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joosthead · 2 days ago

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agora hills || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ But today—10th of November, Joost’s 27th birthday and 8 degrees celsius in Amsterdam, you shouldn’t have brought a jacket.

₊˚⊹⋆ happy (late) birthday <3. part of normal au (previous parts here). set joost's birthday 2024 <3

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader (she/her pronouns used). notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 7.3k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw(s): smut (established relationship, light exhibitionism, semi-public sex, remote control vibrator, slight aggu x reader, slight mention of m!receiving vibrator/assplay because i’m crazy, unprotected piv, creampie, customary joost fic drinking and smoking), normal au sappiness LETS GOOO

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “agora hills” by doja cat, “pressure” by martin garrix ft. tove lo, “shu madame” by ski aggu, “heaven” by mitski (literal direct quote from this song LOL)

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: vibrator ! au of an au where skiklein isn’t divorced 🩷 lowkey this is a bit normal au worldbuilding heavy! as always thank you to @howisjoostfanfictionforfree <333 my creative partner in crime !! not edited oops

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

You shouldn’t have brought a jacket.

At least, you shouldn’t have let Joost place his around your shoulders on the way here—it’s his birthday, shouldn’t he be the one being taken care of? Either way, you’re holding his hand as he navigates you to the booth your friends are already at, tugging at the collar as you brush past so many people, an endless supply of warmth cloaking you from all sides.

This would be fine any other November day in the Netherlands, so cold you contemplate moving somewhere warmer every year if not for your very proudly Dutch boyfriend keeping you here.

But today—10th of November, Joost’s 27th birthday and 8 degrees celsius in Amsterdam, you shouldn’t have brought a jacket.

You teeter on high heels; Christian Louboutin So Kates that Joost bought you a while ago and loves, your legs are weak, not at the thin stilettos, but at the dull pulsing between your legs of the remote control egg vibrator nestled securely between them. You two brought it home one day from the sex shop nearest your house, bright pink and surprisingly high tech, an app used to control it through Bluetooth. Even on the lowest setting, it’s strong and steady, and you’re really trying to keep it together as it pushes against your g-spot with every step forward.

Joost pulls you next to him by the hand and puts his arm around you. “You are doing so amazing, mijn schat,” he says, kissing your temple as you squeeze in between people together, and you nod.

“I better be.”

“Much better than I did.”

The policy is always this: you will never try something he wouldn’t try himself first. It’s only fair, considering the multitudes of ideas he has about things you two should try in (and out) of the bedroom.

His turn: you lubing up your fingers and fingering him open, him slipping the vibrator inside himself, you impishly giggling about the app controls and how pretty it all looked when you knew he’d be destroyed in a matter of moments.

It was only a week ago—taking a walk in the park near your house at 3 AM together so no one would see you, your hand and your phone in your coat pocket going from low to high, low to high as he gritted his teeth and walked alongside you. You set it the highest vibration pattern it could go—a minute later, he was collapsed on the ground. “Is he alright?” a passerby asked you, eyes alarmed at your sweet boyfriend lying face down and practically convulsing.

“Yeah, he’s alright. Just weird,” you said, and you two shared a nod and they went along with their day. By the time you trudged back home, getting Joost to the edge and turning it off completely so he wouldn’t get any satisfaction, he was practically begging to be inside you.

It’s your turn now, but you didn’t exactly expect it to be on the first club outing of the night of his birthday. You’d given Joost his presents earlier today—some boudoir photoshoot pictures you had done months ago, Christian Louboutin boots he’s wearing tonight, a belt buckle of the copyright symbol you found thrifting, some gacha capsules and trinkets you got in secret on your trip to Japan together, a long handwritten letter (5 pages!) waxing poetic about your small and beautiful life with him that he cried at when he read it over the breakfast you brought him this morning.

There are more presents to be given later today, all planned and gift wrapped, but this one—all indulgence, no planning, no stipulations about how far he can go and when it’ll end for you. Joost asked you if you could do it when you were getting dressed together before this. Pretty black lingerie he got you on a trip to Paris, a dress he surprised you with from some big fashion house, helping you slip on the shoes he so kindly bought you when he asked you on his knees—”Please, schat, can I use it on you tonight?” and you couldn't resist that look on his face, those big blue eyes.

“Very proud of you, mijn schat,” Joost yells over the music as you near your table. Everyone’s too distracted already to acknowledge you or your strangeness—Tantu and Joost dap each other up, but Ruby is off somewhere else; Appie and Alanis and Stuntje are doing a drinking game they’re very focused on; Aggu (Aggu???) and Marina (Aggu and Marina???) are talking with each other very intently, his arm on the back of the booth behind her. “Do you think you can get us some drinks?”

You look back up at him, eyes wide. “By myself?”

“It’s my birthday, baby. I wanna sit down.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him slip into the booth and turn away, annoyed and feeling faint already. The vibrator feels bigger than it looks, pulses harder than it already is; the pattern is periodic like an alarm clock. Once you're halfway to the bar, you look back to Joost and he’s on his phone and torturing you manually—you want to yell, want to scream. In agony, or pleasure?

There’s so many people at the bar—so many of them you recognize from weekends upon weekends and term breaks after the other partying with Joost and your friends. Some of them you know better than others; Mia and Femke who do Joost’s makeup from time to time; Luuk (Luuk???) from work; Thijs and Enzo and Myron and Brunzyn and Donnie and Donny and oh, this is going to be really bad, isn’t it?

You bob and duck your head—hopefully no one recognizes you as you try and reach an empty stretch of bar where you can hold onto as the vibrations get stronger and stronger. The DJ tonight is playing Buurman Uit Berlijn and you’re unsure if it’s the thrumming bass of the song or the thing stuck inside you that’s dizzying and all-consuming. As you reach out for the bar, you close your eyes and focus.

The mass of dancing and yelling bodies behind and next to you, the pink and purple strobe lights flashing all around, your boyfriend’s music loud and blaring through the speakers, these beautiful torture devices of heels, the sweat sheen on the back of your neck, the matching wetness between your thighs as the high intensity vibration subsides and turns more mellow.

Joost has finally given you reprieve.

In waiting for the bartender to get to you, you feel like you’re looking over your shoulder like a madman every second, scared of looking suspicious, but scared of making eye contact with any of the people you know. You stand pin straight, scared of moving it any further, scared of pressing it into your spot. From your right, you hear your name and wince, preparing for some acquaintance or worse—one of Joost’s close friends that you’ve said hi to once but don’t know very well past that.

Turning—it’s just Ruby, and you breathe a sigh of relief once she bounds up to you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug as if you and her haven’t spent the last week together upon her return with Tantu.

She pulls away from you and you give her a small smile, realizing that the pulses have subsided completely, and you can let your guard down for a moment.

The smile you give her must not be very convincing—“You look like you're about to be sick, my darling,” Ruby says, placing the back of her hand on your forehead to test out your temperature. She’s going to be disappointed when she finds out the real reason you’re feeling hot.

“I’m fine,” you say softly, shaking your head. The only person you’re trying to convince at this point is yourself. “Don’t worry, I—“You open your mouth to speak, but the toy just—Joost is so mean to you. So, so mean, because he’s turned it up more, seconds long stretches of it pulsing hard and fast and then nothing, over and over again. Does he have a clear view of this from the booth? Does he just know? All you can get out is a little sigh, hopefully one she wasn’t able to hear over the loud music and all the talking. You close your lips and try to shake it off.

“Cat got your tongue?” she giggles, then yells to the bartender who you didn’t even know came over, “Two Bacardi colas, thank you!”

“Thank you, I appre—” you close your eyes as the vibrations become incessant, punching against every part of you. You can imagine Joost’s face back at the table, grinning, pupils dilated and hungry for how embarrassingly wet you are between the legs. “Ruby. For reasons. For reasons I cannot say, I have to pause speaking. I’m going to hold onto you for balance. Please do not say anything about this to anyone,” you say as you drop your head, trying to hide your face from her as you let out a groan.

Even without seeing her reaction, you’re sure Ruby knows what’s up—you shared a wall for almost four years until she moved to Berlin after graduating, and you’ve heard your fair share of each other’s activities. When you pop back up, gritting your teeth in a grimace that’s supposed to be a smile, Ruby’s giving you a look of surprise and then she rolls her eyes.

“I can't believe you two, you're disgusting!” she laughs, throwing her head back and giving your arm a squeeze. “You’re both freaks, I guess you were made for each other. Anyways—“

Ruby goes into a long tangent about the new apartment she’s about to move into next to her work building in Berlin, how she hopes the album will finally just drop soon so Tantu can stop fussing over the finishing touches, how she really thinks you probably should get back to the table because you’re white-knuckling the sticky bar and it’s concerning her—she’s trying to give you an out by talking to you normally, but you're really unable to get with the program.

The bartender comes back to you with the two drinks and Ruby hands them to you—”Do you want me to help?” No, you shake your head, because you’re trying to prove yourself to someone, you’re not sure if that’s you or Joost. “Good luck, babe.”

You teeter back with two Bacardi colas in hand and a calmer vibration keeping you intact for your journey back; if you spilled these drinks all over yourself, you’d have some very choice words for Joost later, and his birthday would be spoiled. But as you near the table (not without Myron trying to wave you over, and you throwing an apologetic look and a raise of your glasses her way, Mia making eye contact with you but you pretending not to notice), you find your stride, and can actually seem to walk without hunching into yourself to hide. Maybe this won’t be bad after all.

Tantu’s seemed to join in on the drinking game with the others, Aggu and Marina watching them as you place down the Bacos in front of Joost. “Thank you, mijn hart,” he says looking up at you and pursing his lips for a kiss which you give him. Bending over is a terribly bad idea, you find out, the angle of the vibrator adjusting to your new position, and it hits you head on—you open your eyes and glare at him, and he gives you a big smile, kissing you on the cheek.

It sours your expression even more when you see how close these quarters are, how Tantu and Appie are practically squished together as Stuntje and Marina have a chugging contest, how even with Ruby still at the bar, there isn’t any room for you.

“There’s nowhere to sit, you can sit on my lap.”

“I can see that,” you mumble, taking off your jacket and giving it to Joost before perching on his lap, his left thigh underneath your ass and the bottom of the table above your legs.

“Having fun, baby?” Joost says into your neck, the grin on his mouth evident as you sit back on him.

“Having the worst time, Joosti.”

“Aw, why is that? It’s my birthday, it’s the second best day of the year—what’s not to love?”

“The demonic object you’ve placed inside of me, that’s what’s not to love.”

You haven’t even gotten the chance to talk to everyone or even say hi—the night’s not about you but they’re still your friends. After the drinking games are over, you’ll have to face them, and they’ll talk to you, and your guilt will be all over your face and you’ll never be able to show yourself at this club ever again.

You pick a piece of glitter off his cheek, brush some off the thick black rim of his glasses—he’s wearing that jacket he got a while back, the one he wore at Jere’s gig all adorned with pink fabric and women dominating men and “BRAT” over its leopard print background. This jacket exemplifies him perfectly, and you knew that when you recommended it for him to buy.

“Don’t worry, schat, I told them you were tired from work. They won’t bother you.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother if you just turned it off.”

“That is no fun, isn't it? I think you should have thought about that in the park last week if you wanted me to be nice.” Joost’s hands run along your sides, snake to your front, splay out on your stomach as he hugs you closer, his chin on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t embarrass you, lieverd,” he says softly, and your nerves are soothed. He kisses your neck and automatically, you roll it to give him more space to kiss, to nip at your skin. “You can trust me.”

Everyone’s so distracted—what do you even have to worry about? Your group lets out a collective shout, whoops and claps at Marina beating Stuntje decisively even though she looks positively disgusted at the taste of the beers she emptied. Tonight is good—no one is paying attention to you; Joost is absentmindedly mouthing at your pulse point, at your jaw, the stupid vibrator and the terrible app forgotten, apparently.

You sling your arm around his neck and he brings you closer.“ You haven’t even touched your drink, Joost,” you say, cupping his cheek as he kisses yours, trailing his lips against it until he reaches your own and kisses you deeply, fingers squeezing your thigh as his hand inches up.

“The drinks can wait.”

“Can you? We’re in public, remember?”

“They probably won’t even remember tonight, what’s it matter?”

From behind you, Aggu’s deep voice in German, the small vocabulary you know from Ruby: “I feel left out, mausi,” said amused, said with Joost’s hand almost between your legs.

A nickname you gained from your short time on the Friesenjung set, the few interactions you had with August, as he introduced himself.

You’d never felt intimidated by anyone Joost’s introduced you to—you weren’t even intimidated by Joost when you first met at this very club. You weren’t intimidated by the Dutch celebrities he’d introduced you to; not the Slavs or the Swedes; not Otto, even when he’d treated you and Joost to a Michelin starred dinner and told stories about his decades in the industry.

Your appearance was a surprise to no one except for Joost—you told him you had work and couldn’t be there for him on the first day of filming. When you showed up, hiding behind your friends you knew on set, you’d made the mistake of not hiding well enough; in the middle of a scene, he spotted you behind someone’s shoulder, entire face lighting up and so happy, he dropped what he was doing and sped to you, hugging you and picking you up off the ground.

“Joost!” you scolded, laughing as he kissed you on the cheeks. “Please, there’s so many people around.”

“I thought you said you had work?!” Joost said, kissing you again as the people around you dispersed, the scene they were filming fully interrupted now.

“I wanted to be here for you, it’s a big day.”

His scene partner and someone you’d (sort of) talked to over Facetime when Joost would call him to talk about the song sauntered over, and Joost pulled away from you, keeping his hand around your waist. “This is Aggu, lieverd, and Aggu, this is—“ he gave him your name, “my baby,” “love of my life,” “the busiest person on the planet,” “mein schatz, or whatever you guys say here,” attached to the end of it, and you nodded.

“That’s me,” you say softly to the other blonde mulleted man now entering your life. You held out your hand to shake and then regretted your decision remembering that it was 2023–who shakes hands in 2023?

Nonetheless, Aggu shook yours. Big hand but a gentle handshake, eyes intense but soft at the same time. You could barely meet them and it seemed like both Joost and August knew. “Wie eine maus,” he said, and you could use enough context clues to figure out what he said about you. “I’m August.”

There was something different about August—Aggu. Even if he was just as rambunctious as your boyfriend, he was quieter than he looked. This aloof, masculine energy seemed to just exude off of him without him having to announce any of it. Half of his face was covered most of the time you saw him, but you already knew he had reason to be so confident.

As with most interesting things in your life—meeting him on your own happened out on a curb outside of the actual party. Later that day, there was a scene filmed at a corner store, and it turned into a party that went into night, 50 people crammed into the tiny establishment. You took a smoke break while Joost went to the bathroom, and there Aggu was, right behind you, right next to you.

“You know, you’re very cute,” he said, and you practically sputtered out your drink, practically dropped your cigarette on the ground.

“I’m Joost’s girlfriend,” you informed though you were sure he knew, and he nodded.

“I know. He never stops talking about you.”

“Do you care?”

Aggu laughed, and you smiled at the ground. “I do.” You offered your cigarette, and he shook his head. “Just surprised, you are so different from him.”

“We’re surprised sometimes, too.”

Aggu turned to you and you shared a look. You dropped the stub on the ground, the music spilling over and out of the corner store. Wind rustled your hair, and still, he was gazing at you.

“Baby,” Joost called from behind you, and he was next to you in an instant.

“I was just talking to Aggu—“

“August,” he corrected. “August,” you repeated softly, and you felt like…like something was being interrupted, but you weren’t even sure what.

“Bye, mausi,” Aggu said, leaving you and Joost.

The entire exchange was strange—still couldn’t speak firmer or louder than this, couldn’t even look him in the eye in front of Joost. Joost poked fun at you for being so shy—“What’s the matter, baby? He doesn’t bite.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe that.”

Tonight, Aggu isn’t wearing the goggles—he’s a handsome man with or without them, but you prefer the look without him, getting to see his full face.

“Why don’t you talk to Aggu, mausi?” Joost snickers and you roll your eyes.

“You don’t look like you do PDA,” Aggu says, and your cheeks burn. You were never the type to before Joost, but now here you are with a remote-control vibrator inside and his lips on your jaw as you try to speak with his friend.

“I don’t?” You ask, knowing full well you don’t.

Joost cups you over your tits, and you almost gasp—He’s normally not so handsy, even if you two are the worst perpetrators of public affection in your group by far.

“Joost,” you say softly, shaking your head and moving his hand down even though it’s strangely—it’s strangely arousing having him claim you so decisively in front of Aggu.

“He doesn’t care,” Joost says, but keeps his hand where it is, right under the curve of your breast.

“I don't care,” Aggu confirms, and you roll your eyes as Joost kisses behind your ear. “Are you two going to do anything for Joost’s birthday?”

“We’re—Joost, let me talk to him,” you giggle as Joost nips at your neck. “We’re going to Portofino after Joost goes to Berlin.”

“No invitation for me?” Aggu teases and you roll your eyes, smiling. “It was my birthday a few days ago too, you know?”

“You’d have to ask Joost for one, I don't make the rules.”

Joost pauses his lips on you to turn to Aggu and says a simple and decisive, “No,” then turns back to your bitten neck, your jaw. You’re half sure he’s doing this for his own pleasure—it feels like you’re being pecked at by an annoying, albeit very cute and enthusiastic bird.

“I would take you if I could, Aggu,” you joke, and Aggu gives you a surprised look. Finally, Joost lets off of you, and you can finally turn to your conversation partner fully and give him some attention.

“Braves mädchen, do you think your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“He likes you—he won’t.” Under you, Joost starts tapping his toe—nothing to distract him now, you guess, his leg moving under you.

“Nahhh, he’s the jealous type, no? At least when it comes to you.”

You laugh until you don’t—until you widen your eyes, dropping your mouth open and furrowing your eyebrows because wave after wave after wave of pure pleasure hits your g-spot, the vibrations so strong they go through the tail and reach your clit, and you have to stifle a moan by covering your mouth with your hand. You turn back to see Joost on his phone—still restlessly tapping his foot, moving the vibrator even more inside of you.

“Are you alright, mausi?”

“She’s alright, just weird,” Joost snickers from behind, using your words from the past against you.

“I’m-I’m just fine, Aggu,” you say as you clench your thighs together and give him a thin smile, looking back at Joost who’s trying to hide his face from you, thumb still moving on his phone screen.

“You look—“

“I just—oh my god,” you sigh out, clenching your fist as you involuntarily rock back onto Joost and his jostling knee under you, the vibrator being turned up all the way and turning your brain into mush as it kisses your g-spot. You can’t even begin to care about what this looks like, or the fact that Aggu is watching you and your face contorted in pleasure, as much as you’re trying to control yourself.

“Ah,” Aggu says.

Just from the look of amused disbelief on his face, the way his eyes flit down at your hands in your lap desperately trying to cover your thighs though there’s nothing to cover up, at least to the eye—you’ve been caught.

“Joost, what is that?” he says, then leans behind you so Joost can show him the app, the wavelengths on the screen sure to be high frequency. Aggu moves his hand behind you—is he really letting Aggu control it right now? Judging from his movements and the changing patterns of your

Aggu daps Joost up, then gives you a sly smile and a pat on the cheek. “Don't worry, schatzi, I will keep your secret.”

He looks around at your friends; Ruby and Tantu lazing on the very end, Stuntje and Appie and Alanis and Marina having a heated discussion about something you can’t hear over the music, over the exchange happening between the men on either side of you.

“Come on, Joost. You’re being mean to her,” Aggu says as Joost brings his arms back around your waist, placing you more on his crotch than his legs. His phone is in his hands (as usual), but this time, he’s got the app wide open.

The vibrations are at the very top of the little control area, and you can feel it as you drop your head again, concealing your face completely so you can revel in the pleasure without anyone watching.

Does Joost feel it right now, as you grind back on his lap without even meaning to? Through his jeans, he’s hard, and you can feel it clearly on your ass.

“She can take it.”

“Can you?” Aggu asks, turning to you, and you nod almost automatically, even as your thighs start tensing with the lead up to an orgasm. “Whatever you say, schatz.”

Enough of him—you shift so you're turned away, mostly facing the crowd, mostly facing Joost. You drape your arms around his neck, face scrunching up, mouth dropping open as the vibrations pulse hard and fast so deep inside you.

“Feel good?” Joost says, and you nod, trying to keep it together even as that knot ties in your stomach. He watches your face intently, pupils blown out and his hand rubbing circles on your back as you hold back a sob. The song over the speakers is Normalje Bass, the bass booming through your body inside-out. You hope and pray none of your friends are watching—you know Aggu is, even if your face is hidden from him.

“I’m cumming,” you say as quietly as you can, lips parting with your quiet sighs as the waves of your orgasm start, so intense from all of the internal stimulation.

“I know,” Joost soothes. “Just kiss me.”

You moan into his mouth, pushing against him so he can muffle your sounds; you know that even if you were louder than this, the music would just drown you out, but his lips on yours, his hands on your body—they relax you. Joost moves his big hand to the nape of your neck, licking into your mouth.

He tastes like cigarette smoke, smells like his heady cologne, nose bumping against yours. You gasp into his mouth as the vibrations continue, whining as it takes you past your point, your legs shaking with the comedown of your climax but the continued overstimulation inside of you.

“Zo vies, holy shit guys,” Marina yells over the music so you can hear, fake gagging, which earns you a chorus of more fake gagging from the rest, clapping from Ruby and Tantu.

“It’s my birthday—ik mag doen wat ik wil.” Joost laughs, waving them off. At the same time, he takes out his phone and turns off the vibrator completely, and every muscle in your body relaxes, the waves subsiding.

Joost gives a chaste kiss to your lips, your cheek as you try and catch your breath as subtly as possible. “You did so good, lieverd.”

You nod, giving him his own kiss on his cheek for letting up on the toy. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” you breathe, and he grins.

“You don’t need a break—”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

Standing, you get off his lap and pull at the hem of your dress as you wait for Joost to get up. Your legs are still a bit shaky, the heels not helping at all, but you're too excited to go.

“Leaving so soon?” Marina pouts, her head on Alanis’ shoulder and big eyes shining at you. You almost want to stay, but—you want Joost inside of you more.

“They’ll be back,” Ruby teases, rolling her eyes at you both. Cheeks burning as you smile, you shake your head.

“Maybe,” you say, it’s Joost—this is only the beginning of the night.

Joost gets up from the booth, his hand on the small of your back immediately and guiding you away. Before you can go, Aggu holds his hand out to your boyfriend—“You’re a lucky man. Can I come?” Aggu grins, winking at you.

“Fuck no, man,” he says, dapping him up, and you laugh as Joost takes your hand and pulls you along with him through the sea of people all dancing and drinking to his music, all of the friends you and him have made over the years. You give quick hellos to everyone you know, saying sorry and you’ll talk to them later—you’re half sure everyone knows where you’re headed, but you can't seem to care tonight.

You and Joost are almost to the staircase, not without making several stops to have people wish him gefeliciteerd, hugs for both of you, promises to catch up later, there’s just something you both need to do. The first step on it, a raspy voice yells behind you, “Joostttt!!!” and you look to see Donnie, long hair in French braids and expensive jewelry all along his wrists as he pulls you in for a hug that you reciprocate. “Mijn meisje, how are you doing?”

“I’m good, Donnie, how are you?”

“Good, good, celebrating your boy,” he yells, reaching behind you to dap Joost up, the excitement at seeing each other heavy on their raspy laughs as Joost hugs him.

Your boy doesn't think you understand Dutch as well as you do, even after 5 years of him giving you impromptu Juolingo (as he calls them) lessons and even longer living here—“Don’t go to the bathroom for the next 20 minutes, man, alright?” he says to Donnie in the language, and you roll your eyes at his boldness.

“20 minuten? Christ, man, jullie zijn allebei verdomd gek,” he laughs in disbelief.

“Het duurt 10 minuten, Donnie, maak je geen zorgen!” you yell back as Joost keeps pulling you up the stairs, and Donnie cackles as you leave him behind.

There are several bathrooms downstairs, but the one you’re headed to is upstairs and down a hallway and another, so far away from the action it’s no wonder no one uses it—your favorite bathroom to use for…activities, seldom used yet still seedy as hell, the old fluorescents warm and flickering, the mirrors cracked and grimy. The sinks and the stalls are always relatively clean though; whether it’s from the lack of use or the club owners actually upkeep it, you don’t know and don’t care as you step into the middle of the three stalls, you and Joost’s favorite one.

Even if you know that there’s no one in here, the drip of the leaky faucets echoing against walls and not other people, Joost still bends down and checks under and between the stall gaps for you before squeezing into the tight stall with you, locking it.

Joost takes you by the arms and turns you around so you won't have to touch the slightly gross toilet at any part. “Finally alone,” he breathes, taking your face in his hands and giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose, which you laugh at.

“What’s that for?” you say as Joost kisses both of your cheeks, then your lips three times in quick succession.

“I missed you!”

“I sat on your lap the entire time.”

“You weren’t facing me—I missed you!”

You pinch his cheek and smile—how lucky you are to spend his birthday together. It wasn’t always like this; whether it was the constant cat-and-mouse game you both played in the beginning of your relationship or your job and school or his abundance of creative projects, every birthday over Facetime and belated celebration makes you love Joost and this even more.

“You look very sappy,” Joost says, hands on your hips as you brush his bangs back then cup his face.

“I am sappy,” you say softly, and he laughs and kisses you.

“We don't have time to be sappy—you said 10 minutes to Donnie, didn’t you? Mean, by the way.” Joost takes your hand and kisses your wrist, the silver chrome pendant of his initial dangling from the chain link bracelet he bought you last anniversary. “But I am sappy too, I hope you know.”

He pretends to chomp on your hand before pulling you in for another kiss. “I’m so happy you're with me.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “Best birthday ever.” Kiss.

Last year was the best birthday ever, too—you're just glad it only gets better. “I love you too.” Joost squeezes you tight and you groan once he squeezes you too tight, laughing once he lets go.

“Sorry, I just love you.”

“I know,” you say, patting Joost on the chest then running your hands down to his new copyright belt buckle, undoing it. He’s so obviously hard, it’s laughable thinking about how he walked through a crowd greeting his friends with a big tent in his jeans.

You mouth at his neck, saying a quiet, “Hi Lola,” which he laughs at as you kiss along the side, sucking on the skin just slightly—he marks so easily and you've both already made it so obvious what you’re doing at his own birthday celebration.

Reaching into his pants, you wrap your hand around his shaft and give him a few lazy pumps, the head already leaking precum. Joost smiles into your kiss—such a great birthday present for him. You suck his lower lip into your mouth momentarily, then come back together again, one hand lightly squeezing over the column of his neck, and his dick twitches in your hand in response.

“Every time,” he whispers, shaking his head at his own arousal giving him away.

“Mhm,” you hum. “That's why I do it.”

You give him a few more jerks before turning around to face the other way.

There are so many Joost doodles from your years together at this club, adding onto the muddled canvas on top of the stripping paint. Your favorite doodle inside your favorite stall is one you have to look up at. A heart around your name + JOOST in thick black Sharpie on the stall door in a little gap between all the graffiti, the dick drawings…the “Ruby was here ♡” in swirly cursive around eye level. Huh. Interesting. You never noticed that one before.

“Hehe. Us!” Joost says, pointing with his finger at your names together like he didn’t write it there around a year ago.

“Us,” you say, touching it with your finger.

There isn’t much time for you to focus on it when Joost snakes his arms around you, one hand reaching into the cups of your dress to knead your tits, and the other reaching under it so he can rub you over your panties.

“I almost forgot the thing was still inside you,” he murmurs, tugging at the tail of it gently, which makes you sigh out in pleasure. “My new favorite toy, but let me take it out.”

Placing your hands on the stall door, you bend over a little, which is really, about as much as you can bend with how tiny this space is. A few moments pass and you look back to see Joost kneeling on the ground—“Are you…seriously on your phone right now?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Sorry,” Joost says, squeezing your thigh. “I just have an idea.”

“Okay,” you say, shimmying your thong down with your fingers and letting it fall to your ankles. You lift up the back half of your dress, exposing your ass.

Finally, Joost places his fingers on the back of your thigh, tugs it using his thumb and forefinger again. Slowly, he pulls it out of you and the impossibly wet sound of it, Joost’s eyes so intent on you, makes your cheeks burn fire. You clench around air—it feels so empty now.

Joost bites your ass cheek, and to your surprise, licks a strip up your slit, which makes you have to hold onto the stall. You turn to look and he's giving you an exaggerated pout. “Can I eat you out?” he asks earnestly, big blue eyes pleading with you and you shake your head no.

“What does it look like ditching your own celebration for so long? When we get home you can do it.”

“Fine,” Joost grumbles, getting back up. You watch as he pumps his cock a few times, spreading the precum down his shaft. He swipes the head through your slit, dipping the tip inside of you a few times, “My god, you’re so wet, schat,” he says, and you can feel it, the smooth and frictionless glide of him through you, “This is crazy.”

“Stop fucking teasing, oh my god,” you sigh, and as you say it, Joost still teases you, the tiniest little thrusts with your pussy enveloping only the head of his cock.

“Bossy,” he mumbles, and then you hear the familiar loud vibration of the pink toy in his hand. You look at him with wide eyes and he shrugs. “We can use it while we do this.”

“Mmm…okay,” you say, turning back around and getting ready for him to enter you again. Joost wraps his arms around you again, one holding the toy to your mound and sending the vibrations through your body again, the other cupping your tits from below.

Slowly, Joost thrusts inside of you, the wet slide of his cock inching inside of you making you shudder. Once he bottoms out, his hips snug against your ass, he whispers into the side of your face, “Ik hou van je,” and you nod, eyes closed in intense pleasure at how big he feels, the pulsing vibrations on your clit.

Joost pulls you back onto him by the hip, thrusting forward at the same time so they punch against your g-spot even harder. The moans just tumble out of his mouth, strangling out your name, various curses, his pace steady but unforgiving to you in the throes of your arousal. In this position, he’s so big, and you’re so wet, and the vibrator is so strong—you could collapse.

“So good, baby,” Joost breathes out against your shoulder, and you turn your head to kiss him. He does, but at the same time pressing the toy even harder against your bud, making you sob out his name, clenching around him. “Taking me so well, baby, so good.”

Your shared moans and breaths bounce off the tile walls, the clack of your heels as you adjust your stance to get him deeper inside of you, Joost’s raspy voice in your ear and his teeth in your neck. The sound of your pussy around him fucking into you incessantly—you should be ashamed at how filthy it sounds, but you aren’t, and you know Joost isn’t either.

Joost slows down his hips, and you whine at the stalled pace—“Mijn schat, can I see you?” Joost asks, breathless as he slides out of you with that sound again that’s music to your ears, and you turn to face him, wetness smearing your thighs. The vibrations subside completely again, and Joost takes the vibrator off of you.

“I want to see you, too,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. “But how are we gonna do that?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“That isn’t hard to do.”

Reaching down, he squeezes your thigh, lifting it up and you help hike it up for him. The palm of his hand is under your bent knee, and you look back up at him to tilt your head and give him a confused face.

“Did you see this in like, a video or something?” you laugh, especially looking down at the absurdity of it all; crammed in the smallest bathroom stall known to man, crotches together, teetering on a high heel while your boyfriend holds up your leg for you.

“Being away from you so often,” he says, hiking your leg up further and making you yelp and laugh as you almost fall. “It means I get lots of ideas about how I want you.”

Joost wraps your arms around his shoulders, his neck so you can have better balance—the heels make you perfectly in line with his cock and you both look down and watch as he uses his free hand and his hips to guide his cock into you slowly, parting your folds as it disappears inside of you. Your lips part, brows knit together at the feeling so perfect that you sob out once he bottoms out so deeply in you.

The sounds are so filthy when Joost starts thrusting, you might actually be ashamed of it for once; the hollow clap of his hips against your pelvis echoing against the dingy walls, the wet slide of his cock in and out and in and out of you—every moan out of your mouth is one you couldn’t dream of holding back, mewling into his jacket shoulder, clinging onto him and leopard print fabric tightly as he fucks into you, tight hand around your hip sliding him into you over and over again.

Usually you’re the one calling the shots around here, Joost hanging onto your every word as your sweet and loving life partner, but he’s got you in his palm, your hands clawing at the back of his jacket, gripping onto the long hair at the nape of his neck, your heavy breaths and choked out moans as you sob his name out.

“I’m close, schatje,” Joost breathes into your ear, his big hands kneading your ass as he thrusts, arms wrapped tight so he can keep your leg up for you with how much control you’ve lost over yourself at how amazing he feels inside of you. You nod, not really caring at all, close to the edge yourself and your hips tired from the position—it’s his birthday. He deserves this and more.

“I love you,” you breathe, resting your cheek on his shoulder and closing your eyes as your orgasm starts, the waves coming through you as you tighten and clench around his cock. You're so stretched open, it’s mind blowing for you, and Joost tells you such, babbling about how tight you feel, how good you are for him as you release hard and fast around him, muffling your sounds with his mouth.

This stall is so stuffy—sweat on sweat and when you open your eyes, Joost gazes at you, eyes half-lidded as he places your forehead against yours, thrusts firmly as his face contorts in pleasure, as the heat rises between you two, skin slapping on skin, all of your love filling all of the room.

“I love you, schat, I love you,” he says, kissing you as he groans out into your mouth, painting your walls white, warm and full as he gives you the final hard and stuttering few thrusts, fucking every last drop of his cum into you.

Joost licks into your mouth, spit on your chins as he softens inside of you, breathy moans coming out of him at the overstimulation of your movements. Now that you’ve both stilled, the setting his come back to you—the drippy faucet, the music bumping through the walls sounding like muffled nonsense though you know it’s Joost’s, the stall door cold against your back and the cum already leaking out of you around his cock.

“Joost, can you let go of my leg, please?” you say quietly, eyes closed as you catch your breath, both of you somehow lean against the stall door now, him panting into your neck, your leg around his hip.

“Oopsie,” Joost says, giving you a kiss on your neck before placing your leg on the floor gently and straightening up; he pulls the cups of your dress up so they’re covering your chest again, pulls the hem of it down your thigh so you aren’t so exposed. You can feel it drip down your inner thighs as he reaches down and brings your panties back up—Joost is so sweet. You’ll never get used to it.

“Happy birthday to me,” he sings, laughing as he presses a kiss to your lips and you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in.

“Happy birthday to you.”

i so appreciate all of your guys' patience with me when it comes to my writing and i hope you enjoyed!! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) askbox anon on hereeee - juno

#joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfiction #joost klein fanfiction #juno's fics #normal au #juno's writing #juno's smut

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starly-amazing · 2 days ago

Text

In Baths and Salts: Stinkfrin Gets Cleansed

Rating: Teen

Summary: Siffrin is a stinky fella after the loops. Isabeau and Mirabelle take it upon themselves to give them a nice relaxing bath and some much-needed pampering. Emotions and minimal crying are to be expected. Happy 1st Anniversary ISAT!

Tags: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Queerplatonic Relationships, Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst

archiveofourown org/works/60726061

--- --- ---

"Siffrin, you smell terrible." Odile sighs as soon as the party makes it back inside the clock tower. The festivities outside were set to go on well into the night, but none of the Saviors had any desire to mingle—or be showered in praise, food, gifts, or marriage proposals.

Isabeau gasps as if personally insulted. "M’dame!? That’s so blunt!" He grips Siffrin tighter as he helps them to the dining table.

They flop over in their chair and let out a harsh wheeze. They don't even try to argue.

She lowers her glasses and raises an eyebrow. "So we’re in agreement, then?" Her arms fold over her chest.

"Well... " He rubs his shoulder. He sniffs his shirt where Siffrin had been leaning and makes a face.

“I’m in an an-greement!” Bonnie yells and fans the air in front of their face. “Belle too!”

“What!?” Mirabelle sputters in the middle of wiping a spot of Siffrin’s blood off her dress. “Bonnie, why are you bringing me into this?”

"Bath sounds nice," Siffrin mumbles into their cloak. The clock tower surprisingly had a full washroom with plumbing. They couldn't imagine why, but they're not about to complain. The bathtub, complete with a crafted heating element, had tempted them so many times during the loops, but they could never justify using it.

But now...

They're still not sure they can justify it but maybe they should just say ‘blind it all’ and do it anyway.

“Yes, see? Siffrin didn’t need any convincing!”

Though, it seems like their family isn’t going to give them much choice either way.

Odile smirks and tilts her head at Mirabelle.

“Don’t say it!”

“Hey, hey, don’t bully poor Sif! What they need right now is some nice gentle reassurance!”

“And a bath!” Bonnie adds. They start putting away the plates of food that grateful villagers and Housemaidens managed to laden them all with.

“Yep,” Siffrin mumbles, too tired to be phased.

"I'll get it ready!" Isabeau chirps and heads to the washroom.

Odile doesn't even try to hide The Smirk.

Siffrin puts his head down and closes his eye. He breathes deeply a few times and lets the sounds of his family wash over him. Odile is scribbling more in her notebook. Bonnie is messing with the food and gifts. Mirabelle is rummaging through her bags.

"How are you feeling now, Siffrin?" Mirabelle asks after a few moments.

"Gross." They rub at a bloodstain on their cloak.

"Good thing that's going to be remedied soon," Odile hums. She scribbles something down in her notebook. “Teasing aside, is there anything you need—or want us to do for you now? It doesn’t have to be big if you’re not yet comfortable asking, just something that might help you feel more at ease.”

Siffrin eyes the bottle of gifted wine by the sink.

Odile follows their gaze and shakes her head. “Anything but that. We’re not going to let you pick up any new self-destructive habits.”

Siffrin grunts. “Water then, please.”

“I got it!” Bonnie races to the sink and fills a glass in record time. They rush back to Siffrin and nearly spill it onto them.

“A good snack duty-er also includes hydreeshon!”

“Hydration, Boniface.”

“That’s what I said!”

Siffrin cracks a small smile and takes a sip. The cool water is a shock to his parched throat but after the initial tingle fades he downs the rest in a few gulps.

“Wow! Super fast!” Bonnie grabs the cup and runs back to the sink. “Want more?”

Isabeau calls out from the bathroom. “Okay, I think it’s about ready!”

“I’m fine, thank you Bonbon!” They move to get up but their body protests. They flop back down and lay their face on the table again. “Urgh.”

“Whoa, Frin. Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

“No, no I’m fine I—” They try to push themself up but fail. “Okay maybe yes please.”

It takes both Bonnie’s and Mirabelle’s help to get Siffrin to their feet but once they’re standing they’re able to blink some of the exhaustion back. Still, the two each take one of his arms and help him maneuver to the bathroom. Odile follows close behind, hands at the ready in case his legs decide to give out on him.

The bathroom isn't anything spectacular. Just plain stone floors and walls with some generic concentric circles etched in to break up the monotony. It has nothing in the way of storage; the party all had to drag in some barrels to hold their supplies. It’s a miracle it even had a toilet and bathtub with working plumbing.

At least they can expect hot water. Despite the fever that still makes them sweat, they want nothing more than to get their sore, cosmically stretched, and clone-attacked muscles soaked to the bone.

Loop.

They touch their neck and hope it hasn’t bruised visibly yet.

They'll be back. They have to come back. They just need rest, too.

"Everything okay, Siffrin?” Isabeau hums nervously. “I mean, well, relatively speaking"

"Yeah," they nod and take a step forward. "Just... crowded."

"Come on Boniface." Odile picks them up by the armpits with little effort. "There are some things you are not meant to see here."

Peak physical condition is right.

"Aww come on, let me help, I won't look!" They wave their arms with one hand still gripping Siffrin's. The tug hurts a bit but it's too cute to pull away.

"You can help by fixing up all the food everyone gave us and some more things our little problem child hasn't eaten in a long time."

"Oh! Oh, you're right!" Bonnie wiggles their legs until Odile puts them down. They run out of the bathroom, almost tripping on themself. She chuckles at them, her hand on her hip.

"I suppose I'll go help. You two probably can handle it on your own and my knees will not allow me to do any of this."

Mirabelle and Isabeau both nod as Odile turns away.

"Wait, handle what?" Isabeau tilts his head.

"Giving said problem child a bath,” she says over her shoulder.

"Oh!" He gasps.

‘ Oh’ is right! Siffrin feels their arm hair stand on end.

“Uhm, I think I can handle it on my own.”

But do I want to?

She turns to meet his gaze. "Siffrin. You needed all three of us to help you walk twenty feet to the bathroom. We wouldn't want you falling asleep and drowning. Unless that's something you want to risk, I believe that supervision is warranted."

“Ah, right. That’s a... that’s a good point!” Siffrin stammers and both Isabeau and Mirabelle nod rapidly.

"Good, now have fun." With that, she shuts the door and leaves the three of them alone.

"Well, uhm. So," Isabeau begins. His face is already a shade darker. "So how do you want to do this? I mean we can just, you know, hang out without looking while you clean yourself, and just—then we just make sure you're okay or something!”

"Can I wash your hair, Siffrin?" Mirabelle eyes the rat's nest that’s grown atop their head.

Wash my hair?

They run their hands through the tangled mess until their fingers get stuck in the greasy locks. She’d have her work cut out for her... he’s not sure he can accept the favor so soon.

But, ohh they need it. They need the feeling of Mirabelle's fingers combing through their hair and massaging their scalp. He thinks of how her nails will feel digging deep into their skin. They imagine her reaching through their skull and ripping out every bad thought and memory straight from their mind. It sends a small shiver down their spine. It's all too much for Siffrin to process. They shrink down in their cloak and turn away.

"It's okay if you don't! We'll just be here for moral support!" Mirabelle waves her hands and Isabeau nods.

"I... uh... washing... washing my hair sounds... nice," they manage to force out.

"Ohh!" Mirabelle clasps her hands together and does a little skip in place. Her dress flutters and part of it sticks to the rim of the tub. "Oh, maybe I should change into something else."

"Oh, me too!" Isabeau nods and then turns to leave but stops. "Actually." He removes his sash and outer shirt then gives his undershirt a good tug. "This should be good."

Siffrin takes off his own cloak and reaches for his shirt...

Oh.

He looks at the lightless fabric of his sleeves—at how some spots stain just a bit darker than the rest. The little gaps in the fabric where light shows through shift slightly with each breath.

Oh no.

He didn't tell Mirabelle about that when she healed them. Nobody has seen.

What do they do? They can't stand the thought of being alone. Not now. Maybe he should have them look the other way the whole time, after all.

But... They promised to be honest now. Though, if they didn't ask, is it really dishonest? He clenches his jaw. It is, he's still hiding something from them.

... They can’t really expect him to be able to open up about everything right away, right?

Still...

They squeeze their eye shut.

“Sif?”

"Siffrin, what's wrong?"

Breathe. In, and out.

They turn their back to them and grab the base of their shirt.

In, and out.

"Please don't freak out."

Deep breath.

They pull their shirt over their head to reveal the mottling of fresh cuts up and down their arms.

Silence.

Dead silence.

He bites his lip hard enough to hurt. He swears he can almost, almost taste blood.

Each second of nothing wears on Siffrin and they fight the urge to cover back up. The distant sounds of Bonnie rummaging around in the kitchen grate in their ears.

"Let me heal you, Siffrin," Mirabelle breathes.

They nod and slowly hold out one arm behind them. She gently takes their fingers in her hand and places her palm on the back of his. She whispers a few things under her breath and starts moving her hand up their arm. The soreness dissipates in little ripples out from her fingertips.

Isabeau shifts behind them and starts swirling his hand in the bath.

"The water should be good," he murmurs.

Siffrin flexes their arm in front of them as Mira begins on their other one.

Scarred. Of course. Most have faded but the deeper, star-shaped ones remain. They no longer hurt, at least, just a dull ache if they move too much. That could also just be everything else wrong with them.

"I'm sorry, Siffrin," Mirabelle murmurs when she sees them scrutinize one of the larger scars. "I—I couldn’t prevent them from scarring. I just don’t have the Craft energy."

Oh.

Oh, they're all probably beyond exhausted from dealing with your tantrum.

Why didn't you even consider that until now? Even Bonnie is probably tired from everything and now they're out preparing you a full-course meal.

Siffrin pulls away and holds their half-healed arm to their chest, out of reach.

"I'm—"

"No, Siffrin, it's okay." Mirabelle reaches for them but they turn further away. “I’m happy to finish healing you, really.”

“You’ve already done so much.”

“And I’m willing to do more.” She takes a step closer. “You’d do the same for me if our positions were switched, right?”

“Of course I would!” He whirls around. They squint as their head spins a bit. “You are all..." he pauses, voice lowering. “So important to me.”

Isabeau pulls up two stools to the tub. “And you’re so so important to us too.” He frowns slightly as Siffrin shrinks into themself more. “We choose to do this Sif. We want you to be safe, healthy, and happy and we’re all willing to push ourselves like this to make sure of it.”

“But..." Their voice trails off.

“Siffrin, I promise I’m not putting myself in any danger doing this. It’s just tiring and nothing a few good night’s sleep won't fix.”

“I guess..."

Mirabelle gives Siffrin a tired smile. She reaches for their face.

A stinging memory flashes through their mind and they flinch. They recoil. Their hand flies part way to their cheek but they freeze.

He blinks, blinks, blinks away the memory. He sees Mirabelle standing there with her hands clasped at her chest. Her body is stiff—as if she's frozen in time—but her rapid breathing betrays that.

"Siffrin, I'm... " She worries her lip and picks at her fingertips. "I'm so sorry. I—I shouldn’t have... I know I was angry at those awful things you said but I still shouldn’t have slapped you."

"Of course you should have!" They dig their nails into their arms, threatening to undo everything Mirabelle just healed. "I said all those... cruel, horrible, untrue things when you were stressing out so much about everything! You had the weight of all of Vaugarde on your shoulders! And then your—” they stop themself. “The papers... Why wouldn't you slap me?"

Her face pulls into a grimace. "I still should have kept trying to figure out what was wrong! You're right, I was so stressed and anxious about everything..." She takes a shuddering breath and squeezes her eyes shut. “And it really did hurt... what you said... But I... I just assumed the worst of you... that you never really cared about me... when I knew that wasn’t true. I should have known it wasn’t that... " Her voice quiets to a whisper. “I shouldn’t have given up on you.”

"But... how were you even supposed to guess what was happening?"

Isabeau chimes in. "Well, we wouldn't have figured out the specifics but it was obvious there was something ."

Their shoulders fall. "And I... still wouldn't have said anything.”

Silence.

Wrong response, stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You should have slapped me too, Isa. How were you so calm?"

Worse response! Stop it!

"Sif, I would never hurt you. I couldn’t.”

Mirabelle’s jaw clenches and her face pulls tight.

Isabeau jumps slightly and holds his hands up. “Ah—sorry Mira, I didn’t mean to imply anything! It’s just... you know, defender training and just... my own..." He brings a hand to his chest. “Er—yeah, I’m not judging you or anything for your reaction! Anyway, Sif!” He lets his hand fall to his side and meets their gaze. They have to fight not to look away.

“We all made mistakes yesterday... and we’re all willing to go to great lengths to help you and each other, even if we’re tired. Even if we’re angry.”

Siffrin can't keep his gaze.

Isabeau hums for a moment and then lights up with a small gasp. "Okay, give me your hand."

He hesitates.

Isabeau holds his hand out, palm up. It glistens a bit in the candlelight—from sweat or bath water, Siffrin isn't sure.

Slowly, carefully, they place their closed hand in Isabeau's. He lifts his other hand slowly enough that it doesn't startle them and then very lightly smacks his fingers against their knuckles.

"Whap! There's your slap."

Despite themself, they couldn't hold back a snort.

"Ohhh, the pain~" they whine in a weak, almost ghost-like manner.

Isabeau releases his grip and Siffrin shivers at the sudden coolness.

"Oh, uh, you should probably get in the bath before it gets cold too, huh?"

"Ah, right, yeah." They gaze at the inviting water. They realize their legs are shaking more. "Can you... look the other way for a minute."

Isabeau spins around and Mirabelle covers her eyes.

Siffrin fumbles with their belt—their grip is weaker and stiffer than before. Was it the scarring? Or just exhaustion? They didn't have the energy to think too hard about it. The bath was calling to them.

He slips out of his pants and kicks them to the corner. They approach the tub and tentatively stick in their toe.

Warm. A bit too warm.

They could use all the warmth they can get.

They step inside and settle in quickly. The water burns at every little cut Mirabelle didn’t manage to heal. He grits his teeth and just waits for it to ease up.

They wish for would like a bubble bath so they could hide under a foot of suds, but the bare-bones bathroom doesn't afford such luxuries. Still, they splash a bit of soap in to create a facsimile of a foam shield and cover up their unmentionables with a washcloth.

"Okay," they breathe.

Mirabelle drops her hands and Isabeau waits another second before turning around. Siffrin holds their arms against their chest. There's not much to hide, but still.

The two of them settle down on small stools next to him.

Silence.

Siffrin pokes at a small bruise on their knee.

"Uhm, Siffrin?"

He glances at Mirabelle and tilts his head.

"Are you ready for me to wash your hair?"

Their eye widens and flashes of the past flick through their mind. Her gentle hands worked through his hair as she brushed it, picking out dirt and pulling out tangles. It was so nice they couldn't bring themself to accept any other time she offered.

But now...

" Please ."

Mirabelle perks up with a smile and grabs two shampoo bottles from atop a barrel.

"Okay, so we have a lavender scent here. It's good for calming you down and helps with sleep." She holds up the other one. "And here we have pineapple sc—"

"LAVENDER!" Siffrin yelps, causing Mirabelle and Isabeau to jump.

"Okay, okay! Lavender it is!" She puts the other bottle far away from Siffrin. “I didn’t think you had such strong feelings for some foods!” She pours a generous amount of the other onto Siffrin's head until a drop of it splatters on his shoulder. Siffrin clenches his jaw and decides against letting that bit of information out for now.

Mirabelle rubs her hands together and gets to work.

Almost immediately he lets out a sigh as her nails rake across his scalp. His eye rolls back into his head and he sinks deeper into the water.

They're floating, becoming one with the Universe. Their pain fades into dull static as their mind focuses solely on their head.

It's heavenly.

"Uh, Sif," Isabeau's voice is soft.

"Mmm?" they hum.

"Anything I can help with?"

Siffrin cracks his eye open at Isabeau. He's sitting with his head turned to the ceiling and scratching at his chin.

"Oh, uh... " They pause and think. It'd be too cramped to ask him to wash anything else while Mirabelle is still working, but his touch is just so inviting all the same.

They mull it over for a moment. They look at their hand, flex their stiff fingers, and reach out.

"Can you... hold my hand?"

Isabeau gasps. "Of course!" He wipes his hands on his pants and takes Siffrin's between them.

It's nice.

They smile and let out a long sigh. He closes his eye and feels the weightlessness of his body. The way Isabeau’s hand molds around his. The way Mirabelle oh so gently tugs at the many tangles in their hair.

How it feels like...

His mind wanders.

A tear floats gently in front of him. He’s in the house again.

Ugh. He squeezes his eye shut. Now’s not the time for those thoughts.

It’s completely different, anyway. Tears were always so cold and touching them felt more like missing a stair step and falling forever... and the dreams... the dreams were always so weird.

But now! Now he’s warm and feels like he’s being lifted up, up! And no dreaming! Just perfectly controllable awake thoughts.

...

He’s in the house again.

Their family is there. Talking about something he can’t quite process. The images and sounds are warped and garbled. They can barely make out Bonnie making snacks in the corner.

Their family goes quiet. Everyone looks over at Bonnie.

They aren’t cooking.

Nope! Not that memory!

They shift in the tub and try to force a different thought, hoping nobody notices their discomfort.

Mirabelle continues scrubbing. Isabeau gives their hand another squeeze.

They are in a hallway now. Things look even more warped and broken; the pillars are sinking through the floor, a haze of static obscures almost everything, and the walls seem to be melting. He can still make out his family standing a few paces ahead, surrounding... him?

They’re smiling at him, and then their expressions fall. “He” vanishes.

No, not that one either.

He’s in front of Isabeau by the tree. They reach out and grab his shirt--

No no no!

They pull into themself and furiously wipe their mouth.

“Sif? What’s wrong?” Isabeau puts his other hand on him. Mirabelle stops and places her hands on their shoulders.

“S-sorry, I just..." He doesn’t want to get into it.

Just be vague. Honest, but vague.

“Just thinking about the loops again.”

They both give him little squeezes.

“It’s okay, Siffrin. We’re here.”

“You’re safe,” Isabeau adds, “it’s over, I promise.”

“Yeah,” they swallow a knot in their throat, “yeah it’s over.” He forces himself to relax and give them a reassuring smile. They close their eye again and wait for Mirabelle to continue scrubbing their hair.

But the memories aren’t over--they won’t ever go away, will they?

They’ve forgotten their own family member’s names. They’ve forgotten their home, their language, their past, and whole chunks of their journey before the loops began.

But the loops themselves are so etched into their mind...

No. No. It’s too early to even think about that. They’ll fade. They won’t keep popping up every time they have a moment of rest. Maybe they’ll even be able to start remembering things from before the loops! It’s just going to be a recovery process.

A long, long recovery process.

It’s fine though! They have their family! They promised they’d be there for him. As long as he can make himself talk about his feelings sometimes, it’ll all work out fine!

They smile and sigh.

Just happy thoughts for now. Focus on Isabeau’s and Mirabelle’s hands. Think about her brushing your hair or Isabeau holding your hands on the rooftop. Think about Odile ruffling your hair or Bonnie’s hug.

His mind starts to drift again.

In the echo of a memory, the Head Housemaiden is crying. Their family calls out to them from the distance. They race to him and he reaches out. He can barely make out anything through the static but their calling his name is unmistakable.

The scene cracks, and breaks, and he’s back in Dormont. Mirabelle screams. Bonnie cries. Odile grips his cloak. And Isabeau...

Siffrin’s face pulls into a grimace and he shifts in the tub.

They were loved.

They were loved, they were so loved, and yet, they ruined it.

Isabeau locks their fingers together. “We’re here, Sif.”

Mirabelle holds his head in her hands. “Siffrin, you can talk to us about what you’re thinking about if you want.” Her voice is so soft, so gentle. “But... if you can’t right now you can tell us that too... We can just talk about something light instead... to keep your mind off things.”

‘ So you should just accept it! Accept that you'll always be alone!’

They dig their heels into the bottom of the tub.

“I just—” he chokes.

They say they forgive you, but...

“Sif.” Isabeau pulls their hand closer.

‘ I know what kind of person you are, now. A Coward, Isa. Never able to say what you mean, never able to do what you want.’

You can’t take it back. Can’t undo it all.

“I—” His breathing quickens. Their chest starts to burn. He tries to speak again but only choked sounds come out.

‘ Deep down, you know you can't escape yourself.’

They won’t forget what you said.

A tear runs down their face. It joins the many drops of water clinging to their neck.

‘ Just leave me behind! Just like you left Ka Bue behind!!! Just like your mom lef̵͉͘ţ̷̟̪̀̒͗́͠ ̵̠̩͕̘̫̈͗̌̊y̷̧̡̼͕̮͆̔̆̀̔o̷̝̓̑̍̚͘ŭ̴̘͇̮̄͜ ̷̻̮͔̖̬̇͌̐̒b̵͔͇̤̽̾̽̕͘͠e̶̘̮̦̬͍̿̒ḣ̶̛̝̤̑̈̎̎i̷̪̮͝ň̷͖̣̱̽d̸͙̿̈́́̊̏̿̚!̶͔̻͇̥͎̒͊̅͘’

They’ll live with your words wearing on them forever.

“Siffrin, it’s okay, you don’t have to say it right away.”

They whine and begin to pull away. Their chest is heaving. The room is starting to spin. Stop it. Stop it. Stay in the moment.

“Sif. Breathe with me,” Isabeau’s demand is gentle yet it’s enough to pull their attention to him.

They see him through the tears. He has his hand on his chest. He breathes deeply.

Their head hurts and their hands are shaking and their heart is beating like it's about to explode, so they probably should.

In, and out.

Siffrin tries to copy. He only manages a few shallow gasps at first.

Isabeau doesn’t stop though. He keeps breathing. In and out. He squeezes Siffrin’s hand with each breath.

In. Siffrin closes his eye and inhales. It’s smoother now. He can hear Mirabelle joining in.

Out. He squeezes Isabeau’s hand back.

In. The burning starts to fade.

Out. They can focus on their surroundings more. On the tug of Mirabelle’s fingers in their hair. On the gentle tremble of Isabeau’s hand. On the sounds of their unified breathing.

The echo of their cruel words gets fainter each time, but still crowd the margins of their consciousness.

One more breath.

They slowly open their eye. Isabeau is smiling gently at him.

“Mmmsorry,” Siffrin mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Isabeau assures and Mirabelle hums in agreement.

“I just—” Not again. The tension begins to creep back.

Just say it. It’s no worse than what you’ve already talked about.

"Why'd it... why’d it have to be this time?" they mumble.

"What do you mean?" Isabeau tilts his head.

Another deep breath. "Why'd this loop have to be the one we broke out of? Why this, and not one where I did everything right and you all..." He kicks at the side of the tub, “loved me?"

Isabeau winces. "We do love you now, Sif." They can feel the pain in his voice.

"But I hurt you all so much!”

“Not enough to stop us from loving you.” He squeezes their hand. “Not even close.”

Siffrin’s throat tightens. He paws at the water and watches the bubbles swirl around.

Mirabelle pulls at their hair. "Siffrin, everyone has bad days. People say cruel things they don't really mean to their friends."

Isabeau nods. "Yeah, you just happened to have a really, really long string of really, really bad days. So you only snapping at us now is pretty... urhm... impressive."

Siffrin pops a bubble.

"We really mean it when we say we forgive you, Siffrin." She gives their hair another gentle tug. "And we'll keep reminding you every time we need to."

"But... " They sink against the side. "You said you'll have time to be mad later. So how are you forgiving me so soon?"

Siffrin could sense Mirabelle frowning. "I can forgive you even if I'm still mad! O-or hurt! Just like I can be mad at you and still love you!"

Isabeau nods. "People are just full of conflicting emotions, and it's pretty normal to feel ones that are at odds." He rubs a thumb over Siffrin's scarred knuckles.

"I guess." They pick at a small scab on their forearm until Isabeau puts his other hand over it.

He leans closer. "The important thing is that you're doing what you can to fix it and keep it from happening again."

"What if it does happen again?" They mumble and sink a little further.

"You try harder next time.” He slides his hand up their arm. “And keep trying."

Siffrin mumbles under their breath. "How many times can I mess up before you all hate me?"

Isabeau squeezes their hand. "There's nothing you will do that'll make us hate you. Maybe get mad, or upset—"

"Or worried!" Mira added, picking at her nails.

"Or worried. But we could never hate you. Never. I promise!"

"Siffrin, you know you're such a genuinely good friend, right? We trust that you'll never try to hurt us on purpose. And... we... " She twists a lock of Siffrin's hair around her finger. "You have to trust us to all work things out together if you make a mistake!"

"Yeah!" Isabeau smiles. "You have to trust us too, Sif."

"I do!" Siffrin bolts upright, splashing water over the two of them. "Sorry!"

"Sif! It's okay, it's just water."

Siffrin whines.

Mirabelle pulls his hair and makes them lean back against the tub. They groan softly and move to cover their mouth, but they stop halfway. No point.

"Hehe! Now that we know you like touch, we're gonna make you relax and be nice to yourself! Oh, I mean if that's okay with you! I mean if that's too much it's fine, but we want you to be happy!"

"You make cute noises, Sif," Isabeau blurts out.

"What?"

"What!? Sorry, that just came out!" He covers his mouth. "Mira is right! We're gonna make you care for yourself and be nice and stuff! But only in ways you're comfortable with of course!" His grip tightens and he scratches the back of his head.

The way his cheeks darken and eyes dart around the room is...

Cute.

"I'm happy to uh... " They sink until their mouth is just above the water. Their knees come up and they pull them closer. "Make more cute noises later, maybe. If it means you'll uh... play with my hair... too."

Isabeau's body jolts and he nearly crushes Siffrin's hand. Mirabelle bites her lip to (poorly) hold back a long 'awwwww'.

"Hahhaha! Yeah, that sounds great! I'll give you a full body massage and everything, I mean if that's what you're okay with obviously I know I've said it before but I just want to make sure you know I'm not gonna do anything too soon or make you uncomfortable I know you said you'll think about it and stuff so it can be a totally platonic massage or none at all but I just want you to know I'm here to make you feel better in whatever way I can!" When he stops he has to catch his breath.

Siffrin holds back a laugh. Isabeau's grip is still rock solid and their hand is beginning to hurt. "Isa," He tries to flex his fingers.

"Oh, oh Sif I'm sorry!" he cries, releasing his grip. Siffrin turns their hand around and makes a fist a few times. The pain fades quickly and they re-link their hand with his.

Isabeau coughs out a laugh. "S-see!? See this is what I mean where you can feel many emotions. Your hand can hurt from my sweaty rock grip but you still love me!" His eyes widen. "R-right?"

Siffrin bites back a snort. Isabeau tugs at his hair. "No, of course not," they say, sticking their tongue out. "Hand hurty is my limit!"

"Nooooooooooooo!" Isabeau cries out and leans back to press the back of his hand to his forehead. "Not the—ACK" The small stool slips out from under him and he goes crashing to the floor, dragging Siffrin out with him. They land hard on top of him and they both wheeze. Soap-suds splatter across Isabeau's face.

Mirabelle jumps up, nearly toppling over as well but only manages to grab the towel bar at the last second.

"Owwie," Siffrin grunts.

"Sif holy crab! I didn't mean to do that I'm so sorry!" Isabeau sounds on the verge of tears. Immediately his hands are on their shoulders and Mira is behind them a second later. It’s cold, it hurts, and they might have soap in their eye but... Isabeau’s warm. They almost don’t want to get up, but before they can even finish the thought Isabeau and Mirabelle are both helping him to his feet. They stumble a bit; their legs are still weak from the shock, but they manage to get their footing. Mira pulls her hands back but Isabeau keeps his grip solid as Siffrin steps back into the water.

Ahh, warm again.

“I am so sorry, Sif. I didn’t mean to keep holding on!” he whines. “... Or to fall in the first place.” He finally lets go of Siffrin only to bury his face in his soapy, wet hands. He groans loudly.

"Isa, it's okay!" They wince and put their hand to a reopened wound but don't stop laughing even as Mirabelle frantically works to close it back up.

More or less okay.

As she finishes and wipes her arm on her brow with a long sigh, Siffrin begins to giggle.

"Ribs hurty too," they wheeze through a bout of laughter.

The muffled sound of stomping catches their attention.

"FRIN! ZA! BELLE! ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE!?"

"Are you being too rough with them Isabeau?" They swear they can hear the smirk in Odile's voice. "In front of Mirabelle, too?"

Isabeau makes a choked sound and turns to the door. "N-no! We aren't doing anything like that!" He whines as Siffrin's laughing grows ever louder. "It's fine!"

Oh stars, it hurts, it hurts so much but they can't stop.

Oh no, you're being weird again. Stop it!

They crack a glance at Mira and Isabeau. They're...

Trying not to laugh, too?

Isabeau snorts into his hand and joins in, Mira soon after.

He feels tears welling in his eye. He can see them in Isabeau's, too.

"HEY, WHAT'S SO FUNNY" Bonnie yells and smacks their hands against the door. "DID FRIN MAKE A DUMB CRABBING PUN AGAIN?"

Quick, think of one!

"Oh, it's—" Siffrin wheezes. "Uhhh... "

"It appears Sif has really fallen for me!" Isabeau says through giggles.

"BAD! YUCK! THAT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY YOU GUYS BETTER NOT START BEING GROSS ALL THE TIME!"

"Boniface, you're going to burn dinner."

"OH CRAB!" There's a sound of rapidly retreating stomps and then silence.

"Hahha—oww." Siffrin grips their sides again.

"Siffrin, be careful." Mirabelle holds out her hands but stops. Her genuine concern is broken by giggles she can't quite bite back.

They wave a hand at her before wiping his eye. "It's fine." They cough. "I actually feel... better, now." His gaze lands on Isabeau, who’s looking away with a crooked smile and a burning blush.

...Huh?

Isabeau’s shoulders still shake from barely contained laughter. His chest is covered in soap suds, and he is digging his fingers into his wrist.

"Oh, um... Siffrin... " Mirabelle picks something up off the floor and hands it to him.

The washcloth.

"OH!"

Siffrin nearly splashes half the water out of the tub slapping it back over their groin. He pulls his knees back to his chest and winces at the strain.

"Ow."

"Be careful, Sif!" Isabeau does a quick double-take before looking at them again.

Siffrin holds their hand out to him and he takes it. They sway them from side to side.

Mirabelle lets out a small whine. "Madame Odile is probably going to be at our throats if we stretch out your recovery more like this!" She wrings her hands together, then places one on top of Isabeau's. "And I can't imagine how Nille will react if we take longer getting Bonnie back home because of... this!"

Siffrin coughs out a few more chuckles and sighs.

Actually... they think about the things Bonnie has said about Nille. About her suplexing a guy for touching her. About crafting a hammer so big it broke the wall she hung it on.

He fails to suppress a shudder at the thought of her giving him a whole new set of wounds. Despite them becoming unimaginably strong during the loops, they still wouldn’t want to cross an angry and protective sibling.

“Getting cold, Sif?”

They’re snapped back to the present. “Oh, yeah, a bit.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The water was starting to lose its delightful heat.

"Do you want us to heat it up more or are you done?"

Siffrin mulls it over for a moment. "No, I probably need to lie down after all that," they chuckle.

Isabeau lets out a long whine. "Sif I'm still so sorry about that!"

"Isa," Siffrin squeezes his hand as hard as they can... which is admittedly not very hard with how exhausted he is. "I promise it's fine. I... really needed that laugh." They pull their other hand away from their knees and place it on top of their friends' hands.

"Also, uhm, Isa, " they look away as their face grows hot. "Can you, um... "

"Yeah, what's up Sif?" He leans closer.

"Can you rinse my hair for me?" He looks at Mirabelle. "Oh, i-it's not that you did a bad job at washing my hair or anything! It felt great!"

"I get it, Siffrin," she chuckles. "You did promise him you'd let him help too."

"Wait, I did?"

"No, but you should have!" Isabeau teases in mock offense.

Siffrin pouts. "Well you get to anyway, so here!" He pushes a cup into Isabeau's hands.

"Gasp! You have bestowed upon me the sacred goblet with which I will complete my holy task." He holds it gingerly in his hands and bows to them.

“Of course, my loyal knight.” Siffrin bows back. “There are not many I trust to handle such an arduous task!”

“Did you really have to say ‘gasp’ out loud, Isabeau?” Mirabelle shakes her head with a sigh and a barely restrained smile.

“I sure did!” he hums with a wide smile as he squeezes the suds from Siffrin’s hair.

They take another washcloth to their arms and start scrubbing, smiling.

"Do you want me to get your back, Siffrin?" Mirabelle asks.

"Please," he sighs.

She hums and begins with their shoulders. She rubs gentle circles down his back and is oh-so careful to avoid any visible wounds. Isabeau holds his palm against Siffrin's brow as he pours water over their head. They almost fall asleep right then and there as they’re cared for with such gentleness.

Having so many hands on them felt so...

Nice.

Much harder to get distracted with dark thoughts with so much going on.

Yet it was getting to the verge of overstimulating. Especially each time he passes his washcloth over the not-fully-healed wounds speckling his arms.

But it's okay. They've waited so long for this. Nothing's perfect, after all.

They move to their chest, then to their legs. He's able to scrub a bit harder now—only old wounds and a few bruises there. He’s definitely working faster than the others. He almost wants to have them help with that too but he doesn’t quite think he’s ready yet.

"Thank you," they breathe.

"Of course," Mirabelle and Isabeau both hum in response.

Just about done. Siffrin finds the stopper with his toe and pops it out.

Isabeau squeezes the water from their hair and they let out another involuntary sigh in response.

They start to stretch their legs as the water drains, remembering at the last moment to slap the washcloth back over their crotch. They suppose Isabeau wouldn't mind seeing what they have but they couldn't subject Mirabelle to the horrors.

"Do you want me to dry your hair too?" Isabeau asks quietly.

"Don't get greedy, Isabeau!" Mira teases with a gentle shove to his soapy shoulder. She makes a face and rinses her hand off in the nearly-drained water.

"Whaaat! I just want to be helpful to our little rogue!"

Siffrin tries to reach for their hat to cover their blush but, once again, grabs empty air.

"I can dry their hair and you can brush it, how about that? Er—" he turns to Siffrin. "If you’re okay with it!"

Siffrin nods stiffly while biting their lip. They shudder from the exposure and Isabeau rushes to grab towels. He drapes one over their shoulders and gets to work on their hair.

"Oh, we should probably get you a change of clothes." Mirabelle eyes the tattered and bloody pile in the corner. She opens the door to find all three sets of their sleeping clothes neatly folded right outside.

"Aww, thank you, Madame!"

"Are you DONE NOW?" Bonnie groans. “Dinner's been done since forever and it's gonna get cold!"

"It hasn't even been ten minutes, Boniface." Odile sighs.

"FOREVER!"

Mirabelle giggles and struggles to close the door with her arms full of clothing.

Isabeau holds his hand out for Siffrin to grab onto and slowly helps them to their feet. Steam wafts off from their shaking legs. They hang on tighter and step out, but don’t let go of Isabeau for another moment.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” They nod. They let go but hover their hands over his forearm for a moment until they can calm the shaking of their legs enough. He towels himself off and slips into his soft, clean night clothes while Mirabelle and Isabeau switch into theirs. It’s barely a second after they finish before Isabeau is back to drying their hair.

Their knees grow weak and they lean against him.

"Whoa, Sif. Let's get you to bed. We can eat there too."

Siffrin stumbles upright and nods. "Sounds good. I uh... think I could sleep for a year."

"Hah, I think we all could." He takes Siffrin by the shoulders and guides them over to the bed. He flops down halfway on it and both Isabeau and Mirabelle have to maneuver his limp noodle of a body into a more comfortable position. They wrap him up in many blankets and settle in on either side of him. Bonnie and Odile arrive soon after with plates piled high with food.

Siffrin smiles and leans his head against Isabeau’s chest.

Warm.

#isat #in stars and time #isat anniversary #isat siffrin #isafrin #isat isabeau #my shitposts #my fics

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londondungeon2 · 1 day ago

Text

IN BLOOM. jade leech

He had not expected to see you at all during the duration of his birthday party. This, he was fine with. You are recovering after all and should remain in bed. Though, Jade supposes his act is not subtle by the way his twin keeps eyeing like watching a dog off a leash, making sure he won't run off.

tags: mild hurt/comfort, birthday bloom event, drinking & talking, established relationship, pre-canon to Got You.

word count: 2060

He is not being subtle, is he?

Too many physical clues have given his twin insight that he is not doing mentally well. He can pass off the fidgeting with the wooden shaft of his broom to nerves over flying. His dual-colored eyes flickering over to the lounge’s clock might just be him wanting to be out of the spotlight. All those little quirks can be shrouded by a false truth, but Floyd won’t believe a single one.

Jade preserves despite this inner schism between his twin and himself. The dialogue that Shrimpy’s a big girl and she doesn’t need ya coddlin’ her, Seven, you’re latchin’ on like some parasite, get a grip. Which would be fiercely combated by the dialogue that I’m her boyfriend which should put an end to discussion but probably wouldn’t.

So, neither of them discuss it because why fight on our birthday?

He gets through the interview and the broom-flying without a hitch. Even when he teethers himself a bit closer to the safety of the ground, he manages to do it all efficiently and effectively. Though all the stomach-knotting worry, it is an impossible task to stop the smile that cracks off his pursed lips when his twin tries to snatch his Birthday Bloom hat.

For the majority of this evening’s party, Jade has been biting his tongue to hold back excuses to leave. If he took a bathroom break, it would give him ample time to – at the very least – poke his head in his dorm room. Then, he thinks about how much that is a dog owner excusing themselves early from the party to let the mutt out; then, he thinks about those stout, pearly gray parasites from home; then, he thinks himself out of his idea.

He is fiddling – that is one of his more apparently anxious habits, always grasping at the nearest thing to twist or rub between his fingertips – with the white roses sitting elegantly in his broom’s bouquet when he sees what he was not expecting to see. Birthday gifts and surprises truly don’t stop coming until midnight? Because at the entrance, there you stand.

Kalim’s proclivity towards partying has never benefited or inconvenienced Jade much before. It might have caused a few stand-alone memories to pop, but nothing other than that. Right now however, there is a slight relief coursing through him due to Kalim leaving the party early to attend another.

Your attention will not be spread so thin. Because after you are done scanning the glittering decorations, your tired eyes fall upon him first with the crushing weight of acknowledgment and scrutiny.

You smile. It is tiny and disappears right when it flickered alive. Expression quietly somber, the uncharacteristic of it is quite jarring. None of the guests are even noticing you enter beyond himself and Floyd – who for the first time all night, finally turns away and stops watching him like he is a dog off a leash, about to sprint at the next opportunity.

When you land, you sit pressed leg to leg against one another. Despite how thick the robes are, indigo cotton like a shield, he feels the weight of you leaning against him like a fallen building most. Pressure under the Coral Sea is suffocating; the crude mimic of the sensation done by you is comforting.

“I’m not crashing the party, am I,” you ask into the pattern of golden swirling keys and crows on your boyfriend’s cloak. “Thought you guys would be done by now.”

“So did I. Truthfully, there is not much left to be done.” Which is why it has been frustrating that Floyd was not letting him escape.

“Whaaa,” you whisper softly, “no, you gotta party till you drop. There’s no other way to celebrate a birthday.”

“I see,” Jade tuts. He looks down at the crown of your hair resting by the corner where his magestone sits on his birthday uniform. “You don’t particularly look ready to get up and dance with me. How unfortunate.”

Like a feline, you rub your cheek deep into the dreamlike scene embodied on his outfit. The entire wardrobe line does look like these birthday boys were plucked from dark night skies. It would not be surreal to imagine you collapsing into him and falling asleep, like a meteor fizzling out on earth.

Instead, you murmur, “I just woke up from a nap. Give me a second.” Your hand reaches out and grabs Jade’s milkshake glass that is full of Boozy Blue. He watches through what isn’t blocked by your hair as you take the miniature umbrella he left on the edge and begin to twirl it in your fingertips. “You won’t be able to keep up.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. Just a promise.” A cough splits apart the end of your sentence.

Deliberate, Jade points his focal attention towards the lounge. Only a few stragglers are left in the almost concluded birthday celebration. Even Azul has already retired so really this should close up soon. Gazing, Jade finds that Ortho Shroud is among the stragglers and he happens to be impolitely staring at the both of you.

A twitch passes over Jade’s upper lip. He surmised that he knows exactly what those traffic-yellow eyes are taking in, calculating the diameter and shape of the bruises left on your neck.

He goes to reach down, pet along the side of your face, and cover your neck from any peering audience when something hits his fingers. Your heartbeat … it’s pounding. Like a drum. So powerfully loud that it almost seems to disrupt the air around you. Is it not uncomfortable to sit upright like that when your heart is seizing up in premature cardiac arrest? He should rest you down further on the couch so you may relax until your heart stops trying to break out your ribcage.

Had you just woken up from a nightmare? Jade’s hand lands on your shoulder, sailing past the spot he was seeking to conceal. If he touches there, there is a rising probability that you might seize up.

He flexes his grip on your bicep and you lean deeper into his uniform, both of you trying to fuse into each other’s warm touch. Running his tongue over needle-pointed teeth, Jade asks after a quiet minute of cuddling, “May I ask that you fulfill a promise to me on my birthday?”

“Of course.” You stir to look up at him with witchcraft eyes. A jovial smile pulls your lips, ready to please, as you twist the little umbrella, guaranteeing, “Anything for the birthday boy.”

“Never. Never go into Ramshackle without me.”

Your lips fall flat. That thunderous heartbeat — that Jade can almost graze as it lies thin and delicate across every plain of your skin — skips a beat. “Jade —.”

“Please,” he tries to keep despair out of his voice but knows by how you flinch that it was inadequate. “Please, never go into Ramshackle again.” It feels selfish to ask a person with your disposition to be shackled or forbidden from a certain place, but it would ease his own pounding heart to never find you in such a state again.

After a moment of silence, you pull away from Jade and place down the umbrella. Your furrow brow makes him think you are going to leave, walk straight out of the party. Instead, you reach into your pajama pants pocket. “I promise, I won’t ever go into Ramshackle again. But, I had to go in there yesterday because I had to retrieve this.”

Between the gate of your index and middle finger, slightly obscured by your howlite ring, you hold up something slim and shiny. One could almost mistake it for a sturgeon scale and when Jade was younger than eighteen, he probably would have made that mistake. Now older, freshly turned twenty today, he knows that you are holding your lucky guitar pick in your hand — one of the three original possessions you have from your alien world.

“Why didn’t you —?”

“I didn’t think it would be right to ask you for your help. It’s my pick. It’s my problem. And I didn’t want —.”

“Nonsense.” Jade grasps the wrist holding your treasure and says firmly, “It would not have been a strife to go with you, I promise.”

You go huff with a closed lip smile. So it goes. Your head falls delicately and looping hair covers up the skin-deep necklace of plum and black that you wear. An insidious accessory.

The first thing you eat after waking up from your nap is a plum that has gone bad. Everyone has left the birthday longue, even Floyd who had ruffled your hair and told you that ya still owed him a birthday gift. You had smiled; now you are frowning while the feeling of wet, rotten curdles lying in your mouth upsets your taste buds.

You find a napkin and spit into it. The pattern of it matches the birthday outfits with their golden crows and golden keys and golden swirls. In the ribcage of your napkin sits a squishy heart of discolored yellow, half-chewed plum. The color reminds you of those science videos wheeled out of a rickety table, showing off pale yellow cholesterol in the veins and pale yellow puss seeping out infected eyes. A snail-trail of old salvia falls from the heart and glides over your palm.

Comatose, you stare at the bruised fruit cradled in the night-sky napkin before Jade pulls you out of your melancholy by setting down the tea you asked for.

Unsure why you were staring so vividly and tracing each rutting mound of half-chewed fruit, you fold the napkin over your rejected bite and inform your boyfriend, “The fruits gone bad. Did Azul forget to get rid of old stock?” You doubt he did but you are simply asking to fill up conversation space.

His eyes flicker curiously over to what you hold out to him: inners that are rotting in a slimy brownish, pale yellow. “Perhaps he did.”

Before you can get up to do it, Jade takes the plum from your hand and disposes of it in the nearby trash. He leaves you with your napkin; perhaps because he did not see you spit up instead of swallow your bite. You hold it in your hand, over the top of your knee, as wetness seeps through the thin cover of night.

“This should wash the taste out of your mouth,” Jade says, sitting down and pushing the tea he prepared towards you. He has already made sure it has cooled to the perfect temperature.

Meticulous, you think as you lift up the fragile chinaware. It washes through the bruises that have been left in the inner-workings of your throat like a heated river. “Thank you, baby.”

“It is no trouble.”

You squeeze the fruit-heart in your hand, just once for good luck. Truthfully, you don’t know if you will be able to sing again. Too terrified to try, you have been avoiding even humming to fill up silence, worried the tone might be off. Sacrificing your health had seemed natural when you went back into Ramshackle to gather the last belonging that you left behind.

Bowing your head, you sigh. The atmosphere, now that everyone is gone, is so serious. You loathe serious atmospheres and always hope the future has no more in store for you. Always, your hopes are dashed.

So, you try to switch the conversation, “Your flowers are pretty.” You’re curious if he picked them himself or something like the ‘Magical Pendulum’ or another inane sorting device chose them.

Jade glances at them just as you say. “You’re in bloom. Twenty is the cusp of adulthood.”

He smiles handsomely. “Such a notion makes it sound like my previous years had little significance.”

“Well, not like that. But you got internships coming up. Everything has to … turn serious, you know.”

“You must be loathing your next birthday.”

“Hey! I’m staying nineteen forever. I don’t know about you but I’m not ever coming out of my teens.” A chuckling rumble spread across your arm as Jade laughs at your quick nudge. His witch’s hat tilts with his mirth.

Both of you think — unbeknownst to the other half — things should stay like this. Immortal flowers that will never rot. Always in bloom.

#bro how the fuck do u do an intertwined series on tumblr.com #linking shit is ANNOYING #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #i crapped this out on break this is not me breaking hiatus

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crimsonspectre · 2 days ago

Text

Belong

summary: You're Lewis teammate and biggest fan

Tags: LW x gn!OC

You can find this in AO3 too

Five months have passed since you’ve become Lewis’s teammate.

They say you should never meet your idol, but in your case, it’s been smooth sailing. Sure, maybe you’ve had some discussions over trivial legal - mostly - moves in racing, and how to forget the time you proclaimed yourself, in a drunken post maiden victory state, his biggest fan, with big sparkly eyes and one too many details, except for one. But so far, meeting your idol has been like meeting an old friend, someone you can picture from memory.

Time brought along Max’s birthday, and the break before the last three races gave the perfect excuse for an over the top party. You were under the impression that Lewis wouldn’t show up, as he was always somewhere else, thus your outfit choice proved incredibly treacherous when the first thing you saw after entering Max’s penthouse was your teammate’s profile. Perfect profile, by the way.

A moment to recolect, you tell yourself. He won’t notice, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Shit, not even a deal at all. And it better not be, because he’s coming your way.

“You’re late, rookie”

“You should stop calling me rookie already, it’s been months”

“You’re always a rookie in my books” he answers, laughing. You sit next to him.

“I thought you were traveling” you sip your drink, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“You don’t fancy seeing me here?”

You push your weight agains him for a second before answering “Don’t be dumb. I do prefer you in the track were I can beat your ass, but this is nice for a chance”

“Ha! aren’t you cocky. You’re spending way too much time with me.”

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

As the moon and drinks went on, your worries started to melt onto the air. There was no time to worry about anything in a place like this, with this incredible ambiance, as you were gossiping in a corner with Max. Two weeks apart came with lots of updates on the finest paddock news.

When Max laughs, moving a little, you caught those eyes. The ones immediatelty shifting to other serious matters. Maybe he was watching? Maybe you’re just very drunk.

Excusing yourself to get some air, you go to the backydard. Strange, no one’s here, with such beauty around to appreciate. So much to be overtaken by the memory of his eyes that seems as permanent as…

“Hey” you startle as a voice calls from behind.

“God, Lewis, you’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You move a little as his body ask for space to sit, while laughing it off.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s nice to have a break like this”

He nods, “For sure it’s nice if you’re the birthday boy special person”

You look genuinely confused, and laugh equally as awkward.

“Oh no, I think you’re getting the wrong idea”

He shifts his tone, and his head tilts a litte. “Am I?”

“Uh… yeah, I mean, Max is my friend” you can feel your face growing hotter by the second. What even is this change of air?

He stands, and as subtle as he arrived, he put his hand on your nape. Just his fingerprints, soft as a feather. You can’t help but shiver.

“That’s fine” he breaks the silence, moving his hand in a pattern.

And it hits you. He saw it, didn’t he? You try to say something, buy the subtle touch apparently put you under a spell, compelled only to look at him.

He keeps tracing your tattoo, the one you promised to get if he won his seventh title, back when you were just his fan, and he was just your idol. A nice, delicate 44.

“That’s fine” he repeats, applying the smallest of pressure on the side of your neck “as long as you remember who you belong to.”

#f1 #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 one shot #lewis hamilton x oc #f1 x oc

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themongrelcatcamehome-blog · 2 days ago

Text

i am trying to break your heart pt. 3

Hello! Here's part 3.

__________________________________________________________

Synopsis: Over a month has passed since Caitlyn and Vi ended their relationship, yet Caitlyn couldn’t find a reason to celebrate Jinx's capture. Despite it being a huge day for Piltover and the Enforcers, Caitlyn only wanted to go home, but someone had another plans for ther.

Tags and Warnings: angst, violence, strong language, blood, smoking, drinking, suicidal thoughts, caitvi fight i'm really sorry y'all

____________________________________________________

Caitlyn didn’t move. She clutched her jacket tightly against her neck in shock. Sevika remained motionless ahead of her, the sounds from her mechanical arm growing louder.

- Hello, traitor. Found your way back home?

Caitlyn needed to leave. At any moment a fight would erupt and she had no idea what to do. She couldn’t think. Her gaze darted between Sevika and Vi and she felt all the color drain from her face. She was trembling with anxiety. Sevika could expose everything to Vi at that moment and Vi would likely kill her. Caitlyn struggled to steady herself, feeling on the verge of fainting. Shame, disgust, and fear hit her all at once.

Vi activated her gauntlets, growling with fury and leapt toward Sevika. Before she could land a hit, Sevika’s mechanical arm detached from her torso a steel cable that wrapped around both of Vi’s gauntlets. Caitlyn ran forward trying to intervene, but Sevika’s human arm swung back planting a firm hand against Caitlyn’s chest, holding the commander in place.

- Well, well, traitor. Looks like my toy is bigger than yours!

In one swift motion, Sevika yanked the detached arm back with a sharp pull. The gauntlets were ripped from Vi’s fists and clattered to the floor. Sevika flung them behind her, smashing everything on the table, sending items rolling over the mini fridge and crashing them into the far corner of the room. Vi crouched, regaining her balance.

Caitlyn was terrified. Sevika was going to kill Vi right in front of her. What could she do? Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something to use against Sevika. She froze when Sevika completely released her mechanical arm. The massive device hit the floor with a thunderous crash. Sevika massaged her shoulder and said:

- Come on, piggy. Fight me, fair and square.

Vi was seething with rage, her face bloodied with all the fight on the way to that room. Who knows how many people she’d beaten to get there? Caitlyn stepped between them.

- Enough. Stop it! Violet, I’m fine. Just stop. - Cait, get out of the way. I’m finishing what I started. Ready to lose another arm, ugly ass bitch? - Vi, Vi... If only you’d arrived half an hour earlier! I definitely would’ve enjoyed hearing you talk crap!

Caitlyn turned to Sevika.

- We have a deal, don’t we? Let us go. It’s over. - Cait? What deal? What are you talking about?!

Vi was confused, ready to destroy Sevika’s face. The adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her from noticing the tension in the room. Caitlyn ran her hands through her hair, pushing it all back and looked at the ceiling.

- Violet, Sevika and I... Sevika wanted to strike a deal with me. A peace agreement in exchange for ending the brutality of our soldiers against her people... your people... We’ll focus on the barons instead. That’s it. - Yeah, piglet. Your girl and I got an arrangement indeed. But you and I can still fight if you want.

Vi was in shock. She knew Caitlyn had changed, that she was open to softening her stance on Zaun, but a deal? With Sevika? And why were Caitlyn’s clothes so dirty, her shirt torn like that?

- Caitlyn... Did this fucking coward lay a hand on you? Tell me right now. - No! I mean… No! No, she didn’t.

Sevika clenched her fists, rolling her eyes at Caitlyn. Their gazes locked and Caitlyn nodded slightly. “Please don’t say anything, please…”

- You two got thirty seconds to get out of my office.

Vi was slowly piecing it together. Could Caitlyn have done it? Was Sevika low enough to force Caitlyn into sex for a deal? Vi’s mind was spinning. She looked down and noticed Sevika’s unbuttoned pants. Her stomach churned and her heart seemed to stop for a moment. The whole world stopped and Vi felt her stomach churn.

- No... Please, no... - Yes! No! Yes! Fuck you! Get out of my sight, both of you.

Sevika was getting angrier now. One wrong move from Vi and she would snap her neck.

Caitlyn took a few steps toward Vi, devastated to see her like this. What could she possibly be thinking? Did she assume the deal involved sleeping with Sevika to persuade her? Or that Sevika had forced her? Caitlyn could only manage to say:

- Let's go home, Violet.

With eyes welling with tears, Vi removed her badge from her waist and threw it at Caitlyn’s feet. Tears streamed down her face now.

- I’m already home, Commander.

Vi turned her back and left.

Caitlyn was in shock, frozen in place. She quickly crouched to pick up Vi’s badge, her head spinning. She felt dizzy and began to cry. Sevika, now reattaching her mechanical arm, walked toward Vi’s gauntlets. She kicked one to try and break the hexcore casing, but it didn’t give. Picking up a cigarette, she leaned against the table.

Caitlyn was on her knees, holding Vi’s badge in one hand and covering her face with the other, sobbing uncontrollably. She got to her feet and said out loud she needed to go after Vi.

- Sweetheart, don’t be crazy. You don’t know your way around Zaun; you’ll end up getting yourself killed. Let her go, she’ll come back. - Shut up! This is all your fault!

Caitlyn spun toward Sevika and threw Vi’s badge at her. Sevika dodged it effortlessly, took a long drag from her cigarette and set it back on the table.

- Too soon to argue about our relationship, fox. But you can put all the blame on me, of course. - Stop calling me that! Stop calling me animal names! I’m not your pet! My name is Caitlyn Kiramman! And you’re under arrest!

Sevika watched Caitlyn in her state of utter despair, tears streaming down her face. For a moment Sevika almost felt sorry for her. She stepped toward Caitlyn and pulled her into her arms.

- Let me go. Let me go... - I’m not letting you go. - Let me go, damn it! What the hell! I hate you! - I hate you too, Commander.

Sevika kissed the top of Caitlyn’s head as the woman buried her face in Sevika’s chest. Caitlyn’s tears soaked Sevika’s tank top. Sevika wanted to stroke her hair, say something. That strange flutter in her stomach returned. Sevika wanted to protect Caitlyn. She felt a sting in her nose at that moment. If she stayed any longer...

Straightening her posture, she took Caitlyn’s face in her hands, wiped her tears, and said:

- Commander, pull yourself together. - Take me home, Sevika, please...

Caitlyn’s voice was so soft and faint that Sevika had to lean in to hear her.

- Yes, I'll take you home. I’ll take you to her.

Caitlyn shook her head in refusal, but Sevika didn’t notice.

She found the idea of Vi being her home, her safe haven incredibly beautiful. Caitlyn’s thoughts raced: she also found Sevika’s perspective on the two of them breathtakingly beautiful too.

The commander wondered if she should confront this sentiment now.

“Why the hell do I find Sevika interesting? Is Vi my safe haven, my home? If she is, why am I in someone else’s arms?”

Her train of thought stopped suddenly. What would she tell Vi? Or worse: what would Vi say? Could she bear to hear it?

Caitlyn felt like she was drowning. Her throat tightened, her heart raced uncontrollably; she wanted to disappear. She wanted to turn back time and undo everything: resist the Council’s pressure, avoid joining Jinx's task force, stop Vi from breaking up with her, never have sex with Sevika... The lump in her throat grew, almost choking her. She wanted to scream, to break things. What had she done with her life these past few months?

She remembered the breakup.

Things had been strained since their conversation about joining the task force. Vi had become increasingly distant, both physically and emotionally. She canceled their plans, stopped going to her place and avoided Caitlyn at work. Caitlyn would go to Vi’s apartment as it was the only way they would see each other. Vi avoided physical affection as much as possible, eventually giving in, but things felt different.

The last time they slept together—Caitlyn realized now—Vi avoided looking at her face. She preferred positions that kept her turned away.

The lump in Caitlyn’s throat eased as she took a deep breath in Sevika’s embrace.

“How could I be so blind? She was suffering, needed my support, and all I could say was, ‘Do what’s best for your heart.’ Am I an idiot? Of course I am! How didn’t I see it?”

Caitlyn’s head started pounding again. She turned her face to Sevika:

- No, take me to Piltover.

Sevika released her from the embrace. She walked over to her guard who was still unconscious, checked his pulse. The man’s nose was broken, his face soaked in blood. Sevika crept to the door and saw more guards lying on the floor, bloodstains on the walls, shattered lamps and broken pieces of wood.

Sevika wanted to ask if Caitlyn wouldn’t rather go to Vi but secretly felt pleased when the commander chose Piltover.

- Your girlfriend caused a mess; it won’t be that simple. My men are down in the corridor... I can’t leave Zaun. - Please, Sevika.

Caitlyn’s tone was firm, but her voice was breaking now. Sevika noticed Caitlyn was blinking slower and that her eyes were red. It was nearly midnight, the city lights glowing and smoke danced outside the window. Sevika walked back to the table and grabbed her phone. She dialed a number, and the person on the other end picked up on the second ring.

"Scar, are you at your place?

I’m lying down with my son, Sevika. What’s going on?

I need you to check the perimeter of my house. Now. There was... an altercation. I’m not sure if it’s safe to leave.

Altercation? A fight? Are there casualties?

I don’t know. Gregor is unconscious in front of me.-

Are you hurt? I’ll bring a group and let you know if it’s clear—

I’m not hurt. I need to escort C... someone to Piltover."

What? Who? This late? What’s happening, Sevika?

Scar, just trust me.

I’m risking my neck just talking to you, my friend.

Scar... Look, bring your guys, make sure it’s all clear and meet me in the attic or just call me. Got it? I’ll be there.

Understood."

Scar hung up. He was a Vastayan and leader of the Firelights. Scar was a good-hearted man. Heavily political. As someone tied to Zaun's barons, Sevika wasn’t welcome in the organization, often seen as untrustworthy.

Sevika adjusted a piece of her mechanical arm and a sharp part extended. She turned to the commander.

- Caitlyn, stay behind me. Only move when I move, got it?

It was the second time Sevika called her by name. Caitlyn wasn’t sure anymore if she regretted sleeping with Sevika, but she didn’t want to think about that now. Amid the chaos in her mind, she felt grateful to be with her and held on to that feeling.

She stepped forward, her foot landing in Gregor’s blood. She jerked her foot up in surprise, but continued.

- Okay. I’m right behind you.

Sevika and Caitlyn stepped through the door.

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

Vi was searching for drinks in her old room in Vander’s bar basement. She scanned the shelves where small flasks were usually hidden but found nothing.

She knew countless ways to reach that room and had gotten in on her first try. Everything was in its place, though covered in dust. Her face was bruised, her body aching all over, she was almost certain she had a broken rib and a sprained ankle. Kicking off her boots, she collapsed onto the couch.

She tried taking off her jacket but couldn’t manage it—now she was certain about the broken rib. She punched the couch arm in frustration, the wood clunking against something metallic. She reached into the gap between the armrest and the seat, feeling around until her fingers closed on a square metal object.

“You sneaky bitch. You thought you could hide something in my house?" Vi thought.

The sneaky bitch was Sevika—the only person who would know how to reach the kids’ old hideout from Vander’s time.

She shifted her body to the side, lifted the cushion and pulled out a metal box. Inside she found an unlabeled bottle filled with a light brown liquid, completely full. She uncorked it, the sharp smell of alcohol stinging her nose and making her eyes water. It was definitely Sevika's stash from Bilgewater.

Vi drank for ten seconds straight, the alcohol burning her throat, each swallow making her chest ache worse. Lowering the bottle to her knee, she thought:

"You fucked my girl, I drink your expensive booze, asshole."

It didn’t come out as satisfying as Vi had hoped. Her heart was heavy, an unbearable anguish settling over her. She felt weak. The alcohol was kicking in; her head spun lightly. She wanted a cigarette but had quit smoking since moving to Piltover. Reaching into the couch again, she searched the box for cigarettes but found none. She felt tears welling up.

“Why is this happening to me? How did I end up in this mess? Everything I did for her didn't mean a thing, and now I have nothing... I have nothing!" Her thoughts turned into words as she began talking to herself.

"Nothing! I have no one to talk to. All my friends are in Piltover and all we ever talk about is sports anyway. The only person I could talk to came to Zaun... to my house... To…

Claggor, if you’re here...

Mylo, don’t you dare laugh.

P... Powder."

Vi stopped. Warm tears streaked her battered face, stinging her wounds. She drank more, the liquor dribbling on her lips. The worst feeling crept over her now—the one she hated most, the one she had silently endured for months.

Moving to Piltover and permanently becoming an Enforcer had been her way of staying close to Caitlyn, of regaining some control of her life. Caitlyn was all she had left. Jinx was erratic, speaking nonsense on the rare occasions she showed up. Her little sister had become a symbol for Zaun and Piltover’s number one public enemy. Powder was gone; only Jinx remained.

Vi wanted to start fresh, to own her decisions. Her greatest dream had been to take over Vander’s bar—not as a hero like him, but as a humble presence. But being a hero would be so bad? Everyone in Zaun saw her as Vander’s extension. They were both fighters; they were both strong, both trustworthy.

Vi sobbed harder, her body shaking with each breath.

"What was I thinking, putting my life in her hands? That... that bastard. That’s what she is. I can't even curse at her from a distance! My life revolved around her, for her. I’m such an idiot."

Her thoughts quickened. She was thinking of everything she had avoided these past months in Piltover. Whenever such thoughts arose, Vi would call Caitlyn, visit Caitlyn, hug Caitlyn... Every day of her life was an internal battle. She woke up feeling hopeless and forced herself to get through the day, everyday.

Vi worked out at the precinct gym, ran, took vitamins. She adopted a kitten from the park. Donated money to the Firelights. Made sure her squad was kind to Zaunites. She was promoted in just one month for her exemplary service. But whenever she felt she might break, she took sleeping pills and carried on the next day as if nothing had happened. Caitlyn would be there for her.

Her soldiers showing her sports updates. Her kitten rubbing against her. She clung to even the smallest things.

"Today I have to work because it’s recruit Watson’s birthday," she’d think.

"Today I must get up because it’s the opening of the new district school. Caitlyn hates public events.

I can’t sleep too much because I need to go to the bank.

There’s a good movie on tonight.

Tomorrow would’ve been Benzo’s birthday.

Vander wouldn’t want to see me like this."

Every day, Vi sought a reason to go on. When she couldn’t find one, she’d tell herself she had to stay alive to be the Enforcer who captured Jinx—even if she wasn’t part of the task force or Zaun’s affairs anymore. She wanted Caitlyn, the after all commander, to have the final say when that day came.

She never told Caitlyn that but prayed she wouldn’t have to.

Thinking of it now, she laughed bitterly:

"Why would Caitlyn make me arrest my sister, for fuck’s sake? Damn it..."

When those thoughts weren't enough, Vi thought of Caitlyn.

"She needs me.

Her mother died because of me.

She doesn’t know how to fight—I’m teaching her... Guns don’t solve everything.

I love her so much; I can’t stay like this.

I’ll get up, call her and her voice will calm me down. She knows how to make me feel loved."

It was exhausting being Vi.

“I'm exhausted" she thought.

When she wasn’t searching for reasons to live, she was searching for Caitlyn.

Now, in the dim, dusty room, Vi was terrified. She was sinking into the couch, drunk, crying, utterly alone. The weight of guilt and despair came crashing down all at once, consuming her. Her body trembled, every sob ripping through her heavily battered face.

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, and let out a wail—half scream, half cry. Her voice echoed through the empty space.

"She watched me lose everything. She knew she was all that I had. How could I be so stupid? She had everyone, and I had only her."

Vi wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing a mix of tears and blood across her face. Her vision blurred as red streaks filled her line of sight. For a moment she thought she was dying, but then she remembered—the blood from her injuries was mixing with her tears.

It reminded her of when Powder fell into a stagnant moss-covered pond as a kid and panicked, thinking she was "seeing green." Despite herself being in a shitty hole, Vi let out a hoarse laugh through her sobs, a brief break in the storm of emotions. Then she lowered her head again, shoulders slumping as the reality of her situation weighed down on her.

“If... If I hadn’t left that day... If I’d stayed... If I’d asked for help.

Vander, you were dead!

Because of her!

Because of me!

She... She was just a kid, dad.

I was her big sister. I shouldn’t have left her alone.

I punched her, dad. And I left.

I left because I was angry, but I—"

Her words broke off, choked by another wave of sobs. Vi clutched at her chest where the pain was the sharpest. It wasn’t just the broken rib—it was the ache in her heart, pounding relentlessly. She couldn’t take it anymore.

The room spun around her, the furniture tilting like a ship in rough waters. Vi gripped the edge of the couch, trying to steady herself, but she fumbled knocking the bottle to the floor. The glass shattered, releasing the sharp, stinging scent of alcohol into the air.

"Great," she muttered bitterly, the shards glinting in the dim light.

“I'm in this big stinky boat and I can't even drown.”

She clenched her fists. She patted her waist instinctively, looking for her belt and holster, but they were gone—lost in the chaos of her earlier fight. Her phone was back in Piltover and the radio on her jacket was off to avoid detection.

"I ran..." Vi whispered to herself, the realization hitting her like a freight train.

She had run across four districts, from Piltover to Zaun, desperate to find Caitlyn. The transport that had brought the messenger to warn her about Caitlyn’s disappearance only went as far as the industrial zone where Piltover ended and Zaun began. From there, she’d sprinted, not stopping to think or breathe.

"I left everything behind... The doors unlocked, the windows open... I came running for you, Caitlyn."

Vi curled into herself, her trembling fingers clutching the silent radio like a lifeline. She turned the dial, hoping for a signal, but there was nothing. Just static.

The sound it made was too much, filling the room and her buzzing so loud in her head. Her ears buzzed, her stomach churned. She thought she might vomit and leaned forward, her hands braced on the coffee table. She spat, trying to clear the thick saliva pooling in her mouth. False alarm.

Vi sat back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when a creak of old wood shattered the silence. Her head snapped toward the door, heart pounding as adrenaline surged through her battered body.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway.

Vi’s breath hitched.

- What are you doing here? Get the fuck out.

She barked instinctively, her voice low and cold.

She wanted to run to Caitlyn, pull her into her arms and tell her everything she just said to no one but the books and the ghosts. But she hated herself for it. Her body reacted before her mind could stop it, every nerve screaming to reach her as she always did but she didn’t move this time. She stared straight ahead, clenching her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms.

Caitlyn’s hands trembled as she stepped forward cautiously.

- You... You’re hurt. Let me help you.

Caitlyn said softly, her words filled with warmth.

Vi’s jaw tightened, her gaze fixed on the far wall.

- No. Get out of my sight. You’re the last person I want to see. Leave.

Caitlyn froze, her heart breaking at every word. She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears, but they spilled over anyway.

- Vi, please... I— - I said leave, Kiramman!

Vi roared, the sound reverberating through the room.

But Caitlyn didn’t move.

Vi grabbed another bottle and started drinking. She was shaking. She didn’t want Caitlyn to leave. What was that feeling? How could she want the presence of someone who had hurt her so much? Vi wanted to stop shaking, wanted to keep her voice steady, but she was crying again.

It takes time to process that the people we love can also be the ones who hurt us.

Caitlyn walked to the small railing that led to the lower part of the room, where the couch Vi was sitting on was.

- Violet… My lov… Please. Let me take you home. There’s a vehicle waiting for us two streets up. You need to... - Is it Sevika’s car? Or yours? Oh no, yours was left at the precinct while she kidnapped you! Damn. She kidnapped you and is still giving you a ride? Imma tell the world how generous Sevika can be. - Vi, it's a patrol car from our side. You need to see a doctor, you’re all fucked up – - So are you and I’m not nagging you about it, am I? - I... I’m not as hurt as you... - Ha. Alright, didn’t get the joke.

Caitlyn was sleepy, tired and didn’t realize that Vi meant something else.

- Violet. For everything sacred, come with me. You’re bleeding. - “For everything sacred’? Do you even know what’s sacred to me? - It was just an expression, Violet. I just want to help you. - Get out of my sight and you’ll be helping me. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. How the hell did you get here anyway?

Caitlyn took more steps toward the couch, descended the short flight of stairs and went around. She stopped behind Vi, reached out to touch her hair, but pulled her hand back.

Vi’s hair was dirty with blood and mud. Caitlyn reflected on how much she loved that hair, how many hours she spent stroking it, smelling it. Her eyes filled with tears. How could she get through all of this? She tried to think of something to say on the way there.

___

Sevika and Caitlyn successfully got to the attic. The path was clear. The orders were well known by her guards: never take a fight near the attic, it was Isha’s hideout.

When they got there they barely spoke, Sevika went to check on Isha.

The commander was relieved she wouldn’t have to be alone with Sevika much longer.

She smelled something strange in the small room, a scent of gunpowder and paint. She realized she was hungry and cold. The attic only had a couch, a TV and behind it a door with more stairs. Sevika had entered and gone upstairs, Caitlyn was on the couch.

Less than twenty minutes passed and the Zaunite’s phone rang. Scar said everything was fine and that Enforcers were guarding near the factory. Sevika went to Caitlyn to update her and Caitlyn took the phone from her hand: she told Scar to send a message to an Enforcer for her.

She didn’t think before speaking. Of course, it didn’t make sense to ask such a thing to a Firelight using Sevika’s phone. She felt like an idiot.

Scar stayed silent on the call and Sevika took the phone back, said she had a plan and hung up.

She put her hands on her hips, looked at the ceiling and ran her hands through her hair.

- You really want to die today. What the hell was that? You want to screw me over? - I... I didn’t think, I'm sorry. - If you’ve forgotten who you are, I...

Sevika didn’t want to be rude to Caitlyn at that moment. She just wanted it to be over. She was tired and scared of Isha waking up from the noise. She continued, now speaking as quietly as she could:

- ... I can’t afford to forget who I am, okay? I have to be sharp and ready all the time. I can't afford to make mistakes. Everything I’ve done to bring you here will cause me problems for at least a month. And I don’t even remember why I did this shit. Oh, I remembered. Great! We have a deal! Nice ass! I’m really trying here. Appreciate that. - Sevika, I just want to go home. I appreciate your efforts, yes, but I– - Yes, you just want to go home and I just want to be able to think straight without worrying if you’re going to break at any moment. Can you please not break? Can you act like a grown woman again?

Caitlyn was angry now. She felt like an idiot, but Sevika was exaggerating, she thought.

- Sevika, I really appreciate your efforts. You’ve gotten yourself into your own mess, not my problem. I just want to go home. Sorry again for saying that crap and taking your phone, okay? I’ve said it already, just open the door and I’ll leave, I’ll handle the rest myself.

Sevika was too exhausted to argue. She was only thinking about Isha. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t heard half of what Caitlyn said, she only focused on the end of her sentence. She said:

- You want to leave Zaun on your own? Go for it. You know the way out. Just step over the bodies and open the door. Good luck.

Sevika pointed to the hatch that led back to the corridor near her office. She was drained from Caitlyn’s presence. She no longer cared about stopping the commander from leaving alone. She simply didn’t care anymore.

- I’ll go. Thanks.

Caitlyn got up from the couch and tried to head toward the hatch. Sevika took a deep breath. She thought about all the implications of that action. If Caitlyn got hurt, kidnapped or something worse happened, hell would soon fall on Zaun and the responsibility would be entirely hers. She grabbed Caitlyn by the arm.

- Okay, commander. Ooookay. You’ve worn me out, congratulations. You’re the first to do it. Listen to me. Shut up and listen. I know who’s guarding the factory today, it’s a little shit who pisses himself every time he sees me. I’ll go to him, okay? I’ll go there. I’ll figure out how Vi got here alone and why no one came after her. I’ll blame the militants and make that piece of shit understand the misunderstanding I’m about to come up with. - Sevika, you lost me at the last bit, but listen... Vi is the only Enforcer allowed to use hextech equipment even though she’s just a sergeant. She has authority, she must have given the orders. They won’t listen to you. - My God, how disgusting. There’s no blood running through those veins, I take back what I said.

Sevika really hated the fact that Vi was an Enforcer. In her mind it was the biggest absurdity of all. She didn’t care about her relationship with Jinx—despite having strong opinions about the two of them making amends, she didn’t care that Vi hadn’t taken responsibility over the bar—she loved working there anyway. But she hated the idea of someone she saw growing up becoming part of the biggest institution that oppressed her people. Caitlyn sighed and said:

- Sevika, give me a break. Did you hear me? You won’t be able to convince any of my soldiers. You need another plan. - Commander, your soldiers are corrupt. Sorry to say this so bluntly. Most of them do business with me. I’m the one who authorizes their comings and goings. I know every slut that sleeps with each one of them in the brothel. - Spare me. I mean, don’t spare me. We can talk later about that and I'll investiga-- - Commander, are you asking for my number or something? Do you want a full report?

The atmosphere between them was so weird. A few minutes ago, Caitlyn was relieved by Sevika’s absence and Sevika no longer cared about the commander. Now they were planning Caitlyn’s “escape” together as if the world weren’t collapsing.

- Is this how you are all the time? - Only when I’m in a hurry and want to sleep. Anyway, I’ll convince your little soldier. Even if it means beating him up. - Sevika, you don’t need to.. - I do. I do need to. Whatever it is, I need to because I can’t take it anymore. We had sex once and now I’m responsible for you? What the hell is this? Listen closely, okay? - You really are a jerk. - Yes, I am and you loved it. I’m leaving now, and you’ll wait in the office, understood? I won’t go back there, I’ll take a shortcut and get back in here another way.

Caitlyn looked at the skylight in the attic. There was an opening.

- Okay. - Great. Stay in the office. Count an hour and leave through the front door. The street will be empty because I’ll send all the drunks, beggars, and other Zaunite fauna somewhere else. You’ll turn right. You’ll see red lights, do you know what those establishments are or do I need to explain? - It’s the brothel, I know. - Alright, smartass. Go to the second door on the right. If I’m not mistaken it’s kind of green-ish. Next to that door there’s an alley, cross it. If anyone’s there, ignore them.

Sevika spoke quickly, Caitlyn tried to keep up. She remembered she had already been to the brothel with Vi. Sevika continued:

- When you get out on the other side, you’ll come face to face with The Last Drop. It’s Vander’s bar, now mine. It will be full, of course, but no one will notice you.

Sevika took her cloak off and handed it to Caitlyn.

- Done. You’ll look like a prostitute with shame or some follower of the dickless priest.

- What?! - Forget it, it doesn’t matter. To the left of the bar, one of my guys will be waiting for you. - How will I recognize him? - He’ll come to you. - Okay. - You’ll do whatever he tells you. - If he touches me… - He won’t touch you, not like that. No one messes with my things.

Caitlyn looked at her with a sharp, curious and angry stare. She thought: “What did she say? She just called me ‘her thing’?” Caitlyn was so angry.

- I love that face you just made. Ready?

Sevika really enjoyed getting on the commander's nerves.

Caitlyn gave up. She just wanted to go home.

- I’m ready.

The two of them left, one at a time, through the hatch.

As they approached Sevika's office door, Caitlyn grabbed the zaunite’s arm.

- Promise me you won't go after her. - Why the hell would I do that? I have a lot of stuff to do, honey. - Promise me. - I won't. I don't care. Maybe she will come after me.

Caitlyin tightened the grip on Sevika's arm but quickly let go of it. She was right.

Sevika looked at Caitlyn with a smirk.

- Touch me like that again, it felt nice. - Sevi– - Kitten, your pitiful cry-baby is probably drinking her sadness away now in her old bedroom. She won't come after me, she has no reason to. But maybe she’ll come for you.

And at that very moment the idea of going after Vi seemed too obvious to ignore. It made perfect sense: she was now sure that Vi was at her old place, where else would she go? And Caitlyn could definitely find a way to access the basement. But the commander couldn't let Sevika see through her plan. So she decided to speak in a way that disguised her intentions well.

- Stop calling Violet those names. Just stop with all that bullshit, it’s exhausting. Your mouth is not worthy of Violet’s name. You don’t even know her.

Sevika started laughing. How adorable. Caitlyn really was something.

This part of the plan worked.

- Now that's a feral kitten. Stop trying to be mean, you don't know how. Get in.

Sevika pushed Caitlyn into the room. The passed-out guard wasn't there anymore. Vi's gauntlets were gone too. Sevika noticed Caitlyn searching for them with her eyes.

- The gauntlets are safe with the Firelights. Vi is a big fan of their work. They'll probably return to her soon enough. I’m not dumb, I wouldn’t steal hex stuff. - Good to know. Goodbye.

Caitlyn turned her back on Sevika in an abrupt move.

Sevika hissed, she put her thumb on her lips. Caitlyn was staring at the window.

- Turns out you do bite. Give me a call if you ever get bored and maybe I'll answer. See ya, hot stuff.

Sevika left.

Caitlyn couldn't wait to hear the front door shut. She knew exactly where to go next.

________

End of part 3. I'll post with part 4 soon and that'll be a wrap. Hope you loved reading this story as much as I loved writing it.

A little note about the dialogue between Cait and Vi:

Vi said "Imma tell the world how generous Sevika can be" and I know it's a bit corny, but I couldn't help it. Sevika's personality was inspired by Renata Glasc, I really wanted to use this line, I'm just a girl xD See ya'll soon!

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