation."

You straightened up, chewing the inside of your cheek to steady yourself. She was at least taking the first step towards remaining diplomatic, and you couldn't take that away from her, it was a good way of going about things.

You pointed your chin at her for a moment. "Why did I become your target?" you questioned. ‘You've been trying to set me aside since day one."

"No I have not," she said, frowning as her accent sounded stupid to you.

"You literally called me a rag."

"That's just because your sense of fashion is terrible," she explained, shrugging.

"See? You're doing it again," you remarked, unclasping your arms.

She sighed. "Well I guess if you had better clothes I wouldn't have said it ."

You chuckled. "This is a weird apology."

"Are you taking it or not?" Her tongue clicked against her teeth like a tired whip.

"I'll take it once I know why you wanted to put me aside."

"Because your friend Viktor is cute," she replied, shaking her head as an obvious smile spread across her lips, though it faded as her eyes rolled back into their sockets, "but the more I speak to him the more boring he gets."

You recoiled. "So you spat on me... because of a guy?"

"Not just any guy," she giggled, "he has the attitude of a prince."

Yes, he does, you thought. You remembered how he looked at the masquerade, all dressed in rich velvet and dark fabrics lined with goldened jewelry. And his coat, which you had the opportunity to wear, you couldn't forget it, couldn't forget his smell that had covered you while you walked your way back home. He had the chivalrous attitude of the Knight of Pentacles, and you couldn't deny that the role suited him perfectly.

Your eyes drifted off into space just thinking about it. "I guess you could say that."

"What do you mean “I guess”?" questioned Fiora, almost outraged. 

Your cheeks heated as you tried to get back to normal, to pull yourself together and not think about it any more than that.

"Yeah I mean, I guess you're right?"

"Wait," she frowned, her head turning slightly to the side as her eyes squinted at you, "do you have something for him?"

The back of your neck caught fire, your eyes widening as your first instinct was to deny.

"What?" you laughed. "No."

She brought her hand up to her mouth to cover it for a moment as she looked at you with huge eyes, murmuring her words in disbelief. "You have a crush on him."

"This is nonsense," you cleared your throat as you remembered the pressure of his hand against your hip, bringing your own palm to the spot to regain your balance, "of course I don't."

"So that's why you were pissed about the fact I was so close to him," Fiora continued realising to herself.

"Absolutely not!" you countered.

She started walking towards the door though. "So if I go in the other room and tell him you don't have a crush on him you won't have any problem with it-"

But you hadn't given her time to reach the handle, standing in front of the door and blocking it with your hand and entire body. You reacted instinctively to this, but why? 

"Don't," you whispered, "I don't have feelings for him."

She smiled at you for a moment, looking at you like you were the most ridiculous little thing she had ever seen in her life. "Then why are you reacting this way?’

You were asking yourself the same question on this very moment. Why did you start looking for him in every room? Why did you want his attention? Why did your body and your thoughts react this way when you found yourself near him?

"He's my friend," you mumbled, "I... respect him."

She giggled. "And you think that you loving him would be a form of disrespect to him?"

The truth of that sentence terrified you: could you honour him? Would having feelings for him be ridiculous considering how you were not worthy of deserving him?

"No, I told you I-"

"Fine!" Fiora's arms flew up in the air. "Gosh, you're stubborn."

You straightened up, looking at her for a moment as she exchanged a glance with you.

"So," she continued, "we bury the hatchet?"

You considered her for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. There were still four days to spend here, so you might as well spend them amicably. What's more, you weren't looking for a quarrel, so there was no reason to refuse this offer especially if it came from her.

"Alright," you nodded.

She followed your movement. "You fight pretty good by the way," she admitted, "I didn't think someone could hit that hard when looking like you."

You chuckled. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," she shrugged and nodded, "I thought you'd punch like a kid."

"And I thought you'd fight back better," you confirmed, "looks like we both got disappointed."

"If you hadn't taken such unrefined weaponry as your choice, maybe I would have been able to show you what an actual duel is like," she pointed out.

"I don't need weapons, and I didn't want to fight," you sighed.

"Why not?"

You shrugged as you moved forward to sit on your bed, fatigue gripping your limbs tightly. "Because I didn't need to."

"What is it with you Pilties," Fiora questioned, "you're boring."

"You're the bored girl trying to get everything because no one ever told you no," you remarked. 

A muscle tightened near her eye, as it had before the duel you'd had had yesterday and things turned sour, and you noticed that it was perhaps time for Fiora to give you a better excuse than an attraction to a man to justify her actions towards you.

“It destabilizes you, doesn't it?” You planted your hands on either side of you, leaning back slightly. “That a stranger, coming onto your ground, destroys that reality you’ve built up for yourself brick by brick without being able to do anything about it.”

She shifted her weight on her leg as she listened to you, and you knew you'd hit the nail on the head - because you'd been through this same exact situation only a few months ago.

“Well I'm going to tell you something. Simple, clear, which will hopefully be instantly integrated in that brain of yours,” you stared into her eyes. “People don't owe you anything.”

Fiora looked at you, her lips slightly parted.

“I don't owe you my politeness, I don't owe you my knee to be bowed at your coronation, and above all, I don't owe you my respect.”

A small silence settled in the air, until Fiora chuckled and smiled.

“I like you better than I thought I would.”

You straightened up, confused. You expected her to engage in another verbal joust, to send you back what you had just offered her, or to leave by slamming the door, but not to this. 

“You do?”

She approached the foot of your bed. “Do you know how many people ever told me what you just told me, Piltie girl?”

You shook your head, obviously not knowing the answer. She said nothing at the moment, simply raised her index finger in the air.

"One," she indicated as she lowered her perfectly manicured fingernail to point to you.

“Garen never told you that?” you questioned, finding it hard to believe that he didn't do the same.

She rolled her eyes. “He doesn't count. But anyway," she inhaled, "you're right. My honor was on the line of a blade I wanted to force to my will.” Her arms crossed over her chest again. “I don't want my reputation to hold on to the pillars of my family name, which has led me to...” her eyes passed over your bruises, “go low.”

“Exposing my personal information for everyone outside and trying to humiliate me is-”

“Yes I know!" Fiora cut off, annoyed. “I was scared, okay? You came here and the idea of having a stupid Piltie to show around all week wasn't the greatest for an ideal trip.” 

Her truth was beginning to come out, and you were listening to her as she had listened to you. She inhaled, trying not to let herself be overwhelmed by her emotions.

“But then you held up to me, and I thought I could feel everything crack and... I went too far. So," her eyes wore their sincerity, "I'm sorry, really.”

You understood her. You knew exactly how she could feel, and you weren't about to put her down about it.

“I went too far too,“ you admitted, "sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?"questioned Fiora. “I pushed you to do this.”

“I made your face redder than your hair streaks with my fists and you wonder why I'm apologizing?”

She shook her head, and you both sighed. And to say that all this could have been avoided if your egos had been put aside.

“At least” she resumed, pouting, "now I'm matching with my hair, that's twice more fashion style than you have.”

You couldn't help but smile, and let it evolve into a little laugh as Fiora followed you into the latter. She could be funny, after all.

“So” she resumed "we're cool?”

You nodded, smiling gently at her. “We're cool.”

“Cool," she sighed, walking over to the bedroom door to open it. "Oh also," she turned to you "did you make yourself some enemies in your classmates?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Sort of, I guess. Why?”

“That Tyler guy, if I were you I'd keep him under a close eye” she was pinching the door in her hand, ready to get out. “He's the one that came to tell me everything I learned about you. He came to me the first night to tell me about all of that.”

And with that, she left, closing the door and leaving behind a deafening anger.

You should have expected it. How could you have been so stupid?

You were thinking about what Jayce had said at the beginning of the trip, about how you were probably related to the bruises Tyler himself had received.

You were starting to realise how the plotting of this had gone. If he couldn't manage to get you the treatment he was getting from both you and his family, then he would find someone who would have done it for him. 

Did he insinuate to Fiora that she had to fight with you? Had he managed to push her to a duel against you in the euphoria of being able to see you lose to a renowned duelist like her?

You let yourself fall on your bed, too tired to get any more upset, but not allowing yourself to forget this under any pretext.

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[zweetpea]

Neuvillette spoiling the melusines

CW: Murder

(based on a comment thread from a different Neuvillette inccorect quote I did)

Neuvillette: Wait what do you mean two of my daughters are being prosecuted for murder.

Chevreuse: The Garde’s apprehended them for killing someone.

Neuvillette: That’s preposterous.

Chevreuse: We have several witnesses placing them at the scene of the crime.

Neuvillette: I’m holding them in contempt of court.

Chevreuse: We have a mountain of physical evidence. Charlotte took pictures of them bloodied and leaving the home of the victim, not to mention their signed confession.

Neuvillette: Inadmissible, I’m afraid that it must be thrown out.

Melusines: Nah, dad. We did it.

Neuvillette: Let the record show that that wasn’t under oath and was clearly under duress from the prosecution. I as their legal guardian evoke their right to remain silent, on their behalf.

Neuvillette: Well seems that we’ve exhausted the so called “evidence” the prosecution had. Let’s call it a day with a non guilty verdict, shall we?

(small tangent but I can imagine that the Oratrice Mecanique D’analyse Cardinale coming up with a guilty verdict and Neuvillette just kicks the shit out of it.)

[ldr13beaches]

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Harry Lewis x Y/N -

Complicated

It was a Saturday afternoon, and somehow you’d found yourself invited to take part in a Sidemen Sunday video. Honestly, you had no fucking clue what you’d just agreed to.

You stepped out of your Uber, trying not to look too out of place, and were immediately led through the front door of the house. It was the one the Sidemen filmed in. The familiar buzz of laughter and chaos filled the air as you walked into the living room.

The whole squad was there: Tobi, Ethan, JJ, George Clarke, Vik, Arthur TV, Harry, Simon, Bambino Becky, and—of course—you.

“Hey Y/N!” Simon’s grin greeted you from across the room, his smile wide as ever. JJ raised a beer, his eyebrows wiggling in your direction, and you rolled your eyes.

“Christ, JJ, drinking already?” You teased, eyeing the time on your watch.

JJ shrugged, taking a swig. “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” he retorts taking a sip.

You laughed as the crew moved around, setting up cameras in the corner. The boys sprawled themselves across the sofas and chairs, making themselves comfortable. Harry patted the empty spot next to him, and without thinking, you slid into the seat beside him. He shot you a small smile as you crossed your legs, settling in.

Simon stood up, his voice carrying. “Alright, today we’re doing a lie detector test. Everyone gets a turn answering questions, and we’ll see who’s been telling the truth.”

JJ was first. They hooked him up, and Behz asked the first question with a grin. “How many girls have you slept with?”

JJ answered, and the whole room went silent, waiting for the verdict.

The machine beeped, and the operator deadpanned, “That’s a lie.”

JJ’s head fell into his hands, and he burst out laughing, shaking with it. The room followed suit, laughing at his misfortune.

“Bloody hell,” JJ grunted, rubbing his arm where the shock had hit him.

Simon leaned in, a wicked smile on his face. “Oh yeah, I forgot to mention... you get shocked when you lie.”

JJ groaned dramatically, “You could’ve warned me, you wanker.”

Laughter erupted, and Harry caught your eye, and you both share an amused glance, before turning your attention back to to JJ, still trying to catch his breath.

George and Becky took their turns next. Then, your name was called.

You stood and walked toward the chair. The operator smiled at you warmly as he helped you get strapped in. He adjusted the cuff around your arm and clicked the clip onto your finger, then asked, “You ready?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Is it bad if I say no?”

The crew chuckled. “It’s fine,” the operator said. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”

You nodded, trying to shake the nerves, but they lingered. The man turned to the group. “Alright, go ahead.”

Becky asked the first question. “Are you single?”

“Yes,” you answered, and the machine didn’t react.

Harry looks over at you, taking in your features, and a subtle smile appears on his face.

Behz asked the next one. “How long have you been single?”

You thought for a moment. “A year now.”

No reaction from the machine, and everyone seemed to accept it. Simon leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “How many boyfriends have you had?”

You shot him a look. “One.”

JJ leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Wait—one? Are you serious?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Well you’re a fit girl so we just assumed you’d… ya’know…” JJ makes a crude hand gesture, his voice dropping.

“JJ! Behave,” Harry interrupts, giving him a disapproving look.

You laughed with the group, enjoying the light-hearted teasing. Then Ethan got serious with the next question. “Have you ever cheated on anyone?”

You recoiled at the thought. “No. Never.”

The machine didn’t react, confirming your honesty. JJ groaned. “BORING,” he shouted.

Then Harry leaned in, giving you a cheeky grin. “Alright, how many one-night stands have you had?”

You couldn’t help but feel flustered. “Two,” you muttered. The machine didn’t react.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Fair play for being honest.”

You flipped him off, and he exaggeratedly clutched his chest like you’d just wounded him. The room burst into laughter, and Simon grinned, getting ready for the next one.

He paused for dramatic effect before asking, “Who’s the hottest man in this room?”

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. “Oh, come on,” you groaned, knowing exactly where this was going.

Simon leaned in, eyes glinting mischievously. “Come on, we all know who you’ll pick.”

The room turned to Harry, and suddenly he was the centre of attention. His cheeks flushed, and he shot Simon a glare, trying not to let the heat creep into his face.

“Just say it,” JJ urged. “Who’s the fittest in the room?”

You sighed, a little defeated. “Okay, fine. Harry.”

The room went dead silent for a beat, then erupted into teasing laughter. Harry’s blush deepened, and he looked anywhere but at at you, clearly trying not to smile.

Vik, grinning mischievously, asked the next question. “Was one of your one-night stands with someone in this room?”

The room went still, all eyes on you. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as your expression betrayed you.

“Oh my god,” JJ gasped. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Becky’s mouth dropped open. “Fuck off!"

The boys were already laughing, trying to hold back their shock. Simon leaned forward, eyes dancing with mischief. “So… is it true?”

You groaned, knowing there was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

The room exploded with laughter. Ethan leaned in. “When?”

“About a month ago,” you muttered.

The laughter died down, but the tension lingered. Simon looked between you and Harry, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “So… Harry,” he smirked, “You never told us?”

Harry avoided eye contact with both of you, his expression unreadable. “It didn’t mean anything,” he muttered, his voice flat.

You felt a pang in your chest. It didn’t mean anything? You bit your lip, trying not to let the hurt show.

You stood up, not wanting to sit next to Harry any longer. You moved to the seat beside Simon.

Simon’s turn came next. He moved to the chair, and Harry shot you a quick glance, clearly relieved for the distraction.

One by one, the rest of the group took their turns, each question more outrageous than the last. The room was filled with laughter, teasing, and the occasional shock as the machine did its job. But through it all, Harry kept stealing glances at you. His eyes never quite met yours, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you.

Finally, it was Harry’s turn. He put on his usual cocky grin and walked to the chair, ready for whatever questions were about to come his way.

“Right,” he said, sitting down with an exaggerated swagger. “Let’s do this.”

The operator hooked him up, and the questions began. First, Behz asked, “Is it true you have the lowest pain tolerance out of all of us?”

Everyone except Harry chuckles at the question. Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Oh ha ha, very funny. But yeah, I think it’s true unfortunately.”

The group burst out laughing. “So we can all take pleasure in knowing you’ll scream the loudest, huh?” Simon teased.

JJ joined in. “Yeah, you’re a baby when it comes to pain.” Harry flipped them both off.

Behz leaned forward, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Okay, have you ever cheated on anyone?”

Harry stiffened. “No. Never,” he said firmly. The machine stayed silent.

Then, JJ grinned, trying to lighten Harry's mood. “Is it true you’ve never won a game of hide and seek?”

The room erupted into laughter. Harry shot back defensively, “I have, I just don’t remember when!”

The machine beeped, and Harry groaned as the shock jolted through him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Behz smiled mischievously. “Okay, have you ever been in love?”

The room quieted. Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Behz grinned. “Care to elaborate?”

Harry shot him a look. “No.”

Simon leaned in, clearly wanting more. “Who was it? Or who is it?” he asked, pressing further.

Harry’s gaze hardened. “None of your business.”

“So, Harry,” Simon grins, his eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ve been dodging the truth all day. Time to answer the real questions. Do you fancy Y/N.”

The room went silent. Harry looked at you, his gaze intense for a moment, like he was searching for something. Then, he spoke, his voice colder than you’d expected.

“Well, obviously, I fancy her. We slept together.”

You roll your eyes. Was that really necessary.

The room stared, waiting for more. JJ leaned in. “Yeah, I can’t blame you there mate. Are you in love with her?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his expression unreadable as he finally turns his gaze to you. His eyes seem to darken, his jaw tight, the line of his lips hardening. His face is blank, betraying nothing. It infuriates you, makes you feel like you don’t know him at all. You were also pissed off at all the boys for egging on the stupid fucking questions. “No,” he said firmly, eyes locking onto you as he did. “I’m not in love with her.”

“Bullshit!” Josh interrupts and Harry shoots him a look that shuts him right up.

The silence in the room was deafening, and then the lie detector beeped.

“Lie,” the operator said.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Harry stared at the machine in disbelief.

“What?” he stammered, trying to make sense of it. “No, run it again.”

The operator did as requested, an the operator repeated, his voice calm but firm.

The room was utterly still. You could feel the eyes of everyone on you and Harry, and you couldn’t shake the discomfort in your chest. Harry’s face turned a shade of red you’d never seen before, and for a brief moment, he looked like he wanted to disappear into the chair.

You wanted to laugh it off, but there was something in the air now, something different. Harry didn’t join in on the joke. He just sat there, his fingers twitching at his side, and you could see the wheels turning in his head as if he was trying to figure out how to salvage the situation.

Simon, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a cheeky grin. “So, Harry, it’s safe to say you are in love with Y/N, huh?”

Harry’s gaze flicked to you, and for the first time, he seemed vulnerable. His usual cocky demeanour was gone, replaced by something a little more real, a little more... uncertain. He swallowed, the words clearly not coming easily. “Seriously Simon, you can fuck off."

“Oh, come on, mate! This is juicy!” Ethan shouted, grinning.

Harry groaned, running his hand through his hair. 

“Okay, okay, I’ve got a better question! Have you two kissed again since... y'know... the night?”

You exchanged an awkward glance with Harry, who was now clearly avoiding eye contact with you.

The tension in the room was palpable. No one spoke for a few moments, as everyone tried to process what had just been said.

“I think it’s clear we’re all dying to know,” Simon finally said, unable to resist. “So, Harry, what are you waiting for? Go on. Give us the tea.” He says like a teenage girl.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, and then said, quieter this time, “Look, I don’t think now’s the right time, okay?”

You felt the air shift again. It was like Harry was trying to keep something from spilling out, but there was an energy between you two now that wasn’t just about the lie detector or the game anymore. It felt real. Too real.

“I think we should just finish the game,” you said suddenly, standing up before anyone could say more. You weren’t sure why, but you felt a surge of discomfort, a need to put some space between the way Harry had just spoken and the awkwardness in the room.

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with,” Harry said, his voice almost a little too quick, as if he was relieved you’d taken the pressure off.

Simon, sensing that it was better not to push for now, clapped his hands together. “Alright then, moving on! Who’s next?”

The rest of the game continued, but it was different now. The banter had dulled a little, and no one wanted to touch the topic that was still hanging between you and Harry. He didn’t speak much more the rest of the night, and neither did you. You couldn’t help but feel like something had changed, something that was neither good nor bad but... complicated.

The room empties, and soon, it's just the two of you left. The silence is deafening. You watch as Harry continues to pack his things, his movements almost robotic.

You can feel his eyes on you, even when he's not looking, and you know he's waiting for you to say something. But neither of you do. It's like there's an unspoken agreement, an understanding that once the room has cleared, all pretences of civility are dropped. Even though you thought you were fine, clearly you were wrong.

The tension between you is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity.

“Ok Harry what the fuck?” You break the silence.

Harry looks up from his bag, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. His eyes are cold, guarded.

"What?" he replies flatly, his hands still busy packing.

“Don’t get bitchy with me. You know exactly what.”

Harry's face hardens, his features sharpening into something harsher. He sets down his phone and turns to face you, his shoulders squared defensively.

"And what exactly do you want me to say? You think I wanted you to find out like that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me???” You groan.

Harry lets out a sharp laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. He takes a step towards you, closing the distance between you.

"Why didn't I tell you? Are you kidding me?" Harry says. "You really want the truth?"

“YES! I really fucking do Harry.”

Harry pauses, his eyes locked with yours. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, the hard façade crumbling just slightly.

"I didn't tell you," he says, his voice low, "Because I didn't want to show weakness. Because the way I feel about you... it makes me weak."

“Well I’m sorry if it makes you feel that way but you don’t have to be such a prick about it??? I thought we were fine Harry. We spoke about sleeping together the morning after and I thought we went back to normal!”

Harry let’s out another laugh, this one colder, harsher. He reaches out and grabs your arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Normal? Is that what you thought we were? You really thought we could just go back to being friends after that night?"

“I thought that’s what you wanted!” Your voice breaks with emotion.

Harry's face softens slightly at the sound of your breaking voice. His grip on your arm loosens but he doesn't let go.

"It is what I wanted," he admits, his voice more gentle now, almost defeated. "I thought I could just… Ignore it. Move on."

He steps closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your hip. His touch is surprisingly tender, his grip almost possessive.

"But I can't," he admits, his voice a rough whisper. "I can't ignore it, I can't move on. You're all I think about. It's driving me fucking insane."

You can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of his cologne. You’re so close now that you can count his eyelashes, see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

His thumb starts tracing slow circles on your hip as he looks at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

He lets out a ragged sigh, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb grazes your bottom lip, a gesture that's both familiar and new at the same time.

"You don’t even realise, do you?" His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, like he’s been holding something back for far too long. "How much I want you."

You freeze. The words settle in the air between you, heavy, unshakable. Your heart pounds in your ears, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable—except for his eyes. There, beneath the restraint, something smoulders.

"I—" You start, but he shakes his head, looking away as if he already regrets speaking. His jaw tightens.

"It doesn’t matter, it's nothing" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "It can’t matter."

You frown up at him, “It does matter Harry, you said you were in love with me! That's not just nothing.“

He stares down at you, his expression hardening as your words sink in. "It's complicated, okay?"

He pulls away from you, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair. The gesture is familiar—a nervous tic he adopted years ago. You've never seen him this agitated before.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he mutters, avoiding your gaze. "I'm sorry, I just—"

He cuts off, swallowing hard.

He turns away from you, his shoulders rising and falling with every stilted breath. Even from behind, you can tell he's clenched his jaw so tightly it must be aching.

You watch him for what feels like an eternity. Every muscle in his body is taut, pulled tight like a bowstring ready to snap. Yet he doesn't turn around. He just stands there, rigid, unmoving.

Finally, you take a step forward, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder. He flinches at the contact, jerking slightly under your hand.

"Just talk to me Harry, its me ok. We can always tell each other stuff."

"It's not that easy," he snaps, shaking your hand off his shoulder. He finally turns around, folding his arms across his chest.

The expression on his face is somewhere between anger and something too vulnerable to name.

"You don't understand. You can't. Not when—" He cuts off, his jaw clenching again.

"Who says I don't fucking love you back!" You slip out.

Harry's breath hitches. His eyes widen, just a fraction, and for a second—just a second—his whole body goes still. Like he’s afraid to move, afraid to break whatever fragile moment just settled between you.

And then, just as quickly, he shakes his head. A dry, humourless laugh escapes him. "Don’t say that."

Your stomach twists. "Why not?"

His gaze drops to the ground. "You don’t know what you’re saying," he mutters, but the fight in his voice is fading.

"Yes, I do," you insist. "And you know I do. So stop pushing me away like this means nothing."

Harry exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling quickly. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but won’t let himself. Like touching you might break him completely.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. "You shouldn't have said that."

But you don’t regret it. Not for a second.

"Why not?" you whisper.

He steps closer—too close. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the way his breath fans against your cheek. Close enough that if you moved even an inch, your lips would touch.

"Because now I can’t stop myself."

His fingers brush against your jaw, tentative, as if he’s memorizing the moment before he ruins it. His eyes lock onto yours, searching—asking for permission.

And you don’t hesitate.

You close the space between you, pressing your lips to his like you’ve been waiting for this moment forever. And maybe you have.

Harry doesn’t just kiss you. He claims you.

His hands cup your face, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. His lips move against yours, desperate and unsteady, like he’s unravelling right here in your arms.

And God, you let him.

You grip his shirt, holding onto him like he’s the only real thing in the world. His body presses against yours, solid and warm and trembling all at once. When he groans into your mouth, it’s the sound of surrender—of breaking down walls he spent years building.

He kisses you like he’s been starving for you. Like he’s been waiting for this, holding back, suffering in silence.

And now, finally, he’s free.

When you pull back, your breath is ragged, your heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. His forehead rests against yours, his hands still tangled in your hair, his eyes still closed like he’s trying to make this moment last forever.

[ramblingguy54]

"The line between friend and enemy is not as clear, as I once believed. Once it's crossed, there's no going back because some transformations are permanent..."

The scene where Optimus banishes Megatron from their home is like a knife to the heart. Two former close friends crushed by their opposing ideals in building a better world for all to live. What makes it hit harder would have to be their conflicted expressions.

Optimus is having to look a dear friend, or quite frankly brother, in the eye and tell him outright you're a dangerous traitor to their entire society. He always wanted to build a better future with D-16, but realized Megatron's new bloody ambitions are never going to be swayed by him. You could feel the utter defeat in Orion's voice when he said, "You have betrayed Cybertron and its citizens...And you betrayed me...". Optimus' faith in Megatron was shattered by D-16 willingly dropping him into the abyss, leaving Orion for dead. No amount of newfound strength Orion achieved as a Prime could ever mend that new scar he'll have to carry from now on.

Megatron is hurt just as much by this final verdict. All those years he spent busting his ass off mining energon cubes for Sentinel, only to find out it was a sick ruse. D-16 was merely a little disposable cog in the bigger picture for that two faced scum bag manipulator. The one he idolized, his noble motivations, and most importantly compassion he had all were swept away by his justified rage from being used by a psychopath. He'd rather burn it all to the ground, so everyone could feel that same pain he was dealt. Now here D-16 is with the power to take fate into his own hands, but becomes ostracized from everyone and everything once important to himself. All the power in the world couldn't prepare Megatron for what his greatest challenge would be, losing a best friend in the process.

Transformers One is a classic example of execution matters. Optimus & Megatron's falling out is something we knew was obviously going to happen, but the journey of getting there? It was handled so God damn well. The ending is paramount, as this old saying goes, and boy did it deliver on that note. This is how you do one Hell of an emotionally charged third act to an origin story.

[bullet-prooflove]

A Little Rough: Luke Alvez x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Cosmic-psychickitty @anime-weeb-4-life @glazzyglaz @Rosaliedepp

It’s late and the two of you are in the FBI gym, training on the mats because Luke thinks you need to let off a little steam. One of your perps walked free from court today and you’ve been restless since the verdict came through, stalking around the apartment like a ferocious predator as Luke tried to watch the game. It’s after an hour of this behaviour that he finally snaps and tells you to grab your workout gear.

The gym is empty at this time of night which suits you because the way you’re fighting, it gets a little furious, a little bloody. Luke ends up with a busted lip and instead of withdrawing, he smiles as he wipes away the copper stain because you being like this, it does a little something for him.

When you hit the mat facedown, the air rushes out of you and Luke takes full advantage of that. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, his entire body pressing against yours as he whispers into your ear.

“So, how are you going to get out of this one?”

Your arch your hips so your ass rubs lightly over his cock. He moans into your ear before exerting a little pressure, trapping you between his body and the floor. You can feel him against you, hard and urgent. You can’t move in this position and he knows it.

“You’re in no position to tease baby, remember that.” He whispers into your ear as he rolls his hips against you.

It’s your turn to moan as he keeps one hand on your wrists, the other trailing down your body until he reaches the waistband of your leggings.

“Are you going to let me take care of you now?” He asks you, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. “Work out that frustration another way?”

You let out a needy whine and Luke begins to tug down your leggings. You can’t ask for this, the fury in you won’t allow you to give up control, not without a fight. You’re too feral to give, you need to be consumed, to be taken. You’re soaked for him when he gets his cock between your legs, your wetness smears over the tip of his cock and he bites down onto the curve of your shoulder as he enters you.

He feels you exhale at the sensation, your muscles starting to relax as he fills you all the way to the hilt. This is what you need, this sense of connection because until now you’ve been unmoored and adrift.

“Oh baby, it’s about to get a little rough.” Luke whispers into your ear before he pulls out and thrusts hard and deep. “But that’s what you want isn’t? Me to fuck those thoughts right out of your head.”

You don’t answer and he doesn’t expect you to. Instead his grip on your wrists tightens as he buries his face into your hair and begins to fuck you.

The sound of slapping skin echoes through the air, your hitched breathing, his desperate grunts. He chases your pleasure with gritted teeth because he can feel his own orgasm crashing like waves throughout his body but he’s determined to stave it off. He’s not coming until you do, that’s the promise he makes himself when the two of you get like this. You have to get off first otherwise he’s just using you and although that’s part of the game it’s not the goal. The point is to get you out of your own head, to strip away everything else and just leave you with this physical sensation.

His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging it hard and suddenly you’re tightening around him, crying out your ecstasy into the mat as Luke comes with you, spilling his release into your cunt. He pulls out and helps draw your leggings back up before he collapses on the mat alongside of you, his head propped up on his arm.

“Feel better?” He asks, his fingertips brushing over your cheek.

“Hm.” You tell him, your eyes fluttering closed. “I’m gonna need you to carry me to the car though, I don’t think I can move.”

“I can do that.” Luke promises as he leans in close, his lips brushing over your hair line. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”

Love Luke? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[daughterofcain-67]

𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 (𝚙𝚝.1)

(Soldier Boy / Ben x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Butcher, Hughie and their band of vigilantes are dead set on finding the weapon that killed Soldier Boy. With the help of Starlight they find you, a retired supe, and they seek your help although the help isn’t quite what they expected. And this was more than what you had anticipated for an ordinary afternoon on a weekday.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Minor spoilers to The Boys season three. Nothing major.

Butcher, Hughie, M.M., Frenchie and Kimiko were all waiting on some sort of file that Annie was supposed to get.

They had a new plan after all. Now that they’ve figured that the weapon that killed off the legendary Soldier Boy is still out there, there has to be some way to find out how to obtain it to kill Homelander. One step closer, right?

“I still can’t believe we’re trustin’ ‘her. She’s just another supe. What if she gives us the wrong bloody file?” Butcher asked.

“Really? You’re still caught up on the fact that she’s a supe? She’s helped us through a hell of a lot last year. We couldn’t have done a lot of things without her.” Hughie defended his girlfriend, not much to anyone’s surprise.

“You know the kid’s right, Butcher. We do owe her a lot.” M. M. Stated.

“How do we know that she’ll find anything concrete? Especially since she’s practically in a den of wolves?”

“You’ll just have to trust her, alright?” Hughie reminded the man and that was when he started to hear his phone ringing from his pocket.

“Speaking of…. Hey, Annie.”

Butcher rolled his eyes and he leaned his back against the chair. He was so tired of doing everything by the book like he had been stuck doing for the past year. He was just glad Hughie was finally seeing things his way and realizing that he was right all along. Took him long enough to realize it.

He glanced up at the kid on the phone and he looked like he was in some sort of disbelief.

“Really? And you’ve got her address? H-Holy shit! That’s a lead! You’re coming with us, right?”

“I take it she found something?” Frenchie asked after he made some sort of sandwich.

“Oy! What’s the verdict, Mate?” Butcher said when Hughie finally picked up the phone.

“Well.. Annie said that there’s a file on someone named Y/N L/N. She has a limited history with Vought and evidently Soldier Boy himself even though she wasn’t on his team. Maybe she knows about the weapon that killed him, or at least she might know of some sort of way to weaken him.” The kid said.

“Excellent! Does she know where Y/N lives?” Frenchie asked.

“She’s sending the address as we speak.”

Butcher watched as Kimiko was using her sign language to communicate with Frenchie. She still hadn’t been able to speak but at least Frenchie was learning to communicate with her over this past year, so that made things a hell of a lot easier to figure out what she’s trying to say.

“Kimiko wants to know if Annie is coming with us this time.” Frenchie translated, but Hughie shook his head.

“Not this time. Annie said she has her hands full with some kind of television show to choose the next supe going in the Seven.” He explained and Kimiko nodded in understanding.

“You don’t think we’ll actually need to take any guns or anything like that, do you? She has to be an older supe now right? Retired.” M.M said and Butcher shrugged a little.

“With these guys, it’s hard to be sure of what they’re capable of when they’re older. Supes will keep you on your toes no matter how old they are, Mate.”

“Annie said based on the file she’s neger had a violent history. In fact she’s probably had the least amount of accidental casualties in her career even today.” Hugie explained.

“Yeah.. I guess that’s fair. But let’s be smart about this, yeah? We don’t want to go in guns-blazing or anything like that. At the same time we don’t want to go empty handed either.” M.M reminded and he grabbed whatever he needed. He was always the voice of reason.

And with that, the guys made their way out but Kimiko stayed behind for whatever her reasons were, Butcher didn’t pry when they had bigger matters to deal with.

Then, after several hours of drive time, they finally made it to some cabin in the woods.

“Not bad for a retired supe.” M.M said when he looked at the place and they got out of the van that they all travelled in.

“Do you think she’ll actually know much of anything?” Hughie asked.

“Honestly, who knows. If she does, then great. But if not, then I guess we’re at some kind of loss unless we dig somewhere else.”

The group all made it to the door and Butcher was the one that walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. They waited a few moments before the door finally opened. What they expected to be a somewhat elderly woman was not what was on the other side of the door. Instead, they saw someone that was quite young for her age, a lot like the Stormfront situation.

It was like you hadn’t aged a day since you retired and you still looked as young as you did as most of your posters.

“Um… can I help you boys?” They heard you ask.

“Yes Ma’am. You see, we’re a part of the FBI and we’re on an investigation. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” Butcher said, which honestly surprised the rest of the group how calm he sounded.

“FBI, huh? Could I see your badges, please?” You asked, quite politely to Butcher’s surprise. He thought you’d be another cocky hero that he’d like to punch.

Still, he’s learned over the years never to trust a supe no matter how friendly they are. Starlight has probably come closest to that exception. But not quite.

When Butcher gave the group the ‘okay’ they all pulled out their badges and showed you what they had. You took a look and then you nodded a little before you opened your door wider and allowed them to come into your home.

Your day had started out quiet, peaceful.

You had your own, nice, little cabin in the woods where you got a beautiful view of the mountains and there was even a creek below you that you would visit once in a while. But then, much to your surprise, you had some unexpected company.

At your door there was a tall, burley man with a beard and an accent. With him, there was a lanky looking man that was clearly trying to prove himself worthy of something, an African American man that you could tell was on the side of good and he just wanted to get back to his family, and finally there was a French man that looked high off his ass but he had good intentions.

Now they were all in your house drinking your coffee, tea for the man with the accent, and they were all in your living room staring at you with some sort of bewilderment in their eyes.

“So… what brings you folks here? I don’t believe I actually got any actual introductions from you other than the fact that you’re FBI and have some questions for me.” You said.

“Actually, Miss, my name’s Billy Butcher. This ‘ere is Hugie, Frenchie, and Marvin - we call ‘im M.M.” Butcher said and you swore you’ve heard that name before. Then it hit you.

“Aren’t you the idiot that blew up Stillwell?” You asked, honestly kind of impressed that he wasn’t still in hiding or something.

“She was already dead when I lit up the joint.”

“Uh huh… Good for you though. She seemed like a bitch on television.” You admitted.

“Wouldn’t know much about that one, Love.” Butcher continued and you shrugged.

“Anyways, an we get on with business? We don’t have a lot of time.” M.M. reminded all of the guys there and you sat down in your recliner and set your coffee mug on the nightstand.

“Well you see, Miss L/N…” Hughie trailed off.

“Ah, don’t make me feel so ancient. Just call me Y/N. For the sake of my own sanity.” You said and Hughie grinned.

“Okay, Y/N. The truth is that we’ve come across your file. And we know of your brief history with Vought, Miss Quake.” The very name of the industry made you feel sick to your stomach because of what the place has become.

Yes, you were a retired supe. You went by the name Quake because of your ability to manipulate the earth, take chunks of the ground up and toss them around, you could cause buildings to fall and well… cause Earthquakes.

You didn’t associate yourself with Vought any longer and you were glad that your numbers weren’t high enough to have that much popularity amongst citizens. That’s all it boiled down to nowadays; popularity and money.

“Yes I have a history but that was literal decades ago. I’m retired now and I like the fact that no one’s found me or knew who I was up until this point. How did you find me?” You began to question.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we know you had a history with Soldier Boy for a brief moment. We need to know about the weapon that killed him.” Butcher cut in and you looked down at your mug, still sitting on the stand.

“Do you even know what killed him?” You shook your head.

“I was never a part of Soldier Boy’s team. My numbers weren’t high enough to be on the team and they didn’t consider me an asset. Plus I didn’t even want to be on his team. You see what that kind of power does to people. Look at Homelander and the Seven.” You reminded.

“So what was your history with him?”

“A complicated one. He had his relationship with Crimson Countess, and he had his relationships with other girls, whether they were regulars or one-night-stands.” You sighed then you looked at Hughie.

“Never meet your heroes, kid. They’re likely just a bunch of money hungry womanizers with some kind of need of approval because they never got the attention they needed from a certain parent or set of parents.” You rolled your eyes.

“You want to know how he got killed? Ask one of his former team members. There’s Crimson Countess, obviously. Then there’s Black Noir, Mindstorm, Gunpowder, Swatto, and the TnT Twins. You never know, maybe the sidekick will be more than happy to let you know how he died. They never liked their team leader much. Hell, I bet you that lady that formed your little group knows. Oh what’s her name… Malice? Malicious? Oh that’s right, Mallory.”

“Grace? How the bloody Hell do you know her?” Butcher said, and you were finding out quickly that he was sort of the unhinged type of man.

“When I retired from Vought, I gave some information on the super to her. Things she needed before she founded your little group. She knows a Hell of a lot more than she lets on. I’m surprised she’s not dead yet just because of how much she knows and what she keeps tabs on. You admitted.

The group got up and you did as well, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more help. I’m honestly glad that you’re doing something about Vought. I wish you all the luck on that because you’re going to need it.” You insisted.

“Why didn’t you want to be more involved with Vought? Didn’t you like the money that came with it and everything?” Frenchie asked and you shrugged.

“Kid, everyone likes money. But what would you do to get it? Are you really going to be so reckless and stupid, kill a few innocents here and there because you know some big corporation will cover your ass on it? It would weigh too much on my conscience. And I never thought a girl like Starlight would be wrapped up in that shit.”

“Well… we’re sorry to bother you, Ma’am. Thank you for talking with us.” Hughie said yet again.

“When you do talk to Grace… ask her about Nicaragua. She’ll know what happened there.” You insisted and you saw a certain look on Butcher’s face. You were shocked that Mallory hadn’t told them anything about this.

Then you looked over at M.M, who had been quiet almost the whole time. You carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’m so, so sorry about your family.”

“How did you-“

“You and your little team haven’t exactly been discreet over the past couple of years. You’ve been on the news a couple of times and I got curious about your group. The internet is a really useful place.” You said and he gave a slight grin,

“I know what Soldier Boy did, and I hate that he did it. But I also know that once you jump into this rabbit hole of vengeance, it’s awful hard to climb out and get back to the people that are still alive who love you.”

“Thank you.. But I think I’ve come a little too far to turn around now.” The man said and he started to join his group.

You watched as the band of vigilantes made it to their van while you stood at the front door. As they drove off in the distance, you pulled out a necklace from your shirt and you looked down at. You stared at the pendant and remembered the very day that it was given to you.

1984…

“I’m really getting a bad feeling about this, Ben. Maybe you shouldn’t go.” You said as you looked up into his eyes.

Ben was dressed in his uniform, all but his helmet and shield which were both set beside the door. He caressed your cheek with his gloved hand and he looked down at you.

“Y/N, what kind of a man would I be if I didn’t serve my county. I have to do this, and you know it.”

“You’d be a man taking a stand against some company that’s just in the business for the money rather than actually serving the county. You know that.”

“They’re doing this to show the military that we can be useful in battle. We can give our own troops the advantage here if we get involved. That can change the future of our military, change it for the better. Our country needs us out there.” He said, trying his best to persuade you.

“And what happens if something goes wrong? You know your little team somehow always gets you into some kind of trouble with Edgar.” You said while you looked away from him, the feeling in your stomach clearly not going away anytime soon.

“Hun, I know how to whip my team into shape. They know not to double cross me or to get us in any kind of trouble.” He told you, using his hand to make you look up and face him so he could get a good look at you.

“Now, why don’t you and I have a little quickie before I hit the road, hmm?” He asked with a cheeky grin and you rolled your eyes.

“Ben, I’ve already told you. I’m not doing anything with you until you break things off with Countess. I have some standards, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah… You have to be some kind of goody two-shoes.” He joked.

“Well no, I just don’t want to be just a side hooker. You have plenty of those and you can call me selfish, but I don’t exactly want to share.” You said and placed your hands on your hips.

“Uh huh. I just think you’re playing hard to get.” He smiled down at you and you shrugged a little.

“But you know that I can’t just break things off publicly without Vought’s say so.” He reminded you, causing you to let out a sigh.

“I’m starting to get that picture a little too well.”

Ben frowned when you looked away from him yet again. He knew that if the two of you ever did have a relationship one day, you wanted it to be one where you had him all to yourself. And he wanted that too, more than anything. And he was planning to break things off with Crimson Countess after the trip out of the country. That way the two of you could finally be together the way that you want to be together.

He let go of your face before he reached into one of his pockets and he handed you a little box and placed it in the palm of your hand.

“Just promise me that you’ll wait for me until I come home. This will be that reminder that I’ll always come back to you.”

You looked in the palm of your hand and saw the little box but that was when there was a knocking at your door, it was his teammates calling Soldier Boy.

When you looked up at him, you spoke yet again, “I really don’t think you should do this.”

“I have to go. It’s my job. I’ll be okay and I’ll be back for you.” Ben promised before he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. Then you turned around and watched him leave out of your front door.

That was the last time you had ever gotten to see Soldier Boy alive.

You fiddled with the pendant that was around your neck, admiring the fact that it looked exactly like Ben’s shield. You wore that necklace every day since he left and up until he was presumed dead, you held onto the hope that he really would come back to you one day.

You never knew exactly how he felt about you back then because in the public, he would always dote on Countess. He would say how much he loved her and how he’d do anything for you, and you wondered just how much of that was for show. You remembered how many other women that he had on the side as well and back then you wondered if he’d really give all of that up for you when you were just another low class supe.

Yet anytime you would have those doubts, you could still remember the way he would come and visit you after a tough job. There were nights where he would just sit there and hold you while the both of you would just talk. He would talk about the fact that he wanted kids one day, you would point out that he probably already did have a few kids scattered around the states. He would just laugh. But then he would say that if he were to have the family that he always wanted, you would always be in that picture. Not Countess.

Of course, you weren’t totally sure if he meant that. Especially since you saw less and less of him after you retired. But a girl could dream, right?

The day that Vought announced Ben’s death, that was the day your little world shattered. You should have tried harder to convince him to stay behind with you. His team could show the military they could be involved without him. You should have done more when you had those feelings that something would go wrong.

You tucked the necklace back into your shirt and walked away from the door, then you made your way into your little office room. There, you saw a little chest and you pulled it out from under your desk before setting it on the top of your desk. Inside of this chest were envelopes of letters you’ve written over the decades.

Each one of the letters were addressed to Ben. There must’ve been at least two hundred letters that you’ve sent over the years.

You didn’t know why you decided to write letters to a dead man. You knew how morbid it seemed but for some reason, it helped you cope. You would write on the holidays, his birthday, your birthday, and any other moment that you would think about him. You thought about him often over the years.

Since that group of men came to see you, you started thinking about Soldier Boy yet again. So you grabbed your sheets of paper, your ink pen, and an envelope before you set them on the flat surface and took your seat.

My Dearest Ben,

It started off as just another day for me. Then these men came by.

They seemed like an odd bunch of people, not necessarily men by your standards, though you are a bit of a traditionalist, aren’t you? Butcher would probably be the closest to your expectations of a man. But they were looking for the weapon that killed you. I have a hunch that they may want to use it on the hero Homelander. I told them that I wasn’t in Nicaragua. That whatever the weapon was must’ve been in Russia.

I told you that you shouldn’t have gone there. I wish you would have listened and stayed behind with me. We could have gone away and you could have retired from all of the mess Vought insisted you get into. You could have finally broken things off with Countess and you and I could have finally been together…

I miss you every day and I wish things could have been different. I wish that I could see your cocky-ass smile again, tell you to watch your mouth whenever you’d say something wildly inappropriate. I wish that I could hug you again and just be in your arms again.

Ben, sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope that you’re still out there. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever knwon and there’s no way that you could have been killed so easily. I know it’s ridiculous and there’s more than likely no way for you to be alive. Yet I still can’t help but have that hope.

You promised me that you’d always come home. I still wear the necklace you gave me every day. I’ll wear it until the day I die - if that day ever comes.

Always yours…

Y/N

After you folded the paper and put it in the envelope, you wrote the date on the front of the envelope beneath Ben’s name then put the letter in the chest amongst the others. Then you shut the chest and ran your fingers through your hair.

Whatever those men were looking for, you wondered if they would ever find it. You wondered if the weapon that killed Soldier Boy was even real or if those poor guys were just going on some wild, international goose chase if they would really end up going to Russia. You didn’t even know if Homelander would even be killable.

Whatever Butcher and his group of friends were trying to do, you hoped they would be successful. And hopefully they’d find whatever it was they’re looking for.

All you wanted was closure as to how exactly Ben died.

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed Part 1 of this story! I’m not sure how long it will be but this first part was definitely enjoyable to write and I hope that the rest of this story will turn out to be good! I’m glad to finally start writing about Soldier Boy 😁

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @fanfic-n-tabulous @chriszgirl92 @hobby27 @nancymcl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378

[consequencesofargentdawn]

so i guess all the rumours about the PCU being a literal shell to funnel characters from its periphery to its core is true then?

korodothal and "elub" (oronaar and assemblage) basically have confirmed the same thing? rotating carousel of members joining, leaving within a week / logging in purely for events / no social rp allowed / guild discord|chat basically used for taking pot shots at people / massively elitist.

This has been known to us for an extremely long time. The PCU guilds (on Alliance mainly) set up by Perroy initially were largely also used to siphon members into the Horde. The only guilds on Alliance that ever had a free standing (ie not controlled by Perroy) were Holy Order of Lordain, Azure Dawn and Ardent Pursuit, of which only the last is now clinging on.

After The Bloody Verdict collapsed due to Vyst being a predator (and Perroy knowing for a long time that he was) it was decided internally that the PCU was a HORDE organisation (The Stygian Legion) and that the Alliance guilds were nothing more than NPCs for events. One of our editors at the time was a member of the Bloody Verdict who experienced the drama that spilled out.

Without Perroy or indeed any major leader left from the 'old guard' its no wonder the whole structure is unravelling increasingly at whiplash inducing speeds. Our census which will be out in the next few days may just well be the final PCU census, or at least the final one with the PCU having a shred of continued relevance on the server.

[hug-your-face]

Read the interview excerpt or listen to the whole podcast at the link, y'all. Some truth bombs:

In her book on totalitarianism, Arendt talks about the rise of an “unorganized mass” of “mostly furious individuals” with nothing in common except for their contempt for the present order.

She calls this “negative solidarity” and it’s the raw material of totalitarianism, because it’s a world without connection and friendship, where the only basis of collective action is some kind of awful combination of anger and desperation.

She noticed that it’s really easy to work with people’s anger and whip up a mob, and she has this great statement in the book about the alliance between the mob and the elite -- how the elite are quite good at spotting and using the hate that’s already there.

It is things like unemployment. It is things like not being able to keep your home. We’re not just talking about some kind of ennui here. This is raw, real stuff. It’s easy to raise a mob in these conditions. You’re starting with real anger. She says at one point that "Totalitarian politics is a verdict against the world in which people are forced to live." It’s a slap in the face. It’s a finger up against the real conditions of existence.

Totalitarianism works through cynicism. It’s crucial because it allows people to say, “They’re all the same, it’s all bullshit, isn’t it? It’s just politics, isn’t it?” What cynicism allows you to do is be gullible and disbelieving at the same time.

Arendt thought that before a totalitarian ideology could overwhelm reality, it had to first ruin people’s relationship with themselves and others by making them so skeptical and so cynical that they could no longer rely upon their own judgment. So there’s that part of it.

[As an antidote] she imagines thinking as much more than an activity. She imagines it as a way of being. The real gift of thinking isn’t all the great ideas and grand theories that intellectuals come up with. The gift of thinking is that as long as you’re doing it, you have the capacity to judge.

Thinking, for her, is radically democratic. A lot of the time, we all have the capacity to think. We walk around the street. We lose ourselves in our thoughts, and being lost in thought is a gift for Arendt. She says this isn’t time-wasting. This isn’t frivolous. This is what thinking is and we need to take it seriously. I’m not clicking on a bloody “like” or “dislike” or I’m not following another pattern. I am thinking for myself, which, when things are really bad, is all we have.

She argues that without the ability to think, there can not be any judgment. When she really saw that is when she looked at the Nazi officer Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem in 1961 in the courtroom: a self-important man chattering away, talking self-importantly, not even realizing who he was facing — the relatives and survivors of people he had murdered — and he just spoke in cliches. The longer she listened to him, the more obvious it became that his inability to speak was totally connected with his inability to think, namely, to think from the standpoint of someone else.

[yuna542]

[3]<-

[4]

›Bad Idea<

Pairing: Hong Woojin × Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies with benefits to Lovers

Warnings: 18+, explicit Smut, under 18 DNI!, Fem!Reader, suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names,, hate sex, ANGST, overstimulation, thigh riding

Word Count: 8.5k

Note: That’s the last Part of a Story that I really enjoyed writing. No worries I‘m already working on another Story about Bloodhounds. The chokehold these guys have on me is unreal… Hope you liked the Story. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always a blessing. Stay healthy and much love! ~Sky

Summary: As Gunwoo‘s little sister he wanted you to finally meet his best friend. Unfortunately you don't get along. He gets on your nerves, you fight all the time and yet you can't stop messing with each other. One evening you get into a dangerous situation and end up bruised and bloody at his apartment. And you suddenly have to ask yourself: Why do you feel so attracted to that idiot?

Chapter 7:

The Secret

The very next evening you were waiting in front of his apartment and when he saw you there, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and you braced yourself from the wall you had been leaning against.

"I'm bored," you said monotonously, and his gaze was already glued to the hem of your short skirt.

"So what?"

"Wanna fuck?"

"Sure."

Already you stumbled into his apartment, ripped the clothes from each other and between heated kisses and greedy touches, you threw aside your cell phone where Gunwoo tried to call.

A few hours later you came moaning on top of him as you rode his dick. As he painted your walls white with a hand around your neck, pressing you onto his throbbing dick, you climbed off of him and snuggled up to him.

"You know..fucking you almost made me reconsider whether i hate you or not," he said, pulling you into his arms and leaning his chin into the crook of your neck as he stroked his fingers over your bare stomach.

"Oh really? What's the verdict?" you asked, wiggling even closer to his chest. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and his hair tickled your neck as he did so, making you giggle.

"Hmm..nope not even a little less."

A little offended, you turned around so you could face him. You pouted and stroked your fingers down his chest.

"Not even a little? Let's see if we can change that... Round two?"

Your suggestive smile and the way you raised an eyebrow made him smirk. The warmth in his eyes enveloped you and you never wanted to get out of his bed again if he stayed here with you.

"If you're asking me that naked and all sexy, I don't think I can resist," he replied charmingly, stroking the contours of your face as if it were an expensive sculpture he couldn't get enough of.

You winced with a chuckle as he pinched your side and pulled you closer again. Your lips collided and you kissed him until you couldn't breathe.

That's exactly how it went every time.

You were still a trio. You Gunwoo's annoying little sister and Woojin the chaotic good-for-nothing best friend. You argued, pounced at each other and never missed an opportunity to show that you didn't like each other.

But as soon as you were alone, you leaped upon each other.

The fact that your meetings were a secret between you made it even more exciting.

You slept together all the time. The smallest arguments made you tear off your clothes and throw yourselves on each other, fucking in heat and with no hesitation. It was the best sex you ever had and you were actually happy when you were with him.

However, it didn't go unnoticed for long. It started one night when Gunwoo was looking for a movie in Woojin's room to borrow from him and instead pulled out your black lace bra from between his pillows. That combined with the scratch marks that were increasingly reflected on Woojin's back, and was mockingly acknowledged by his training partners, Gunwoo put one and one together.

"Who is it? Who is this girl? Are you together?"

He had been bugging Woojin until he admitted that there was indeed someone. However, he would die before he told him that it was his sister.

"So like... Do you like her or something?", he asked out of nowhere a few months later as he helped Woojin train. He held the punching bag and looked at his friend, who froze in motion.

"Why would you think that? How could you think that?" asked Woojin, the sweat on his forehead doubling.

"Because you keep daydreaming and you barely have time outside of training... You must spend a lot of time with her," he said and Woojin shook his head as he punched a little stronger than necessary.

"We're just fucking. Nothing special. I don't even like her, actually."

Gunwoo had nodded, wanting to let the subject go. After all, he didn't understand it anyway. Woojin was so secretive that he didn't want to bug him further. Still, Woojin kept talking, between strained gasps as he punched the punching bag:

"I don't know. Really. This has been going on for a while now. The sex is incredible, but she keeps driving me crazy. We can't be in the same room without me getting restless and my heart jumping out of my chest."

The younger one pressed his lips together and tried to stifle a knowing smile. Later, as they sat together on the rooftop, winding down the day with protein shakes and fresh dumplings, Woojin said:

"I think I have come to a conclusion".

Gunwoo looked at him and asked with his mouth full, "Which is?"

"I am allergic to her"

He snorted in disbelief and choked on his shake.

"Wait... what?" escaped him between gasps and coughs.

But Woojin just nodded insistently, "I am allergic to her..."

It was almost like being in a bad romance movie. You couldn't be with or without each other. Endless arguments over the stupidest things every day, that ended with the most amazing sex every night. One minute you were ready to kill each other and the next you were sneaking off to have sex.

No matter when and no matter where.

You were addicted to each other and at this point, you could say you were only arguing and maybe even using each other just to fuck. You tried everything to keep it a secret from your brother. But you also became careless as time passed.

Finally, in addition to your underwear, he found a shirt that he had given you, where you had left it in Woojin's bed. Of course, he had recognized it immediately and before Woojin could explain anything, Gunwoo snapped and had given him a strong punch in the face.

He was furious that you had kept it a secret from him for so long and he was very very stunned that such a thing had happened behind his back all this time.

Now Woojin sat on your couch and you pressed a bag of frozen peas on the bridge of his swollen nose.

"He got you pretty good..." you said affectedly, and you felt guilty. After all, you were partly to blame.

Gunwoo and Woojin had randomly come in, Woojin had bled all over your apartment after your brother had hit him unannounced in the middle of the nose, and after that he had brought him here to have someone take care of his bloody nose and most likely to confront you.

Since then, your brother had been pacing back and forth in front of you, trying to calm himself down. He could have guessed it. At the latest when Woojin was so interested that one afternoon. Gunwoo and he had made ramen on the roof of his apartment. A little ritual where they just chatted and let the training day end.

"I can't stand it at home anymore," he sighed, dropping into the chair next to Woojin.

"What's wrong?" asked Woojin, stirring the pot.

"Y/N's girlfriend is visiting and they talk all day! Without a break and I have to listen to everything even in my room... They're so loud!", he sighed exhaustedly and Woojin patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Even in the kitchen, you're not safe from the chatter... I hear things really I don't want to know."

Interested, Woojin raised his eyebrows and paused.

"What do you mean? What are they talking about?"

"Don't make me remember," Geonwoo sighed, and that's when his best friend elbowed him in the side.

"You can't start and then not tell the details."

Gunwoo stretched, groaning, as if the coming words would cause him physical pain.

"I suspected she was seeing someone. She's rarely home. Sneaks at her room abnormally early in the morning and lately she's even humming when she's working at the store. It's really creepy by now," he began, and Woojin had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning widely.

"Anyway, I overheard her talking about it with her friend in the kitchen. She said it was the best sex of her life, but wouldn't say with whom..."

Gunwoo shook himself in disgust and took over stirring the ramen. The corners of Woojin's mouth slowly lifted and he tried not to ask too suspiciously.

"Best sex of her life? That's what she said?"

"Yeah... It was disgusting enough, can you please not repeat it?" he asked and Woojin nodded quickly, though he would have loved to hear more. Inwardly, he was as happy as a little kid who got an ice cream cone as a reward for a good grade.

Even as he had beamed the rest of the evening, Gunwoo had suspected nothing. You could both see how sorry he was. He really hadn't meant to hurt Woojin. But it had also been wrong of you to lie to him for so long.

The two most important people in his life had lied to him for months and abused his trust.

"Gunwoo..." you began carefully, meekly, but he interrupted you:

"No! Don't! I'm not angry... But I can't be around you right now. I need to focus on the fight."

That came on top of it, too. Gunwoo had an important fight in the next few days that he had been training for for months.

"That's okay. Talk to me when you're ready, bro. I'm gonna go now...", Woojin said and stood up.

He looked at the peas in confusion and held the bag out to you a bit dorkily.

"You can keep those," you said in an occupied voice, and he nodded. When he disappeared through the door, you stood up too and gave your brother a worried look.

He ruffled his hair and ran both hands wearily through his face.

Chapter 8:

The Date

Over the next few days, things calmed down a bit. Gunwoo seemed to come to terms with it. At least he didn't mention it anymore. At his boxing match, you were both there cheering him on. The friendship between the two boxers was too strong after all and the they needed each other. They were inseparable and even you couldn't destroy that.

Later that day you celebrated his victory and while you ate pork belly, laughed and carelessly spent time together as before, your guilty conscience gradually faded away. Before you could say goodbye to Woojin in front of the restaurant and run home with Gunwoo, he held you back by the hand.

Questioningly, you looked up at him and that's when Gunwoo said:

"I'll go ahead and wait for you."

Gratefully, you gave him a curt look, which he returned with a smile before walking out of earshot.

"He's not mad at us anymore. That's good," Woojin said, kicking a pebble into the road.

"What's wrong?" you asked curiously, watching him squirm around for a while before he managed to look you in the eye.

"Do you want to do something tomorrow?"

You furrowed your eyebrows in wonder.

"Sure. I can come over if..."

"No... Not just to fuck. I'd like to spend time with you. Outside, get something to eat, and then go to the park?"

Completely perplexed, your mouth was open and you looked at him as if he'd suggested you jump off a cliff.

"The weather is supposed to be nice..."

Since you didn't answer, he became more and more uncertain. You looked for sarcasm or some malice, but nothing came. He just looked nervous. He cursed himself and swallowed hard as he stared at the floor. Why the hell was he so restless?

"Nevermind. That was a stupid idea. Just forget about it," he dismissed it, wanting to turn around and just disappear.

Unconsciously, you grabbed his sleeve and he turned back to you. Confused, yet with hope in his eyes that sprouted like the first snowdrops in spring.

"No. That's a nice idea. Will you pick me up?"

His face lit up and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah. At two?"

"I'll help out at the store until three, then we can get going."

"Sounds good."

Silently, you just looked at each other. Nothing around you seemed to matter. The traffic, the people pushing past you on the sidewalk, and even the cloud pushing in front of the sun.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," you repeated, and as soon as you caught up with Gunwoo, your cheeks glowed and your stomach did flips. He said nothing. He just smiled and put an arm around your shoulders as you turned into the street to your apartment.

While you waited for Woojin to pick you up, the same question played incessantly in your mind:

Was that a date?

Something inside you hoped so. As you took off your apron and checked your hair in the mirror, you heard the store door and Woojin's voice.

You almost cried out, you were so tense.

You had put on some makeup, were wearing a red summery dress because you knew that was his favorite color, and when you heard how happy your mom was about his visit, you felt warm. When you stepped out into the store, his eyes were immediately on you. His face lit up and his eyes wandered endlessly along your curves.

"Hey..." you said a little meekly.

"Hey. You look beautiful," he said, not knowing what to do with his hands. It was weird not meeting just to sleep with each other.

"Thanks... You too," you replied, and he really did. He was wearing ripped jeans and a tank top, so you could probably stare at his muscular arms all day. Your mom was obviously surprised by the sudden niceness between you and looked back and forth, puzzled.

"Shall we?" he asked, and you nodded. Before you could say goodbye to your mom, she came rushing out from behind the counter and thrust a bag into your hand.

"There's a little snack in there. Have a nice day," she said, placing a hand affectionately on Woojin's cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you very much Mrs Kim." he said enthusiastically and it was heartwarming how happy he was. You knew by now that he didn't have a very good relationship with his parents. That's why he looked up to your mother and enjoyed the affection she gave him.

As soon as you walked side by side through the streets, directly towards the park, a strange silence spread. It was completely absurd to spend time with Woojin without arguing. Birds were chirping and the park was decorated like a painting in various shades of green.

On the way, you picked up an iced coffee and eventually chatted as if it were a normal thing to be together. Only without Gunwoo. It was new how much you laughed even just the two of you and before you knew it half the day was over.

In the park, you spread out your jackets and lay down under a tree, through whose branches scattered rays of sunlight hit the earth and warmed your faces.

Although you thought it was supposed to be weird, it seemed perfectly normal as he put an arm around you and you snuggled up to him. You ate the donuts your mom had packed for you and teased each other until you fought over the last piece.

He may have been a good boxer, yet you were winning. At least that's what you thought as you proudly shoved the last piece into your mouth and he watched you, fondly smiling.

After a while, watching the sky, you asked:

"What do we do now?"

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at you.

"What do you mean?“

"I mean, what is it between us?" you asked, as that question circled you over and over.

"I think we're friends?"

Friends? Was that really the right word? Did you want you guys to just be friends? You tried to tell yourself it was so perfect. With no obligations, no extra thoughts, if everything just stayed the way it was. But it felt wrong and something in you resisted it. By now you were sure: you wanted more than that.

You just didn't know what. You wanted more days like this, where you laughed together, got talked about nonsense, looked together in the sky. You even wanted more fights and arguments, if that meant falling into bed with him at the end of the day.

"Friends who sleep together regularly?"

"Exactly..."

He played with a strand of your hair and wrapped it around his finger, lost in thought. You looked up at him and his absent look made you suspicious. It was as if he wanted to say something, but didn't dare. You intertwined your fingers with his and leaned your cheek against his chest.

A couple with a dog walked by, talking animatedly.

The sudden silence became more serious than either of you wanted. You indulged your thoughts and it was almost intimate as you enjoyed the last rays of the day's sunshine snuggled together.

"I'm sure you have other people you can sleep with. You have the pretty face for it," you said to lighten the serious mood. You didn't want to deal with what could be.

What if he really just saw you as a friend? Someone to blow off steam with, but nothing more. But then why had he brought you here today, and why had the day been so nice? Was he already bored having sex with you?

"Additionally, you're a possessive little freak, but it's very endearing," you added, and he grinned in amusement.

"But I only want you."

Stunned, you looked at him and when your eyes locked, it took your breath away.

"I've gotten too attached to you already," he added quickly.

Woojin flashed another, kindly mocking grin. Teasing, as ever. He tried to keep it light. Better that than wanting too much, knowing he would never get it.

You averted your eyes again and followed the couple, arm in arm, as they watched their dog run across the park.

Was that disappointment squeezing the air out of your lungs?

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

You played with the hem of his tank top, and he slid his hand down your sides until it was firmly against your hip.

"Why do you put up with me? You obviously can't stand me. So why?"

You didn't dare look at him, afraid he might read your true thoughts and feelings from your face.

"The sex is good," you murmured, and that's when he looked up at the sky and laughed, chuckling and your body shivered excited.

"Is that all it is? Then why did you come today?"

So many questions you didn't know the answer to. You didn't know why you agreed, you just knew you wanted to. You wanted to spend time with him outside of your bed or his room.

Why wasn't clear to you.

"I don't want anyone else either. I may have started to like you," you finally blurted out and he thought his heart would burst.

"Really?"

He looked at you incredulously and straightened up a bit. Immediately you blushed with shame. All this could not be, but you could not lie. Your body betrayed you anyway.

"Stop staring at me like that, creep!" you drove at him and pushed him so that he fell on his back and looked into the leaves with a smile.

"I don't believe it... Did Y/N Kim really just admit that she likes me?" he gasped, running both hands through his hair as if you had just revealed to him that you could fly.

Immediately, you regretted being so honest with him and rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"Shut up. I said maybe. You just ruined it again," you grumbled and crossed your arms. Why did he have to be so annoying anyway?

You felt vulnerable and that was a scary feeling.

Woojin sat up again and when he saw your tense expression and the sadness you were trying to hide behind a carefree mask, the grin died.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and turned you so that you were looking at him. Then he pulled you to the floor with him until you were on top of him, his leg between your thighs, pulling you into a deep kiss.

He was gentle, loving, running his hands down your sides and letting his tongue slide over your lower lip as light as a feather. By now he didn't care at all that you were in the middle of public.

Especially when your lips were too kissable and he just wanted to litter you with kisses all day.

You buried your fingers in his hair and melted in his arms as you opened your lips and he slid his tongue into your mouth. This time, it wasn't a contest. Not a race either of you wanted to win. You were moving in unison.

Your body was made for him as he curved perfectly into his. The kiss was more intimate than anything before and full of tenderness.

You could feel his heartbeat and it was reassuring that it was racing just like yours.

Between kisses, you felt him smile and pull you closer by the hips in a demanding way. He ran his hands under your shirt, over your back, so that his fingers left a trail of heat on your soft skin.

When he lifted his leg between your thighs and brushed against your middle, you gasped involuntarily into his mouth. You almost couldn't help rocking your hips just a little. You were desperate for some sort of friction and relief. Just hearing his voice, his body so close to yours, made you tense. You began to slowly rock and sway your hips, letting out small groans and pants.

As your fingers pulled at his hair, he moved his thigh teasingly and gave more pressure directly on your covered cunt. Immediately you got wet and the desire made you roll your hips against his leg.

Embarrassed, you bit your lower lip as he bobbed his leg and grinned as he felt you heatedly rubbing your cunt against him.

"Look at you... All desperate and needy. And in public," he whispered in your ear and you whimpered softly as he rubbed his thigh harder against your cunt.

To outsiders it just looked like a couple cuddling and whispering loving words to each other.

"Woojin I can't...," you murmured tensely and he watched as your lustful face tried to keep its composure.

"Take what you need, sweetheart," he murmured to you, guiding your hips against his leg with one hand. With the other he pushed your head to the side to kiss your neck.

Time began to stop and you rolled your hips harder against his thigh. The thought that someone could catch you only sent more arousal between your legs and made your skin tingle.

He was peppering kisses down your throat, stopping to suck a pretty red mark over your pulse point.

Every shift of his hips bumped up against your throbbing core and he held you tightly by the hips as you lost yourself in pleasure. Even clothed the drag on your clit was brilliant, you knew you were going to ruin your panties but the orgasm that was coming your way was worth it.

He bounced his leg just right and watched as your hips stuttered slightly and ran one hand under your shirt to knead your breast. Too inconspicuous for anyone else to notice what he was doing, but you felt every little movement so intensely that you buried your face in his neck. With a sharp curse, your hips continued to roll against those muscular thighs and your eyebrows pinched together from the unbelievable pleasure.

Your lips traveling to his collarbone as you squeezed your cunt against him, the friction on your clit sending electricity through you and as he grinded your hips intensely against his thigh a few more times, you came with a gasp and your body trembled on his.

Satisfied, he stroked a few strands of hair out of your forehead as you calmed down and kissed your temple.

"My good girl," the boxer praised, "Do you feel better now, dollface?" he asked and you nodded slowly and sunk against him. You were too sensitive now but your hips continued to roll lazily, trying to chase the powerful release.

"Thank you..." you said and snuggled closer to his chest. He bit your neck gently, then murmured suggestively:

"You can thank me at home with your sweet pussy. After all, it's mine."

You shuddered and your eyes met. Lasciviously you grinned and you played with his waistband.

"Shall we go?"

He nodded and the lust grabbed you like a tornado, pulled you with it and left no hesitation. You walked together to his apartment, your hand firmly on your ass and as soon as you were through the door, you took off your clothes.

You didn't even made it to his bed this time.

Instead, he ended up on top of you on the couch and the romantic kisses got hot and fiery. As soon as you had your underwear off, he said impatiently:

"Turn over! On all fours!"

With glowing cheeks you did as he said and before you could prepare yourself you felt a hand firmly on your hip and him slipping out of his boxers. The sight was intoxicating as you waited on all fours, ready and willing for him. Your elbows and knees were propped up to support your weight.

"Let's see how much my doll can handle."

He licked his lips before pressing his throbbing tip against your entrance, rubbing and tapping. Fear and excitement filled your body, his tip at your entrance stretched you out already and made you gasp.

"Less talking, more fucking", you snapped.

"You little bitch," he laughed and when his tip entered you, your arms weakened immediately.

Your hands gripped tense, into the padding as he thrusted ruthlessly into you, a rasping gasp escaping him.

"Asshole," you hissed, your voice trembling with pain.

"Fuck... You're so hot when you're angry," he moaned with his hands firmly on your hips, he tucked himself deep inside you, giving you no mercy with his vicious movements. Your nosy moan echoed throughout the apartment, but you didn't have enough self-awareness to stop it. His thick cock stretched out your walls so deliciously, your pussy constricted snuggly around him. He groaned at your tightness, wet and warm all around him.

His thrusts were brutally quick, as if he was trying to win a race. Or prove a point. Your eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy as you lost reality. You felt your mind leave your body. You feared your brain would melt and run out of your ears as he slammed into you from behind. You swear you were dangling above yourself. His pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound of skin slapping and the squelching sound of your aching cunt filling the room.

He noticed that you've been almost cumming all over his cock, your tight walls spasming around him. With your lack of oxygen, the world slowly slipped away from you in a lustful haze. Your pussy tightened around his length as your orgasm suddenly waved over you. Your body and mind submerges into a blissful fog as your climax surrounded him. His thrusts became chaotic and messy as he felt your cum soak his cock and you moaned his name incessantly between unholy whimpers. Heavy breathing, hearts racing, muscles trembling, and sweat glistening. You were trapped in your world of lust and passion.

He let you catch your breath for a moment as he turned you around by your hips and pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"Your perfect. So perfect for me. I want that forever. I wish I could have that forever," he said, his voice wavering dangerously.

Your hands were tight against his chest and you wanted to ask what he meant, but you didn't get to as he thrusted into you again incessantly, your nails dug into his muscular shoulders, and the way he fucked you forced uncontrollable sobs from your swollen lips.

You wanted to hide your face against his chest as the next orgasm threatened to tear you apart, but he pushed you back by the shoulder and his eyes bored into yours caught in a swirl of bliss.

"I want to look at your pretty face when I cum," he gasped, and somehow the moment felt final. There was something strange in his eyes and briefly you thought you saw sadness flashing in them.

But then the next orgasm sent you into a bright light until you saw stars.

As soon as your walls clenched around him, he gasped sharply and his lips crashed against yours. He bit your bottom lip and his thrusts became incoherent as he was about to cum.

Simply kissing him in your dizzy state felt euphoric, your insides contracting,

„Fuck." he sucked in a sharp breath "Still so fuckin' tight for me."

You stared overwhelmed into his eyes, they were filled with so much passion instead of lust. But there was something else. Something that weighed heavier. It felt warm, loving and engaging. The word was on the tip of your tongue, but it weighed far too heavy to speak it or even to grasp it in your thoughts. It was a feeling you had only read about in books or seen in movies. Your heart fluttered, his stare was gentle yet his thrusts were rough as he came inside you and his eyes nearly rolling back. By now it felt like he knew your body more than you did. His tip kept on kissing your g spot, causing you to let out stuttering whimpers as he spilled into you.

"Shit..." he huffed, panting heavily. Your chest raised up and down, catching your breath.

Still buried deep inside you, he collapsed on top of you and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You stroked your fingers along his back, along his tattoo, and he wrapped his arms around your body so tightly that you gasped.

"Woojin... Babe you're crushing me," you chocked and he immediately eased up a bit.

Without further ado, he turned so that you were on top of him, but continued to hold you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn't careful.

He did not pull out of you. With your pussy still squeezing him and sucking him in so good, he just couldn’t.

"I don't want to lose you," he sighed, stroking through your hair. Looking at him a little puzzled, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more behind his words.

"I'm here," you assured him, taking his face in both hands before kissing him lovingly.

"Let's stay like this for a while. You feel so warm," he murmured and you nodded, resting your cheek against his chest. He seemed more affectionate than usual. You also noticed how desperately he'd cling to you: how he'd tightly hold your thighs at his sides, how his fingernails were digging into your skin, how deeply he was trying to bury himself into you. Looking at your flushed face, all tired out, you couldn't look any more beautiful to him even like this. He looked at how you closed your eyes to give your body a break.

He absorbed everything: your expression, your touch, your warmth, your moans, your pussy, and most of all, your affection was his at the moment. The entirety of you was his and his alone and he would not change it for anything.

The next time you looked into his eyes, there was this vulnerability that surprised you. He wanted to say so much and yet he couldn't bring himself to say a word.

He wanted to say how much he wanted you to be his, how much he had fallen in love with you. How he loved everything about you. Your laugh, the angry glint in your eye, every one of your strange mannerisms.

But that wouldn't be fair.

Not when he was soon gone.

Chapter 9:

The Dream:

Just a few days later, you walked through the door at home yawning, wanting nothing but sleep after a tiring late shift at the café.

But when you saw Gunwoo packing his bag through the door gap in his room, you became curious. You went to his room, jumped on his bed and watched him.

"What are you doing? Are you going somewhere today?" you asked, and he was already swinging his bag on his back.

"I'm just going to bring Woojin some things he left here and then help him pack."

Completely confused, you straightened up, slid to the edge of the bed, and asked:

"Packing? For what?"

Now Gunwoo looked at you just as uncomprehendingly.

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Told me what?" you drove at him a little more briskly than you intended.

"Woojin has qualified for the Amateur Boxing Championship in America."

The info threw everything inside you upside down.

"That's great! He's always dreamed of this!" you said excitedly. Gunwoo nodded vehemently.

"If he wins there, both of us might be able to compete in the World Championships soon. Wouldn't that be crazy?" he exclaimed excitedly and you followed him into the hallway where he put on his shoes.

"But what does that mean? When is he going to America? The competitions are taking place in a few months, aren't they?"

Gunwoo looked up at you and replied:

"He got an offer from a famous coach who wants to prepare him for it. He's already leaving this weekend."

"What?" you gasped in disbelief, your throat instantly tightening.

"How long will he be gone?"

"That's still unclear. Half a year until the competition in any case. What happens after that, no one knows yet. If he does well, he can go straight to the next competitions."

As exciting as it sounded, to your ears it was just a disaster. Stunned, you dropped onto the sofa as soon as Gunwoo disappeared. Woojin would be out of your life in just two days, and maybe forever. And he had told you nothing.

All night long you tossed and turned in your bed. Your chest ached at the mere thought of Woojin going to America. At the same time, your guilty conscience paralyzed you.

It was his dream to box in the professional league and it didn't seem so far-fetched now.

When the first rays of sunlight broke through your window, you still hadn't slept a wink. Sighing, you sat up in bed and made a decision. You had to see him. You had to confront him and ask him about it.

So you slipped into your jacket and shoes and left the house early in the morning. Outside his apartment, you took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

It took a while, but finally he opened the door and looked at you in amazement. Actually, you expected him to look completely sleepy, his hair a mess and sleep still in his eyes like every morning.

He was not an early riser, and yet he stood before you, alert and wide awake.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, letting you enter. In his living room you understood why he was already awake. There was an open suitcase on the floor and around it were clothes, his passport and other things. So it was true.

You turned to him with a tense heart.

"When do you wanted to tell me?"

He was obviously uncomfortable. Sighing, he ran his hand over his face and that's when you realized how tired he actually was.

"I was going to tell you... But I didn't think you'd care."

Stunned, you walked up to him.

"What, are you serious? You were just going to disappear without saying anything?", your voice automatically became louder and he stubbornly returned your gaze.

Actually, he had been incredibly afraid. Afraid that you really wouldn't care or that you were even happy when he disappeared. That would have broke him.

Since he had received the letter, he had thought of nothing but you. Instead of saying that, he shrugged.

"We're not together."

A lump formed in your throat. Did he really care that little? Your lower lip quivered dangerously, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

"Was it really that meaningless to you? Am I just a fuck toy for you that you could use at will?" you asked, and he would have loved to scream out loud. Would have pulled you into his arms and kissed the hurt expression from your face. But he was scared and frustrated.

He was afraid of what he would do if you rejected him and even more afraid of what he was willing to do if you didn't.

"Do you care, then? Didn't you just use me for your own pleasure? Or else you wouldn't come crawling back to me, begging me to fuck you so good you forget everything else," he drove at you and you took a few steps back as his jaw twitched furiously and he stepped at you.

"What do you want me to say?" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice steady.

You didn't dare give in. The anger, desperation, and frustration mingled into a sickening taste on your tongue. You didn't know why you were so angry. It only hurt to look at him. He was going to leave and there was nothing you could do about that.

"What you feel," he replied, anger reflected in his eyes as well. He hated that he felt that way. That you had done this to him.

He felt trapped in a spider web and every movement only made him sink deeper into it.

"I can't stand you," you replied, and every word hurt like someone was pressing red-hot iron against your skin. Maybe if you denied it, the feeling would go away on its own.

He came even closer, sparkling at you with mesmerising eyes.

"You don't mean that."

"You don't know what i mean," you shot back frantically.

You could see how hurt he was. But you didn't want to ruin his dream by being selfish. If you just told him, that he meant nothing to you, he could leave without wasting another thought about you and live his dream.

That's what you wanted for him and telling him the truth would only make things complicated for him.

"It's okay. Just leave! If I never see your face again, I'll be happy," you shot back at him, something inside you breaking more with each word.

"I wish i never-" but he interrupted you by grabbing your hand.

"Don't say something you don't mean. Don't you dare," he growled, desperately looking for something to prove otherwise.

"Don't you realize? This isn't working. We're going back and forth. When we're not fighting, we're fucking. It doesn't work like that. We're like poison for each other!", you retorted, the shards of what was left in your chest digging deeper and deeper into your flesh.

"You never change, do you? You never fucking change. Always so stubborn; always thinking you're right," Woojin murmured and you wanted to wrap your arms around him, tell him you didn't want to let him go.

But that would be selfish. He should chase his dream without another worry. You wanted him to be happy.

"I wish you all the best Woojin," you said, your voice finally breaking treacherously at his name. You turned quickly so he wouldn't see the first treacherous tears roll down your cheeks.

He sighed in anger before following you.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!"

He grabbed your hand and you pulled back as if he burned you with his touch.

"Stop telling me what to do!" you yelled back at him and he took a few steps back.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe all of this was a mistake. We would never work and all this is a big fucking mess. But please, before you go, tell me to my face that there's nothing between us. That I imagined all of it so I could have closure!"

All you wanted to do was cry and lash out. It felt like you were bleeding to death inside when you said:

"There's nothing there, and there never will be."

Every word was heavy as lead on your tongue and you feared your legs would give out if you looked into his desperate face for one more second. You wanted to tell him that there was so much you felt for him. That you believed you were seriously falling in love, but it would be selfish and dumb.

"All right..." he murmured, and the sadness in his eyes robbed you of the last of your hopes.

"I'm leaving now," you pressed out, and he watched as the door slammed shut behind you.

He didn't know how long he stared at the door, hoping you would come back and end the argument with a kiss, but that didn't happen.

Not this time.

Chapter 10:

The Love

With a curtain of tears obscuring your view, you stumbled home and as soon as you bursted through the door, past the confused Gunwoo, into your room, you collapsed on your bed sobbing.

Every muscle ached and you feared dying from the pain in your chest.

Putting his ear to the door, Gunwoo winced at the heart-wrenching sobs and cautiously walked in.

"Y/N?" he whispered, sitting anxiously at the edge of the bed.

You couldn't form a word, so tense was your body consumed by anger, rage, and grief. You didn't have to.

Gunwoo soothingly placed a hand on your back and pulled you closer until your head rested on his lap. Silently, he stroked your hair soothingly and was just there. Your big secure rock in the painfully raging waters. The anchor that kept you from sinking into the deep black tides of your mind.

For the next few days, you didn't leave your room. You couldn't bring yourself to touch the food your mom put on your nightstand and buried yourself under your covers, hoping you'd never have to leave your bed again.

By Saturday night, Gunwoo had had enough.

You felt the mattress beside you lower as he sat down.

"Woojin's flight leaves in an hour..." he said into the silence, as if you hadn't been counting the minutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" you grumbled into your pillow, trying to ignore the way your heart contracted painfully.

"You should tell him how you feel before it's too late."

Gunwoo's words made you look up, and as you looked at him, you realized he was dead serious.

"What, how.?“

"It's obvious. To everyone but you two idiots. You like each other and I want you to be happy. To do that, you have to tell him how you feel before he's gone."

"It's too late," you howled into your pillow as Gunwoo suddenly yanked the covers off you. The cool air against your bare legs gave you goosebumps.

"What are you doing!" you snapped at him, but he also ripped the pillow from under your head, causing your face to slam into the mattress.

"Get up! I'm taking you to the airport. Now!"

You stared at him, stunned, and slid to the edge of the bed.

"Are you serious?" you asked uneasily, and he was already tossing you a pair of jeans from your closet.

"I've never been more serious! Come on hurry up!"

So you picked yourself up, took new courage and got dressed. Excitedly, you kneaded your hands the entire car ride. At the airport, you already felt so sick that you wanted to throw up.

With Gunwoo, you ran past the many people. Like in an anthill, tons of people were scurrying around. Businessmen with suits, families with a convoys of suitcases, and groups of young people visiting relatives or were on vacation.

Hurriedly, heart pounding, you kept a lookout for Woojin, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe we're too late," you gasped as Gunwoo stretched his head and kept a lookout. He was taller and thus had a better view.

But there he suddenly pointed to a counter where Woojin was about to walk through the gate.

"There he is!" he shouted. His curly head and broad shoulders clearly set him apart from the other people.

You didn't have to think for a second to sprint. Like a maniac, you pushed past the people, earning indignant stares, but nothing would stop you from reaching him.

"Woojin! Wait!" you shouted, almost running over an old man. You apologized hurriedly and kept running. He turned around in amazement and when he saw you, he took a step out of the crowd.

Your feet seemed not to touch the ground and as soon as you reached him you threw yourself into his arms so violently that he staggered back a few steps, but he held you so tightly that that you lifted off the ground.

His smell and touch glued the pieces that had once been your heart back together.

You held him so tightly and swore never to let him go. By now you had attracted the attention of most of the people around you, but that didn't stop you from sobbing in relief.

You broke away from him slightly, but only to look him in the eye. He set you down carefully and his amber eyes scrutinized you in complete wonder. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to chatter away like a waterfall:

"I'm so sorry. I was so stupid. It's totally fine if you don't feel that way, but I'm pretty sure I fell in love with you. You mean so much to me and I can't sleep, eat or breathe without you... I just didn't want to mess up and get in the way of your dream.“

"Y/N..." he tried to interrupt you for the first time, but everything that had been building up burst out of you.

"You’re an amazing boxer and I didn’t want to make things complicated for you. Also I've never felt anything like this before and I was afraid you wouldn't want me."

"Sweetheart. Y/N?"

Sobbing, you didn't realize you were crying until he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs and cupped your cheeks lovingly. Breathing hard, you looked up at him and he smiled warmly.

"May I say something now?" he asked quietly, and there was so much affection in his eyes that you just nodded, sniffling.

"I'm in love with you. For quite a while now. I didn't know this feeling. When I was near you I felt things I had never felt before. But now I know: I'm deeply madly and head over heels in love with you."

"Really?"

He laughed at the look on your face. You were too cute with those puffy lips, reddened eyes, and beautiful affection in your eyes.

"Yes. Can I finally kiss you now?"

You nodded and that's when he pulled you by the chin into a kiss that blew away all the pain of the last few days like a violent whirlwind. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you snuggled up to him and deepened the kiss.

Now you knew what this strange feeling was that floated between you like a lukewarm summer wind. It was love.

The word suddenly didn't feel so far away anymore.

With closed eyes you slowly separated from each other, smiling and savouring the moment. You blushed when you saw how many pairs of eyes were directed at you. Nevertheless, you could not stop smiling at each other.

Then an announcement rang out, announcing Woojin's flight in a few minutes.

"I have to go..." he muttered in anguish, and you stroked his chest with your hands.

"Yeah I know."

He didn't want to let you go and it was obvious how much he was fighting with himself.

"Just to make sure: You're my girlfriend now?" he asked with that typical cheeky grin.

Your heart fluttered and you wanted to squeal with delight. You laughed blissfully and overwhelmed with happiness. He wanted to bottle up that sound so bad and keep it with him forever.

"Yes. All yours..." you replied and he looked at your features dreamily.

"All mine," he murmured and pulled you by the hips into a kiss again. It was getting harder and harder to separate from each other, but you managed somehow.

"You have to go! Otherwise you'll miss the flight," you gasped breathlessly, pressing your forehead to his.

"Will you call me?"

"Of course. After all, we're officially together now. We'll cheer you on from home until you get back," you said, and along with the joy, a little wistfulness now crept in.

After all, this was still goodbye. A temporary farewell, but still devastating now that you finally stopped being stupid and found each other.

"Take care of Gunwoo for me!" he said and that's when you noticed your brother standing behind you, smiling broadly but with teary eyes.

"Come here Bro!", Woojin said then and spread an arm invitingly.

Gunwoo literally jumped into the embrace and so you three squeezed each other tightly.

"Show them and win!" said Gunwoo and you thought you heard a muffled sob.

When you broke away from each other, you all had tears in your eyes and yet you were grinning broadly.

"We see each other soon...Maybe you can visit me?" said Woojin, and neither of you would move, nodding while sniffling and pouting.

When your brother pulled him sobbing into his arms once more, you laughed softly and wiped the tears from your eyes.

Then the idiot that you somehow fell in love with turned to you again, pulled you closer by your face, and gave you one last, loving kiss.

"I love you, dollface"

"I love you, idiot"

With that, you let go and watched Woojin disappear through the gate. Gunwoo put an arm around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. That wasn't exactly what your brother had in mind, when he wanted you two to know each other but having your best friend as possible brother-in-law wasn't that bad either.

Before Woojin disappeared completely, he saluted Gunwoo, which your brother returned with a laugh. Then he was gone and there were only the two of you again.

With a muffled sob you hid your face in your hands, while Gunwoo led you outside the airport.

„I‘ll miss his stupid face“, you cried and Gunwoo chuckled slightly.

He shook is head and looked at you with a healing smile.

„Who would have guessed…“

The End

——

© Sky-yuna — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

@marked-unknown @littlebaby-bunbun @officialshania @choisoorin @fanaticnae @hoe4wonwoo @lola2004sworld @penny44224 @artisticbirb @amnmich @spaggedy @tasteskz-sworld

[hexcrystals]

so there's been a lot of posting about things like ofmd not being a 'kind show' and no longer being 'the queer joy show' etc etc and. i just want to remind us of where everybody is in s1's finale vs s2's

let us begin

stede: stede ends s1 on a hopeful note (setting off to go get his man) but shortly prior to that he's kind of been through it (he nearly got executed and then two different people tried to murder him). stede ends s2 on an even more hopeful note, having got his man, ready to open an inn with him. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

ed: ed ends s1 in absolute despair. izzy has been a real dick to ed (depending on your interpretation, he's done something ranging from being a little tiny bit mean to ed to calling him a slur and threatening to kill him, but we're not having this discourse again) so now he's back in his blackbeard persona mere days after feeling some hope that he was finally free from piracy and ready to run away with someone who loves him for who he is. the last shot we see of s1 ed is him absolutely crying his eyes out in the bed nook. it inflicts d4 psychic damage on me whenever i look at it. anyway at the end of s2 he's been on an absolute journey, he's learned that he's loved, he's free from being blackbeard, he's stood beside the man that loves him and they're going to give everything a go. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

stede's crew: i mean. what is there to say. at the end of s1 they've just been marooned and social order on their little island is rapidly breaking down due to buttons and roach teaming up to try and eat the swede. at the end of s2 they're happily back at sea and the swede has spanish jackie to fight off anyone who would even consider having a nibble. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

honourable mention - buttons: ends s1 unsuccessfully trying to eat the swede. ends s2 having fulfilled his life's dream of becoming a bird. good job buttons. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

ed's crew: as above, the crew end s2 happily sailing away into the literal sunset. we finish s1 with jim presumably unconscious and izzy pointing a gun at frenchie. so not an ideal situation really. fang seems to be having a good time though and ivan gets killed off between seasons (rip king) so it averages out at a slightly better rather than a significantly better. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

honourable mention - frenchie: ends s1 hoisting his flag at gunpoint. ends s2 captaining the bloody ship. go frenchie. we love to see it. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

lucius: ends s1 soggy. ends s2 not only dry, but married. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

izzy: ah yes this old chestnut. so. two perspectives here. one is simply that he ends s1 alive and ends s2 dead. so. possible verdict: significantly worse off at the end of s2. alternatively, he ends s1 as his classic repressed self, smiling from ear to ear because ed cut his toe off and it sparked joy, disliked by the crew, resented by ed. he ends s2 having accepted himself and having experienced all the queer joy he would never have permitted himself in s1, having experienced more screentime and growth than any other secondary character in s2 (yes he's a secondary character no i won't argue with you about this), and dies exactly as he lived - being a pirate who can pull off a plan. he gets to have his deathbed deep and meaningful conversation with ed, which brings closure to them both. he gets buried beside ed and stede's new inn, on land where his grave will be tended, having been given a nice funeral by people who once despised him. so. possible verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2. he definitely seemed happier in s2, and died at peace rather than as a frothing little ball of anger, which is more than i could've foreseen in s1.

anyway. the eagle eyed mathematicians among you will notice that even if we take it as read that izzy is significantly worse off at the end of s2...

every single other character ends s2 in a better place than where they ended s1.

ofmd is a kind show that's full to the brim of queer joy. you guys are just sad that your fave died. and that's fine. the writers did a great job creating a story with characters that were so well written that people are genuinely grieving izzy's death.

but his death does not erase the inherent kindness and joy of the rest of the show.

anyway thanks for reading. i had fun playing with the tumblr post editor settings. by which i mean changing the text colour was unreasonably difficult and now i am stressed

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Uncharted Territory

Billy Kimber’s Daughter

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Reader Kimber

Summary: Your first encounter with Thomas Shelby, and your relationship between the two of you a month later.

WordCount: 3.1k

Stable, was all you could say about your relationship with Thomas Shelby. Relationships with him weren’t unknown but there were very few who stuck around for longer than just a night. Thomas was one who sought after you, after that faithful day at the Garrison; you shouldn’t have even been there but your father insisted. However he said to stay in the car and wait, after this little meeting with the man who fixed a race; you needed to get your dress for the derby the following evening. Remembering that day like it was the night before.

“Right, he’s the oldest, you’re the thickest. I’m told the boss is called Tommy and I’m guessing that’s you cos’ you’re looking me up and down like I’m a fucking tart”

The door behind your father creeks, and he turns his head before lowering it in disappointment. Thomas, Arthur, and John all move in their seats to look at the person, John put his hand on his gun belt along with Arthur.

“you’re just like your mother.”

Kimber notices their hands on their gun belts, clearing his throat and gently pulling you behind him he looks at them.

"I'm gonna have you shot against a pole if you don't take your fuckin' hands off the guns. She means no harm; just insanely impatient."

Thomas noted your small frame and waved for his brothers to stand down.

"Women ain't part of this deal, Kimber." pausing, looking back at you "You and I both know that all too well."

"So, why'd you bring her in the first place?"

"Well, I thought this bloody meeting would be over quick, didn’t I? Instead of wasting time going back home to fetch her for those measurements for the new dress for the derby tomorrow, I just brought her here. Told her to stay in the car, didn't I?”

“You said it would be over by 10, it’s 11 now!”

Gritting your teeth and biting your tongue before you said anything else, but Thomas stood up and asked Kimber to move so he could see you.

"Is this what you handle? All day long?" Thomas stares at you, eyes cold and calculating, before turning the Kimber, his voice low and dangerous."Is she with anyone?"

"Oh, bloody hell no, she's not dating unless the lad can offer her what I've given her growing up... and that ain't happened yet, has it?"

“No..no it hasn’t”

“Kimber I’ve never seen her at the races before, you hiding her?”

Kimber looked at him before smiling

"She stays put where I'm at, see? She don't get the choice to wander when I ain't around."

Clearing your throat, and standing in with your back facing your father. You spoke up about your feelings.

"‘E's fuckin' stupid, that's what it is."

"Another reason why she can’t walk around, she runs her mouth like a bloody sailor. It makes me look bad."

Kimber runs his fingers through your hair and fixed it to his liking

"Oi, what's her age, then? Legal, ain't she?"

Kimber thought about it for a second, before nodding and saying you’re nineteen.

"Aye, you reckon you can handle her, lad? I'm warning you, she may seem calm now, but she ain't one for stoppin' and listenin'. It's like there's no brain up there, I tell ya."

You bit your tongue before deciding it was worth it.

“I have a fuckin' brain, I was top of my math class”

"Sweetheart, I'm just givin' you a hard time about it. I know you're extremely smart with numbers, but actin' proper, is where ya’ struggle."

“Should I meet the description of what you want in a partner, then I shall court her to seal this deal. Sound like a plan?"

Thomas sat back down his chair and pulled out a cigarette and lighter then lighting it.

“It'd be a smart move, but it's her call. 'Cause this is for your gain, not mine."

His eyes fixed onto yours

"Tell me, love, what's your verdict?" Thomas exhales smoke slowly, his gaze unwavering, piercing through the veil of the Garrison.

And the rest was history, the derby ‘date’ went outstandingly well for us. Thomas was very kind and generous with you, your father even let you and him walk around alone instead of being cooped up in the box you normally sit in. The deal was agreed upon after that day and he could see I was delighted to have someone different to talk to besides him or the maids. The most memorable thing of that day was the kiss you shared after he said goodbye to you, it felt real and intimate and not like it was false. Thomas learned you really loved riding horses, painting, and of course cooking. Meeting him felt like putting the last piece of a puzzle together.

Stopping by the Marquis Pub on your way home, well Thomas’s home. One of your favorite bartender Nicolas Tennant was in that pub and you loved talking to him about your relationship with Thomas and how it was going. You felt like celebrating for an odd reason but why ignore it.

“Ello’ Nicolas how’s the family doing?”

Nicolas looked up and stuck his head out from behind the bar top, with a great big smile that could cut through paper.

“Oh, miss Kimber how are you doing today?, and the family is doing well”

“I’m feeling really grand to the point where I feel like celebrating”

The both of you chatted and caught up with each other’s lives and then you asked;

“Do you happen to have a bottle of red wine and Irish whiskey?”

He smiled at you once again before nodding his head and turning around to head to the back of the pub. Suddenly, you felt a sense of despair and pain looming over you and you turn around to see a man who’s about a foot taller than you and drunk.

“I’ll pay you £10 to have you for the night, come on baby what’do ya say~”

“No, thank you. I’m not one of those”

“Every woman is if you pay them enough, come on..”

“I’ve said no! I’m seeing someone!”

"Oi, come on now… I'm tellin' ya, I'm taller than 'im, stronger, faster, and bigger, yeah? Jus' give me a chance, love. Why you wastin' time with 'im? I got the money. Don't be daft, let's 'ave a good time, eh? You won’t regret it, I swear!"

Taken aback by this statement you leaned into the bar top, but you couldn’t move any further. The man wrapped his hand around your waist and brought your hips against his. You put your hands up against his chest and pushing away from him.

Nicolas walked back to the bar top with the liquor in a brown paper bag. Shocked by the sudden change in the atmosphere he spoke up;

“Are you fuckin’ suicidal mate?, that’s a Kimber!”

The man pushed off of you and stepped back, beads of sweat started to roll down his face. He immediately looked at you and got on his knees to beg for his life. It was truly disgusting, you felt dirty. The man noticed your face and decided it would be better if he just left and he did, leaving the pub. Looking back at Nicolas he was sweating as well, he knew that his life was on the line since this happened in his presence. He puts the bag with the bottles on the counter and then says;

“Now, it’s on the house for your troubles..”

“Oh, you really don’t have too, but can I borrow your phone in the back?”

“Sure go right ahead”

The adrenaline rush of what just happened was still rushing through your veins, felt like an adaptation of a stroke mixed with a heart attack. The feeling of being in a state where you couldn’t defend yourself was playing on loop, reminding you that you’re weak. Picking up the phone and sitting down on the desk in the dark and dimly lit back room picking up the receiver and dialing Cheshire 9210. The phone rang twice before picking up and on the other end was Thomas.

“_______ where are you, e’s everythin’ alright?”

“….there was a problem with some guy and-“

You could hear Thomas’s breath exhale when he heard that, cutting you off he asked in a tone that was masking his true nature.

“_______ what’s the man’s name?..”

“I don’t know the man’s-“

You heard a door creek and looked in the sound’s direction, it was Nicolas; apparently he was leaning against the door and pushed it open. Red in the face he looked at you.

“His name’s Lenny Davis, he’s one of my regulars”

Smiling and mouthing the word thank you before waving your hand for him to go away.

“It’s Lenny Davis..”

“Alright, that’s all I needed”

Thomas hung the phone up, you sat on the desk for a couple of minutes before hopping down and heading back into the public space. Nicolas looked like he was already writing his last will and testament. Bless his heart you thought, his pub was a lovely one; maybe you could have him spared since he had spoken up to the man.

“Stop, calm down..I won’t let Thomas go this far”

You said while pointing around the pub, the Marquis was a lovely pub and you loved talking to Nicolas.

“Your all too kind to be in this town”

“I know..”

You stood in the front driveway, just standing there for a bit while look around at the cars to see whose missing. He was..great. But it wasn’t all bad at least you knew Ada was there. Oh how you loved talking to Ada, she could understand the feeling of being a Shelby and having eyes on you as soon as you left the home.

You still were getting used to the Arrow Head House, it was a bit bigger than your childhood home. You’d moved in a week after being with him. He wanted to be able to watch you more than anything. Possessive little fucker.

“_______, where on earth have you been?”

“Ada! Oh it’s so good to see you!”

Ada opened her arms and walked over to you, giving a big hug.

“Whatcha’ got in that bag?”

She asked while pointing to it.

“Whiskey and red wine”

“Did yah buy it?” Ada started to walk into the hallway making a signal to follow. “You know Thomas doesn’t like when his woman buys things for him that he can get for himself..”

Pausing and placing the brown bag with the bottles in it on one of the hallways side tables.

“That’s the fing’ i got ‘em on the house”

“How did ya’ fuckin’ do that?”

“Thomas didn’t say anything about my whereabouts?”

Ada rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“That’s the fing’ you know they don’t tell me anythinf”

Sighing you picked up the bag and pulled out the wine bottle.

“We can mull it over with this, because yah gonna need it.”

“Alrigh’ I’ll be in the den waiting for you..”

Time passes by and eventually you come down the grand staircase in a set of nightwear that had been embroidered with little roses. Thomas got it for you. You joined Ada in the den.

How many of ‘em left?”

“Obviously, Thomas but John, Arthur, Finn, Micheal, Isaiah and Jonny Dogs..”

Ada took a sip of wine, letting it mull over in her mouth.

“What fuckin’ happened?”

You smiled and held I finger up while taking a sip of wine as well.

"I was at the Marquis, fetching the whiskey and wine, and while I was waiting, some drunkard named Lenny Davis started pestering me. I felt utterly disgusted with myself because I could have called out for help. But he took me for a prostitute and kept pushing, relentless. It wasn't until Nicholas returned and shouted that I was a Kimber and a Shelby associate, that Lenny finally backed off."

Ada’s eyes went wide for a moment, before she took another sip of wine.

“Yeah, he’s fucked..”

“You swear they didn’t say anything to you before they left?”

“_______, honey I love you a lot but I told you what I know..which is nothin’..”

Ada stood up and held her finger up before the wine glass down and disappearing into the hallway, you heard her rumbling footsteps as she came back to eyesight. She had a small pink little box with a ribbon tied in a bow around it and it was white.

"Oh, how could I forget. Your father paid a visit earlier to leave a gift for you. He stayed for a little while but then left with them once Tommy got off the phone wit’ yah.”

Ada handed you the box and you placed it by your side.

“He joined them…?”

“I know right, it felt odd seeing ‘em all, for one reason..it looked like a circus act watchin’ pile into the car”

Suddenly you heard the unique sound of an engine purring, Ada and you froze. Looking at eachother’s eyes, both standing up. Ada picked the bottle up and poured the rest of the wine into both glasses.

“I knew this bottle wasn’t going to last this night..”

You heard the car doors shutting.

“Please don’t let there be a lot of blood on their clothes”

Ada rolled her eyes while setting the glass down.

“_______, honey I love you but you always ask for the obvious to not happen.”

“Are you sayin’ I can’t have hope?”

“Hope isn’t a thing if you’re a Shelby”

The grand entrance doors opened with help from the maids. The footsteps only got louder and louder as they all made their way to the den. You looked down at the carpet, then where they would be coming from.

"Don’t you dare come into this room! I do not want blood on my carpets! You and your lot can clean yourselves up outside first!"

Thomas spoke up with a small laugh.

"We weren't planning on bringing him in there, love. Don't worry, we'll sort it out elsewhere."

"You brought him into our home?! Look at the state of you!” then it finally registered that this man was in your home "YOU BROUGHT HIM INTO OUR HOME?!" you hissed, your eyes wide with alarm as you glanced nervously at the bloodstained men entering the house.

This man was..roughened up while they were on their way to Arrow Head..he wasn’t dead but he just..there. The smell of iron started to fill the air causing you to cough a little. Alarm bells rang through your head when you looked at Thomas..his were shaking a bit, knuckles were bloodstained. Your father stepped through the group as his looked at your face, he could tell you were afraid. Kimber fixed his shirt collar. Drenched in sweat, god it looked disgusting. Thomas spoke up and a dry voice.

"My love... he hurt you. He chose death for doing so."

"Get him out of here, Thomas! I won't have you bringing that violence into our home!" You hissed at him , your voice trembling with anger and fear.

"I'm just protecting you. None of this would be possible without me by your side."

"That's not the point, Thomas! I can't bear to watch a man die in front of me, especially not like this!"

"Alright boys, take ‘em to the basement. turning to look at the empty wine bottle and then Ada. Ada, I recommend you leave me alone with _______”

Thomas stood in the dimly lit room, the weight of his actions hanging heavy in the air. His love, shaken and wide-eyed, had just seen the aftermath of his brutal world—a world he had always tried to shield them from. The tension was palpable, the room thick with the scent of blood and the echoes of violence. Seeing the fear and distress etched on their face, Thomas felt a pang of guilt. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. “Look at me.”

"All I ever wanted was to protect you, love. Everything I do, it's for you."

"Thomas... you frightened me. You know I can't bear seeing what those men look like after you've dealt with them."

He gently reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. With a tenderness that seemed almost out of place for the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, he guided you into his arms. “It’s alright,” he whispered, cradling their head against his chest, his hand moving to stroke your hair in a rhythmic, calming motion. Thomas took a deep breath, his own heartbeat steady and reassuring. “You’re safe,” he continued, his tone firm yet comforting. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.” He paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

“I know what you saw was…horrible,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “This life, it’s not what I wanted for you to see. But sometimes, it’s necessary.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and sincere. “I need you to trust me. To believe that I’m doing everything I can to protect us. To protect you.” His hand continued its soothing motion, petting your hair as he drew her even closer, creating a cocoon of intimacy amidst the chaos. “I would burn the world to the ground before I let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet each word resonated with fierce conviction.

In the embrace, he allowed you to lean into his strength, to find solace in the arms of a man who, despite his ruthlessness, loved you with an intensity that defied the darkness surrounding them. The world might be brutal, but in that moment, with Thomas holding you, you found a sanctuary where fear had no place. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch firm yet infinitely gentle. The roughness of his palms contrasted with the softness of your skin, a reminder of the harsh world he inhabited and the tenderness he reserved solely for you. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, wiping away the trace of a tear.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “I need you to know how much you mean to me. More than anything.”

With a final, reassuring stroke of your hair, he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and filled with a thousand unspoken promises. His lips moved over yours with a tenderness that belied the brutal world outside, each kiss a silent vow of his love and his regret for the pain he had caused you. He poured everything into that kiss—his need to protect you, his sorrow for your distress, and the fierce love that drove him to such lengths. His hands slid to the nape of your neck, holding you gently yet securely, as if anchoring you to him in the midst of the turmoil.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in steady, calming waves. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity. “But I swear to you, I’ll always be here. Always.” In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of what had happened, the kiss was a beacon of their connection, a testament to the strength of their bond amid the darkness.

Author Notes:

I made the little pictures and added smoke along with the little sparkles! Oh my gosh it’s so freaking cute!!

Please don’t harp on me for the phone number and yes it’s at the arrow house instead of the beginning of where they stay, Thomas just made bank after you became a couple.

Love yah!

[mostlywhump]

got any favorite laramie episodes? i can't stop watching "the confederate express" & the one in season 2 where slim gets pushed off a cliff.

also, is there any robert fuller whump in wagon train or emergency!? thanks!

Hey thanks for the ask!!

I’m procrastinating homework so I drew you up a quick list of my favorites from the shows you’ve mentioned. Two notes:

1. I’m a Jess girly so almost all of the Laramie favs are Jess-centric, but I’ll mark some of the more nuanced ones.

2. There are other whumpy eps of Wagon Train (ftr Coop is only seasons 7-8) and Laramie, these are just some of my personal favorites.

emergency 2.4 Virus - Dr Brackett gets a mysterious illness and also passes out knocking over a chair.

emergency 6.12 Lose Ends - Dr Brackett ends up in a car wreck with a concussion. Very nice moment where his medical coworkers realize that he’s one of the crash victims.

Wagon train

7.09 The Eli Bancroft Story - beat up and then left to die in the desert with a few other people. Found by friend and gets head cradled which I’m a fan of. Lots of angst.

8.05 The Barbara Lindquist Story - I made gifs of part of this ep (because it’s so good). He gets knocked unconscious and then shot in the leg (and left in the desert again) which gets infected and he almost loses his leg but not before being pale and delirious for awhile.

8.10 The Richard Bloodgood Story - this one was kind of weird, but there’s a lot of angst and he gets shot in the shoulder in a very satisfying way.

8.23 The Katy Piper Story - he’s not the main character of this one but he does get shot with an arrow and his friend is pretty mad about it.

Laramie

1.10 The General Must Die - Shot Off horse. People think he’s dead.

1.11 Dark Verdict - Jess has angst, Slim gets hurt, Jess feels terrible about it.

1.15 Night of the Quiet Man - shot in stage coach robbery offscreen. Found unconscious on the ground in the aftermath.

1.27 The Protectors - pistol-whipped and thrown off moving train.

2.5 Ride Into Darkness - beat bloody and then knocked unconscious and left for dead in a house fire.

2.9 License to Kill - nice scene of Jess yelling at Slim while Slim bandages his injuries for him. special bonus: Jess falls off horse from exhaustion and has to be helped up (against his will). Underrated swamp scenes.

2.26 Killers Odds - ambushed and beat up. Carried into house and cared for by Slim and Mort. Iconic scene.

2.27 Bitter Glory - shot in the shoulder

2.31 Men in Shadows - this is the only episode since the pilot where Slim punches Jess. Jess doesn’t hit him back and Slim feels awful. I remember seeing the tension in this scene for the first time and being like “this show is DIFFERENT”

3.26 Turn of the Wheel - both of them get hurt. Both get protective of each other.

4.1 Among the Missing - bad head wound. After care.

4.6 Lost Allegiance - broken ribs for whole episode also falls off horse

4.19 The Fugitives - Slim gets shot and Jess tries to tear the town apart about it.

4.20 The Dispossessed - Jess gets knocked out and has cute hair, but mostly I just like that the episode is focused on both of them equally and they aren’t disagreeing on anything. Wish there were more like this.

4.25 Edge of Evil - Jess gets thwacked but he’s also just kinda cute in this one especially.

4.26 Broken Honor - Falls off a cliff and carried to safety. All cut up and bloody with a fever:

4.29 The Marshals - shot in the chest. Most of the episode is people being angsty about keeping him alive.