#Can make the board open for longer if need be (don't want people feel they have to be in a rush to join!)

[aquacomet]

Due to my reminders not working I only just realised that tomorrow (from when this is posted) marks a special occasion:

May 19th marks the anniversary for the day the first FNAF Security breach: Ruin DLC trailer was revealed!

Why is this a special occasion? Because it was the first time we visibly saw who came to be revealed as Ruin Eclipse! (Ruin Eclipse day?/Ruin reveal-versary?)

(Anyone else remember the absolute hype we had from this particular moment? asdghf)

While it may be a little short notice, would anyone be interested in a mini magma collab for the occasion? Considering having the collab open from the 19th for about three or so days to give people a chance to doodle in there. Plotting on setting up a table on a canvas for people to add Eclipses of many types in there to celebrate (or Sun or Moon related things if you don't have any Eclipses in mind!)

Here's a little poll for an interest check:

(For those familiar with the reveal-versary collab from last year this one will be a more casual event due to the short notice but a way for us to celebrate a little for those who are interested!)

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice is heavier. He sighs, “I know.” Then pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted of bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. Wrinkles carve his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, you press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[streetlamp-amber]

the common cold

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 2.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

REQUEST: “hi I love your writing so much. You can totally ignore this but id like to request batmom/batfam where maybe Dick and Jason get sick and batmom takes care of them and then she gets sick and Bruce has to take care of her this can be before or after the baby is born. And b obviously doesn't want to get sick so he wears a mask and gloves when he has to be around her.” NOTES: this is set less than a year after first kicks but you don’t need to read it first to read this one. also this is your reminder that the covid pandemic is not over and to please start wearing a mask again in public spaces to protect yourself and others from catching a very disabling and very deadly virus!!

It all started in Dick’s classroom.

It also didn’t help that a common cold was not considered serious enough for the kids to miss out on school. So, naturally, the virus spread through the students and Dick ended up bringing it back home to the Manor. It didn’t take more than two days for Jason to catch it too.

You refused to send your boys off to school no matter what the rules were. You were still on maternity leave – being Bruce Wayne’s wife had many perks, one of them being a one year long maternity leave with no complaints from your boss and the guarantee that you would have your job back once it’s over – so you spent the entirety of your days nursing your boys back to health. Your four month old baby girl Alice had been moved to Alfred’s wing where he was taking great care of her until the virus was no longer a threat. Bruce, ever so protective of those he loves most, didn’t want to risk the two most vulnerable people in the house to catch the boys’ cold and so you reluctantly agreed that, for the time being, it was better to have your baby quarantined away from you. You still made sure to visit the two every day, once you had showered and changed your clothes, but you couldn't wait for this to be over and have your baby back in your wing of the Manor.

Dick and Jason were two different people when sick. Where your oldest had no problem with remaining in bed, doing nothing but reading or watching television series on the iPad, the other one absolutely hated being confined to his room and being forced to rest.

“But Ma! I’m fine-d!” Jason nasally cried out exasperatedly, all dressed up for school and with his backpack hoisted on his shoulders.

You tried your hardest not to chuckle at the fact this was straight out of an episode of Friends. “When you put a ‘d’ at the end of ‘fine’, you're not fine,” you told your son, leaning on his doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

“But staying in bed is sooo boring!” He continued complaining. He would've said more but a series of cute little sneezes interrupted him.

“You know, kids usually would kill to have days off from school and here you are, actually wanting to go back to school,” you laughed as you walked in his bedroom and sat down at the foot of his bed.

“I’m missing the big dodgeball tournament,” Jason pouted, crossing his small arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry Jaybird, but you’re in no shape to play dodgeball,” you told him, moving his dark hair away from his forehead and putting the back of your hand against it. “At least you don't seem to have a fever, which is better than your brother.”

Jason deepened his little pout on his lips and you sighed. “Tell you what, I’m gonna go check on Dick and then you and I can play board games once you’re back in bed and dressed in clean pajamas, how's that sound?” You suggested, hoping to lift his mood a little bit.

He reluctantly nodded his head and that was a good enough answer for you.

You left his room and went across the hall to Dick’s bedroom. “Hey bubs, how are you feeling?” You asked him from the door.

Dick looked over at you with his glazed eyes from his iPad and lifted his right arm, making a thumbs up but lowering his hand so that the thumb was laying horizontally in the air, halfway up and halfway down. A pitiful sigh blew out of your lips as you walked in his room and you sat next to where his body was curled in his bed to check his temperature. You handed him the thermometer from his bedside drawer and after holding the stick under his tongue for a few seconds, he gave it back to you.

“Well at least your fever has gone down a little,” you told him as you put back the device on the bedside drawer. “Keep on resting and continue drinking lots of water, I’ll be in Jay’s room trying to keep him occupied until lunch so knock on the wall if you need anything and I’ll be able to hear you,” you said while softly running your fingers in his hair, making him close his eyes as he appreciated the soothing feeling.

“Thanks Mom,” he groggily said and pressed play on whatever show he was watching on his iPad to pass time.

It wasn’t until a week later that the boys had fought off the cold and were good to go back to school, much to your contentment. You loved them with all of your heart, but you missed having your baby girl around you.

You woke up on Saturday, feeling off. You had a pounding headache, your throat was scratchy and your nose was clogged. “No. No, no, no,” you whined nasally. It was established yesterday that Dick and Jason were no longer sick, Alice was supposed to come back in your side of the manor today, but it looked like you had caught the boys’ virus.

A soft knock at your bedroom door drew you out of your sorrow. It wasn’t until your husband, still in his pajamas and holding your daughter in his arms, that you realised his side of the bed was unoccupied. “Someone couldn’t wait to see her Mommy,” he sang, wiggling Alice around in slow movements and making her giggle loudly.

Expecting you to smile and hold out your arms for the baby, Bruce was surprised that you burst out in tears instead.

“Don’t come closer, I caught the boys’ cold,” you hurriedly said before he walked further in your bedroom. You grabbed a tissue from your bedside table and dried your tears then blew your nose.

Bruce’s face morphed into a sad frown. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You just stay in bed, I’ll bring this missy back to Alfred and I’ll take care of you,” your husband told you, taking control of the situation like he so easily did as Batman.

You nodded your head and more tears fell out of your eyes as Bruce left with Alice. You just wanted your daughter by your side and it pained you that not only were you gonna be separated from her for longer, but this time you could not go see her throughout the day like you did for the week prior.

About five minutes later, Bruce was opening the door to your shared bedroom again, this time with an N95 mask wrapped around his head and latex gloves on his hands. Your eyes were round with surprise when Dick and Jason followed behind him, KN95 masks on their faces as they weren’t big fans of the head strap.

“What are you two doing here?” You asked your sons before a short coughing fit rattled you.

“Dad told us you’re sick and we want to help him take care of you like you took care of us,” Dick answered as he stopped next to Bruce at your bedside while Jason climbed on the bed and sat crossed legs next to you.

Tears blurred your vision once again and you grabbed both of your boys’ hands. You wanted to hug them and press kisses all over their heads, to shower them with all the love and affection you held for them, but you settled for hand holding to not reinfect them. “I’m so lucky to have the sweetest, most caring boys in all of Gotham,” you told them, your emotions bleeding through your voice.

Jason couldn’t help himself and hugged you with his small arms wrapped around your middle, nuzzling his head to your body. “Don’t cry Ma,” he said and it took everything in you not to sob at the sound of his small voice.

Jason was a Mama’s boy through and through. You were the first person he warmed up to when he joined your family, you were the only one he listened to whenever he was having a tantrum, you were the one he would wake up in the night to soothe him after he had a nightmare. He hated to see you in pain, he hated being away from you (the thirty hours you spent in labour were Alfred’s thirty longest hours of his life, even as Dick tried to help him entertain Jason while they waited for you at home) and he would burn down anyone who dared make you cry.

“Alright boys, let's give Mom some room so I can get a few tests done and make sure it’s nothing too serious,” Bruce gently ordered your sons, who complied without protest.

“Bruce, it’s just a cold,” you whined at your overprotective husband. “I didn’t protect myself while taking care of the boys and caught their bug, it’s nothing serious.”

“Like you always tell me darling, mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” Bruce replied and you grumpily huffed, knowing he was right.

“What does that mean?” Jason asked curiously. It fascinated him that both you and Bruce could speak more than just English and he was oh so eager to learn all the languages you spoke.

“It's the french equivalent of better safe than sorry,” your husband explained as he got out a thermometer from the medical bag he brought with him from the Batcave.

Bruce got to work, running down a series of few tests to make sure you really only had a cold, as your sons observed him. You then came to a realisation that made you chuckle, prompting all three boys to look at you with interrogation points in their eyes.

“It’s just funny how, usually, I’m the one with the medical bag, cleaning your bruises and stitching you up after patrol,” you explained and you saw the corners of Bruce’s eyes narrow, knowing there was a small smile behind his N95 mask.

“Well, it's good to get out of the routine every once in a while,” he said as he started putting away all the material he had gotten out of the medical bag, “but let’s not make this a habit.”

You scoffed, or more like managed to scoff as a coughing fit took over your body at the same time. “That’s rich coming from the guy I’ve been stitching up every night for the last ten years.”

Bruce glared at you, unamused by your comment, as the boys giggled behind their masks.

“Mom might be sick but she’s sound enough to still be sassy to Dad,” Dick remarked to his brother.

Your husband rolled his eyes, exasperated, and decided to ignore what had just happened. “You’ve only got a cold, so just drink–”

“Drink lots of water, keep myself warm, chicken broth, chicken broth, chicken broth,” you interrupted him. “I know what to do Bruce, I’m a mother who spent the last week taking care of her sick kids,” you told him, slightly annoyed.

“Except that now I don’t want you to do anything. I’m the one taking care of you darling,” Bruce softly said, not affected by your mood. “I’m gonna go start a pot of chicken broth. Boys, help your mother get comfortable and stack some pillows behind her,” he ordered around your sons as he slipped out of your bedroom, medical bag in hand.

You stayed silent and unmoving for a few seconds, waiting for the creak of the second stair from the top (that you refused to get fixed) under Bruce’s weight, to spring into action. “Dick, I need you to go to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth,” you quickly whispered, making your now thirteen year old pause in his action of retrieving some pillows for you. “I love your dad, but that man can not cook. At all,” you explained. “So I need you to go wash yourself quickly, change your clothes, run to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth that you will bring to me incognito. Capiche?”

Dick nodded his head, taking your request as seriously as a Robin mission.

“Oh and while you’re over there, play a little with your sister, make sure she hasn’t forgotten who you are,” you tried to joke although your heart twisted a little. You really hated flu season and you hated being separated from your daughter even more.

“Don’t worry Mom, I was already planning to,” Dick told you, the corner of his blue eyes narrowing as he smiled behind his mask. “We’ll even facetime you so you can talk to her,” he added as he opened the door.

Your eyes filled with tears, you hadn’t even thought of doing that in the first place. “Thank you bubs,” you smiled tearily at him before he left the room.

“Mama, do you want me to put some of the sticky cream on your chest?” Jason asked you when he judged the stack of pillows behind you was good enough.

“The VapoRub?” You clarified and your son nodded his head. “Yeah, it’ll help clear my airways. Do you know where it is?”

Jason shook his head ‘no’ so you instructed him which drawer in the bathroom he needed to rummage through to find the little jar and he left your room with determination to complete his own mission.

Now that you were alone, you laid down a little lower under the duvet, leaning your head back on the mountain of pillows behind you as you let out an exhausted sigh. You just hoped to get through this cold as fast as possible.

To your surprise, Bruce walking back in your shared bedroom interrupted your little moment.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. What is it?” He asked you in a coo as he came to sit next to you on the edge of the mattress. 

“I’m not crying,” you quickly denied even though you knew your eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“But you were about to,” he countered and you couldn’t argue with that. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be making chicken broth?” You avoided his question with one of your own.

“Saw Dick in fresh new clothes walking in the direction of Alfred’s wing,” he explained, “and you and I both know cooking is not my forte,” he finished with a light joke.

“It’s the thought that matters, honey,” you placed your hand over his that rested on your bed, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Yeah but now I’m feeling pretty useless,” Bruce sighed out, staring at your hands.

“Well, you can make yourself useful by checking in on Jason who was supposed to be back with the jar of VapoRub by now,” you said.

“That’s because you keep one billion things in those drawers,” he chuckled and you hit his shoulder with a soft punch.

“Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” you argued, repeating what he told you earlier.

Bruce shook his head from left to right. “Alright, I’ll go check on our little bird,” he said and stood up. “Anything else you want me to bring?” He asked you as he neared the door.

“A cup of the Cold 911 tea blend please and thank you,” you answered while reaching for a tissue to blow your nose with.

“A warm cup of tea for my sick wife, coming right up,” he confirmed and disappeared in the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like I’m terminally ill!” You retorted loud enough for him to hear you, judging by Bruce’s laugh that echoed along the wood panelled walls of the second floor.

You ended up being sick for no more than three days, much to your enjoyment and relief, and spent the next two weeks glued to your daughter Alice, refusing to let her go after spending that much time away from her. Alfred loved to joke about your boys’ love being the secret remedy to your speedy recovery, and he wasn’t entirely wrong when he said that, but Bruce staying at home for those three days to take care of you, even taking a break from his Batman patrols to be by your side at night, was the mystery ingredient to cure your common cold.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

The house still smells of Eddie, even though he left an hour ago. One hour that had Buck simply standing in the middle of the room, overwhelmed by memories and the lingering scent of a tangy aftershave, as if it’s imprinted in the wallpaper. The paintings on the walls seem to stare at him, just like the odds and ends. It’s just not his yet, Buck knows that without opening the door to Chris’s room, behind which nothing has changed even though it’s been empty now for a long time. He still needs to put his mark on this house, like he did with the loft, and he’s got some ideas, even without tearing down a wall. 

Buck wanders around hardware stores, choosing paint, protective sheets and brushes; he’s smiling when he passes pet supply aisles. His thoughts revolve not only around his couch, which he definitely wants to take to Eddie’s house, but also around possible places for a dog bowl. Everyone finds the idea of taking pieces of furniture into a fully furnished house strange. But it's not just any couch. He took a long time to choose this piece, as if it were somehow symbolic, and… Tommy slept on it. Sometimes at night, when his leg kept him awake, Buck would limp down to the kitchen and make himself some tea, and then he would sit in the armchair next to the sofa and stare at its outline in the dark, as if he wished there was still a hollow from the night Tommy slept on it. 

He doesn't tell anyone about it, nor does he mention that sometimes he lies on the couch and tries to catch a whiff of Tommy, although it has evaporated much faster than Eddie's aftershave in his house. He knows exactly what everyone would say: that he needs to look ahead. It's just odd that no one said this when he took over Eddie's house. Everyone smiled and patted him on the back and thought it was convenient. And although Eddie hinted at it a bit, no one suspected that he only wanted the house to somehow be close to his friend who was more than a thousand miles away. Buck is taking a remembrance of Tommy into a house that’s a remembrance of Eddie; he’s aware of that and it’s his choice. And now, to some extent, it’s his house too, a place where he can have a dog and as many memories as he wants. 

Buck is painting the walls and ceilings, and on every day off he comes up with something new that he needs from the hardware stores. He meets salespeople and other customers, and everyone has good advice for him, so he drives further and further out to find the things they recommend; things he absolutely needs to keep the house in good condition. The point at which he no longer renovates the house to maintain it for Eddie but because he wants to feel comfortable in it himself is like finally reaching a mountain top, and Buck stays up there for a while and enjoys the view. Now he's buying skirting boards and new lamps and a stylish medicine cabinet for the bathroom. He removes the old one, but now he needs new screws and wall plugs for the new one, and as he snatches the car keys and leaves the house, he whistles to himself like a man who’s got work to do and is happy with it. 

However, not a hundred percent happy, as he realizes when he passes the dog supplies again. Eyes and fingers roam over bowls in which names can be engraved.  He clutches dog leashes, in his mind's eye already in some meadow, the likes of which L.A. hardly offers. 

Next to him, someone clears his throat and finally says, “Didn't know you had a dog.”

Seeing Tommy is like opening a window; everything is suddenly much brighter, somehow more realistic. He's looking well, some time has passed, but he’s still looking great. 

“I don't,” says Buck, “not yet. But hey, I'm living in Eddie's house now. I'm s-seriously considering it. A beagle maybe, or a l-labrador?”

He’s not stuttered in weeks, and now he’s oversharing; to Tommy of all people. Tommy, who left and didn’t call and didn’t text, who didn’t explain. He didn’t have to, because Buck knows he’s a handful. 

Tommy scrunches his nose, “You’re living with Eddie?” he asks, somewhat confused. “Something wrong with the loft?”

“Not with Eddie, at Eddie's house. Eddie moved to Texas. W-wait, you don't know?”

“No,” says Tommy, nothing more, as if that explained anything. As if he wasn't the type to explain things, but to assume that people just know. 

Buck’s tongue carries answers, words like that Eddie maybe had too much to do, was too preoccupied with himself and Christopher, but he swallows them. Maybe Eddie’s just not the kind of person to maintain friendships. That's a painful thought. Tommy just stands there, waiting or just being polite, as you would when meeting old acquaintances. A shopping basket dangles from his left arm, and Buck points at it and says, “You’re renovating?”

“You too, I guess,” Tommy replies, pointing to the pile of stuff in Buck's shopping cart. Then, hastily, as if afraid of his own courage, he adds, “Do you need help?”

There’s the hint of a blush in the soft flesh of Tommy's neck. Buck remembers occasions when that color appeared, and he almost has to force himself not to reach out and touch it. Tommy's expression is also familiar to him; for a moment it feels like looking into a mirror. The insecurity, the hint of hope in his eyes; Buck knows how quickly it will die. Maybe he's reading too much into it, maybe there's nothing there. But if he's going to make a fool of himself, he might as well do it in front of Tommy. 

“Do you know how to install ceiling spotlights?” 

Tommy arches a brow, “Depends on the ceiling.”

Buck, lost in thought, fixes his gaze on the curve of Tommy’s lips, but that doesn’t help a bit.

“I'm not s-sure,” he goes, and for now, he actually has forgotten the type of the house’s ceiling. Maybe it’s wood, or styrofoam, or cotton wool like his mind. 

“Well,” Tommy drawls, “to be honest, I don't remember either. Do you want me to come over and take a look? I'm not the greatest electrician, but I think I can manage.”

Then he fixes Buck with a look that says so much without saying it, and Buck wants to believe what he reads into it. Because Tommy says, “If you want me to.”

“I do,” he answers, and he means it. 

AO3 version | All my BuckTommy on AO3

[itsnesss]

Hi there, Ness ❣️ If you're still open for requests/ideas, maybe something with Wolf about reader being/working at the Sekai Taikai and you know, she's really pretty so guys would be all over her and trying to get her, and Wolf... you know the man so he would not be happy about it *war flashbacks from episode 9* 🤭

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | wolf gets jealous when multiple guys flirt with you at the sekai taikai. after one fighter gets too bold, wolf steps in, makes it clear you're his

warnings | jealous/possessive behavior, protective!wolf, intense staring, slight threats

word count | 0.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The Sekai Taikai had been an impressive event from day one. As part of the organization, your job was to coordinate the match schedules, make sure the competitors were in their places, and, in general, keep everything under control.

But apparently, there was a small problem.

You.

Or rather, the effect you seemed to have on the men around you.

It wasn’t something you could control. You couldn't do anything about the judges who took longer than necessary when handing you reports, nor about the fighters who suddenly felt the need to talk to you at every opportunity. Even some coaches from foreign dojos had tried to invite you to dinner after the event.

And Wolf wasn’t happy about it.

From the moment you arrived with your accreditation hanging around your neck and that damn uniform that accentuated every curve of your body, he knew it was going to be a nightmare. But not because he doubted you—no.

Because he doubted everyone else.

Every time you walked past a group of competitors and one of them stared at you for too long, he felt anger rising in his throat. And when one of the judges leaned a little too close while you reviewed the results, he had to remind himself that the Sekai Taikai was not the right place to commit a crime.

But the final straw came when a fighter from the French team—a tall guy, blond, with an annoyingly smug smile—approached you while you were standing by the control table.

"Do you have a moment, beautiful?" he asked in heavily accented English, grinning boldly.

You rolled your eyes politely and kept checking the board.

"If you need information about the matches, you can ask your coach."

"No, no, that’s not it. I just wanted to ask if you’d like to join me for dinner after the ceremony… Something special."

The insinuating tone, the way he tilted his head to get a better look at you… Damn it.

Before you could respond, a shadow appeared beside you.

"Got a problem, champ?"

Wolf’s tone was deadly calm.

The French guy looked at him in confusion before realizing who was standing in front of him. A second later, his expression shifted from confident to cautious.

"No problem, sensei. I was just talking to her."

Wolf smiled. Not in a friendly way.

"You’ve talked enough."

The guy hesitated. You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could intervene, Wolf took a step forward, completely invading the fighter’s space.

"Let me tell you something." His voice dropped to a barely audible growl. "If you keep looking at my woman like that, you won’t be able to compete tomorrow. Got it?"

The French guy paled and quickly nodded before disappearing into the crowd.

You sighed, crossing your arms.

"Wolf…"

He turned to you, still frowning.

"What?"

"‘My woman’?"

He didn’t look the least bit guilty.

"Would you rather I call you something else?"

"It’s not that." You looked at him, amused. "You do know I can handle myself, right?"

"Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by while a bunch of idiots try to flirt with you right in front of me."

You shook your head, feeling a dangerous warmth spread in your chest. Because even if he wouldn’t admit it outright, that reaction meant one thing.

He was jealous.

And if there was one thing that drove Wolf insane, it was the idea of someone else thinking they had the right to get close to you.

With a smirk, you leaned in a little, whispering in his ear, "If you keep up this possessive attitude, people will start suspecting things."

He barely raised an eyebrow.

"Let them suspect."

And then, without caring where you were or who might be watching, he wrapped an arm firmly around your waist and kissed you with the same intensity he had been holding back all day.

Because, at the end of the day, he didn’t need words to make one thing clear:

You were his. And no one would forget it.

[tuliptic]

Let Me Describe Your Aura

Hello, I'm back again. I have this in my drafts for a very, very long time (since last year), and I have finally completed it. This was meant to be a short reading for Instagram, but well, it ended up longer than what I expected. Tho I posted it there, you can still read it here. Honestly speaking, this reading ended up quite different from what I've expected and I don't really know what I was hoping to get from this. Maybe colours? And vibes? No idea. But still, I hope you all enjoy the reading.

As usual, close your eyes, breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Pile 1    -     Pile 2

Pile 3    -     Pile 4

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever that you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it’s okay to just drop it. That aside, I do not consent to my work or here to be used by third parties on this platform or other websites.

Decks used: Luna Cat Tarot Deck  (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck.

Pile 1:

For some reason, it gives me a very Uranus vibe? It’s like you’re a person who’s constantly on board with change as you constantly get involved in almost everything possible. You also give me the feeling that you’re… Not satisfied. You are not satisfied with a lot of things, especially with finances. Imagine the hierarchy of needs. Every time you fulfill one of them, you constantly seek to fulfill the other level.  You’re constantly pushing yourself to achieve better and achieve more, but with this, you’re unable to have some form of balance and may have some conflicts with people you work with. I wouldn’t really say it’s insecurity, but there’s some form of fear and being “not enough” for others that I’m seeing here. Perhaps you come from a big family, and you feel that you have the responsibility to feed everyone and to answer to their needs as well as wants.  There’s an inner child in you that is trying to nurture yourself despite all the rush that you’re putting yourself through, sending you messages so that you can take a break from time to time. You not only receive messages, but you also send them out as well. Some (or perhaps, most) of you may like writing memos or notes for your loved ones.

Tl;dr: Instead of saying aura, I would say that there’s this air of uncertainty that you bring with you. You wouldn’t be called a wildcard, because there’s still some elements of earth in you, aka a sense of stability. But still, many may wonder how to approach you without feeling threatened, I guess. For some of you, you may also have an air of authority, or maybe an RBF, hence the fear towards you too.

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Pile 2:

For some reason, the first thing I’m picking up here is that you like to present yourself as mysterious? However, there is some secrecy involved here that I’m seeing, and you may be good at redirecting conversations or attention to other people. Butterfly effect as well? It’s like you’re fluttering away and not caring about what you’ve done or what are the actions they’ll take.  You have swords and court cards here, and I’m feeling that you’re that person, providing mental insight and stimulation to people around you. Just that there may be some concerns with how you present yourself, how you word yourself, and how people can be easily offended by you. Honestly, I’d say that they’re more offended to you as a person instead of your words or what you do. It’s like… They’re threatened by your presence. Pile 1 makes people feel threatened by their nature, but for you, people are threatened by what you’re capable of bringing - an unwanted change. It’s like seeing you will remind them of what they’re lacking and how much comfort they’ll need to give up, and hence, you may feel like an outcast most of the time, feeling that you do not belong to anywhere.  Still, I’d say, people who are close to you, especially your friends will find comfort in you. You’re a good listener and will be able to provide valuable insights. They’ll be glad that you’re on their team with whatever project you’re working on. If you’re ever interested in working on a collab, do it. You’re meant for it. 

Tl;dr: For you, your aura would be swords-ish, sharp but clear. You know how a sharp and strong sword can be used as a mirror? Yeah that. That’s you, reflecting the fear of others. It’s difficult, but with time, I believe you’ll be able to work along with it.

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.

Pile 3:

Hmmmm. Harmonious, I’d say. That’s the first word I’m picking up. I kinda have an image of an orange cat sleeping in the sun, probably the warmth, coziness and fuzzy feeling that it gives. You may have heard your friends or people around you describing you as a fun or sunny person, or that you’re like the sun, bringing warmth to people around you. You may also have a lot of passion projects and most of them are incomplete as of current, the same goes with how your life is right now too. Remember to continue whatever efforts you’re putting in. The rewards will come at unexpected times. Another thing I’m picking up is that you like to go along with the flow. Good things happen? Great! Not so nice things happening? Aww sheesh better luck next time. Kinda feeling. Or perhaps, this is what you portray yourself as. I’m getting a weight on my chest eventho there are happy cards. Probably it’s because you put up that mask so that people around you won’t see the pain you’re in.  Vulnerability sounds like a theme that you’ll need to explore, understand, and wield. It sounds difficult and probably painful, but it is needed for you to be able to understand the various facets of life. You’re very perceptive, or perhaps, you have a gift in it. But then, to be able to utilize that skill of yours, you’ll need to expand your knowledge base, experience the various emotions, look into all the tiny things that life has for you. 

Tl;dr: Some may say that you’re a person of culture but you know you’re far from that. Still, people generally like you with how amiable you are, and how you put an effort to make people around you comfortable. However, people will not cross you because you have respect for yourself too. There may be some similarities to Pile 1 with the earthy energy here, so you may check out Pile 1 if you’re drawn to it as well, especially if you have Saturn energy.

.

.

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Pile 4: 

A Chinese idiom came to my mind when I see this pile: 与世无争. It means there’s no quarrel or argument with the society, but it generally means a way of avoiding conflict in a passive way. As though you want nothing to do with the current world. Not sure if it’s correct to say that you’re disappointed with the society but there’s some apathy in here, not having much hope with the people you’ve seen. With this, you may have decided to keep yourself closed from the people around you. Not to use strong words, but you may detest the world and build a utopia in your head, imagining a world that is ideal to you and the rules you live with. Majority of the cards here are in reverse, which explains the dejection and dissatisfaction I’m feeling here. I am having problems in describing this pile and it’s making me scratch on my keyboard because of how I’m unable to phrase words. Still, despite all of that, you’re a very capable individual, especially with the King and Queens in your reading. You may have more feminine energy or may present yourself in a more feminine way than others, tho there’s a chance of you rejecting it. People may come to you for help and advice not only because they trust you, but also your words are able to assure them that things will be alright. You have quite a lot of resources on your hands, may it be finances/monetary resources, knowledge, or even network/connections, and you use them according to your needs and values. There may be some… Unconventional skills that you have. I’m not sure what they are, but it’s up to you to figure out how you want to put them to good use.

Tl;dr: This pile is the most difficult pile for me to write as the energy is all around the place yet focused at the same time. It’s very conflicting and confusing, which may be the aura that you exude. There is no clear definition of good or bad in this reading, but more of what you want yourself to be and how you’re going to work on it. 

[luveline]

hope my boyfriend's okay request.

hi!!! can I request hurt comfort or angst with spencer reid? maybe reader is just an ordinary girl, not that smart, not that pretty, or even a college drop out (like reader from honeybody) so she is kinda insecure when spencer being kind to her or even ask her on a date?

tysm♡

"Do you want to play?" Spencer asks. 

You're flushed before you open your mouth, startled by his sudden appearance and the new haircut he sports, curls locked back behind his neck. "Sorry, I just wanted to sit down." 

"No, I'm just asking if you want to play," he says, shaking the little briefcase he holds between his fingers to emphasise the rattle of the chess pieces inside. 

You've stolen his chess table again at the park. It's how you met, how you continue to meet —you want somewhere to put your book as you read and Spencer hardly ever makes you move, he just sort of sits with you until someone is in need of an opponent. 

"I don't know how. I don't have the smarts." 

Spencer sits down opposite you, placing the briefcase against the white and black chequered tiles. "Playing chess isn't about being smart. Being good at chess takes learned skill, though. It's like learning a language. Most people can say hello and goodbye if they try, but fluency comes with practice." He smiles at you like you're lovely and pretty and someone worth explaining this too, when you're worrying It's filtering out of your head like water through a sieve. Draining, draining, gone. 

"I don't even think I could remember hello and goodbye," you say. Your attempt to smile back at him is pitiful. 

His smile ebbs. "You're sure you don't want to play? I'd go easy for you." 

You curl the cover of your paperback in your hands, deliberating. Chess is one of those games that seems never-ending. It's full of manoeuvres and techniques, openings, closings, all these learned combinations, strategy like nothing you've ever been able to comprehend. You've never wanted to learn because you know you won't be good, even if you try. 

"Okay," you say quietly. "I really won't be any good." 

Spencer shrugs and begins to retrieve the small wooden chess pieces. "I usually win anyways."

"Have you ever, um, competed? Like the grandmaster things?" 

"No, but I had a friend I competed against for a long time. We played a lot of games. He was better at winning, despite my advantage." Spencer arranges your pieces with care. "Do you need me to teach you the opening moves?" 

He explains slowly. When you need help, he gives it, and he doesn't lord it over your head. It's a little shameful seeing the difference in your intellectual capabilities displayed so clearly, and the longer the game goes on the worse you feel, even though Spencer lets you win. 

"You'll get better every game," he says, returning taken pieces to the board.  

"You want to play again?" you ask. "Come on, Spencer, that can't have been fun for you." 

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Because I'm a useless opponent? And I don't really have anything else going for me, either, so it must be boring." It's an awkward thing to say, self-deprecating and stilted considering you and Spencer aren't more than acquaintances. You regret it as soon as you've said it but the frustration of the situation sticks around. "I don't understand why you waste your time with me." 

"It's not wasted if it's with you." Spencer looks genuinely confused, shapely eyebrows pinching. "Is that what you really think? I like spending time with you, I don't need you to be a chess expert to find you interesting." 

"But there's nothing interesting,," you insist. 

"Of course there is…" He straightens a chess piece, gaze split between you and the board. "You don't have to say something from a journal for it to be worth saying. You know, I've had a thousand conversations this year, some of them with professors or academic experts, but," —he puts his hand, now finished with the chess pieces, over his elbow, meeting your eyes shamelessly— "the one I replay the most is from a few weeks ago, when you told me why you like to read in the park." 

"That was just small talk," you say weakly, though it hadn't felt small to you, and now you know it wasn't small for him either. 

"Then I guess I love small talk," Spencer says. "Do you want to play again? I'll teach you some good opening moves if you tell me more about you. Deal?" 

You nod hurriedly, and fail to hide a beaming smile. "Teach me the best one." 

"That's what I meant," he says. 

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Fives Thoughts

Sooooo I literally just made a post being like 'here are some fun bits from Umbara because the arc is depressing and I don't wanna talk about the sad bits' but uh... I had thoughts in the last 15 mins and now I wanna share them. 😃

And of course tagging as usual for people I'm interested to hear opinions from: @saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings @the-bi-space-ace

It's been a while since I watched these story arcs back-to-back, so a lot of the character development is really showing atm. And one I find interesting is a shift in Fives between The Citadel and Umbara.

Fives has always had a bit of a firey personality, but up until this point he's been a little bit held back with that passion for the most part. And I'm gonna touch in something that @novaceleste and @spaceyjessa spoke about in their podcast (@coffeeandclones I was just listening to it the other day and they talk about some interesting points. Defo recommend you check it out. Also #JusticeForDroidbait2024) because it really is the basis for this whole point. Despite Fives being the brasher, slightly more hardheaded personality, and Echo being the more by-the-books one, it's Echo that tends to do a lot of the talking when authority is involved. When they speak to Shaak Ti, it's Echo that takes the lead, while Fives is a little more hesitant.

And when they first meet Rex and Cody, Fives automatically introduces himself as CT-27-5555, despite being very open about his displeasure of being called that throughout their training. He has this louder personality but he tends to draw into himself and panic slightly when put in front of authority.

However, he still has these more fiery moments, like during his speech in ARC Troopers. When he's put in a fight, that spark within him comes out full force. "My blood is boiling for a fight." That's what drives Fives. That's where that passion comes from. He always wanted to make ARC trooper, to prove himself and to demonstrate that fire in the fight.

And yet when we get to the Citadel, he's surprisingly nervous. Echo seems to be fairly on board with everything, he's listening intently, he's down with the plan. But Fives is rather hesitant and doesn't seem totally enthused about the whole thing. They've made ARC trooper, they're being included in a specialist mission, the things that Fives so desperately worked for. But now that they're here? He's really not comfortable with it.

And I think that Fives' passion and drive is so prominent in the heat of battle because his adrenaline is going, he's got the energy to burn and so that's when we see this fire in him. But in the quieter moments, the meetings, the in-between fights? He's nervous. Those are the moments where he can sit on it and really think about what they're up against. And what becomes really apparent is that Fives is absolutely terrified of the thing that fuels his fire. The thing he worked so hard for scares the absolute shit out of him. And for good reason.

But it's never been so much of an issue because he had Echo. Echo, who's more level headed, who feels comfortable with plans and formats and authority. He could be the comforting presence that Fives needed outside of battle, while Fives could be the spark in it. They're like fire and water. They keep each other regulated, balanced.

But then The Citadel happens.

And watching the Umbara arc, I noticed that Fives doesn't have that very noticeable fear. It's not that it's absent, it's just that it isn't so obvious all of the time. Of course, some of that is going to come with experience, he's been an ARC for longer, he's know Rex for a while so there's slightly more comfort with that level of authority, but he's definitely more consistently confident than he was before.

So my suggestion is, what if that comes as a result of losing Echo (at least in part)? He doesn't have that calming presence anymore, the one to balance his nerves. He doesn't have someone to stand firm beside him or take the bigger step for the two of them, so he's had to learn to do that himself. I think part of it is natural growth that comes with experience (to quote Rex: "experience outranks everything") but I do also think it comes with no longer having that constant other half. Fives has had to learn to balance himself.

Like I said earlier, a lot of this links back to stuff said in Nova and Jessa's podcast, so I'd recommend checking it out. But I just wanted to add my extra thoughts on it, having just watched Umbara, because it definitely stuck out to me on this rewatch.

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I'd copy-and-pasted this request into my doc to write it, but now I can't find it in my inbox! I don't think it was anonymous, so if this is your request and it somehow got deleted, I'm very sorry! Thank you for requesting, apologies for the wait, and hope you like it <3

hi love!!! Congratulations on 1,000 followers!!! I absolutely adore your writing and if your requests are open I’d love it if you could right something about poly marauders with a reader who’s non-binary or gender fluid. Maybe they just got together and the reader hasn’t came out to them yet or something. Idk you get all the writing freedom, of course if you don’t want to write it’s totally fine!!! Thanks anyway 🫶💗🫶💗 xoxo

cw: marauders unknowingly misrepresent reader's pronouns+gender

poly!marauders x nb!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Sirius, no.” Remus rubs at his temples. “I will not mar you with a tattoo gun you bought from some bloke on the street.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” Sirius complains, sitting spread out on his bed. “It'll be fun, you can all do it!”

“I’m on board,” James says from his own bed. He’s levitating his shoes about the room idly. “Hey Pads, can we draw anything we want?” 

Sirius ponders this for a moment. “If you do a dick, it has to be small, and I’m putting an arrow with your name next to it.” 

James’ smile fades, and he lets the shoes drop. “You’re no fun.” 

“I don’t know,” you say to Remus, looking up at him from your chosen spot on the floor of their dorm. “It’s his body, I say let him cover it in shitty tattoos if that’s what he wants.” 

“Yes!” Sirius hops down from his bed to throw an arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your cheek. “That’s what I’m talking about, that’s my girl!” 

You’d begun to glow at his over-the-top praise, but you dim at the last bit. Sirius must feel it; he looks over at you quizzically as Remus says for the fifth time, “That’s fine, but I won’t have anything to do with it.” 

“Well, it’ll…” Sirius’ eyebrows furrow as he continues to watch you. You try to bury your discontent where he can’t see it, but once he catches a whiff of melancholy he becomes a dog with a bone. The levity slowly leeches from his voice. “It’ll be more fun if you all do it…Sorry, sweetheart, is everything alright?” 

You don’t want the attention, but you can’t bring yourself to lie. “I didn’t mean to distract you,” you say softly, shoulders hunching forward. “Keep going.” 

“No, that’s alright.” His slender fingers squeeze at your shoulder like he can tell you need the comfort. “It’s not actually important. What’s on your mind?” 

You want to tell him. You want to tell all of them, you have for weeks, but is there ever a right time? When the boys had first asked you out, it felt too abrupt to say anything, like you were making a big deal out of nothing because they didn’t even know you all that well. But now you’ve turned serious faster than you could’ve seen coming, and they feel like they do know you that well. And the longer you go without telling them, the more like you feel like you’re keeping some dirty secret. 

You should have just corrected them the first time they’d gotten your pronouns wrong. Each time feels like someone’s chipping away at your heart with a toothpick, the pain lessened by your surety in their good intentions but still very much there. It’s almost worse, now, to be on the precipice of falling in love with people who you don’t feel really know you, and it’s all your own fault.

This isn’t how you’d imagined the conversation coming about, but it might be the best chance you get for a while. 

“I, uh.” You clear your throat, unsure if you should move out from under Sirius’ arm for this conversation but really not wanting to. “I don’t…listen, it’s not your fault, but I don’t really like it when you call me your girl.” 

Sirius lets his arm drop to look at you properly, hurt flashing across his features. You take his hand, selfish thing that you are. “I mean it, it’s really not your fault.” It’s more plea than promise. “It’s just that I don’t—I don’t really see myself as a girl. I’m sorry.” 

You watch confusion take hold in Sirius’ expression before letting your eyes flit to the other boys. James looks tentatively like he’s beginning to understand, and Remus’ face is carefully controlled. He leans his elbows on his knees, looking down at you. 

“What do you mean by that, honey?” 

You know the endearment is meant to soften the question, but you get all tense around the middle anyway. 

“Just that…” You swallow, and James offers you a small smile of encouragement. “I don’t really see myself as any gender. It’s…it’s called nonbinary, I don’t know if you might’ve heard of it before? I’m really sorry I didn’t say something sooner.” 

“Hey, that’s alright.” James kicks a foot out from his bed, nudging your leg gently. “I’m really glad you told us, angel. Thank you.” 

You try to return his smile, chewing your lip. 

“Merlin, I thought you meant you didn’t want to be our girl,” Sirius sighs, bumping your shoulder with his. “That would have been unacceptable. You can be our something-else, though, if you like.” 

This is going well, you tell yourself. They’re being as kind as you’d always expected. Still, you don’t feel like they fully understand what you’re so clumsily trying to tell them.

“I get it if this changes things for you,” you say, and when you lean away from Sirius’ touch, he doesn’t chase you. “I know this is…you signed on for a girlfriend, not this.” 

The gentle smile drops from James’ face. His eyebrows twitch together uncertainly. “We…what? No, we didn’t…we didn’t ‘sign on’ for anything like that. We signed on for you.” 

“Darling,” Remus says, in that careful, measured voice that you can’t decide if you should be nervous about, “I don’t know a lot about this, so correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the point that you’re still you? You’re just telling us how you’d like to be treated and understood, right?”

You take a second to run over his words in your head before nodding. 

Everything about Remus has gone soft, from his eyes to the gentle uptilt of his mouth. “Then James is right. Nothing has changed. I mean, we can make any changes to our relationship that make you more comfortable, but nothing about how much we care for you is any different.” 

“And look around you, sweetheart.” Laughter livens Sirius’ tone. “It’s not like any of us are only dating girls.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. “That’s a good point,” you mumble, and he laughs, arm reclaiming its spot around your shoulders. 

“Yeah, I actually do make those sometimes,” he teases. “Listen, gorgeous, I don’t think anyone here has a problem with you being whoever you are. Just tell us what you like to be called, and we will. And if there’s anything we do that you don’t like,” he adds, giving your shoulder a little squeeze, “you can tell us those things too.” 

James nods, emphatic. “Exactly. We want to support you, angel. Thanks for telling us, but just keep talking to us when you can, okay?” 

You have to bite down on your lip to contain the full scope of your smile. “Okay,” you promise him, overflowing with a gratitude that feels a lot like love. “Thanks. You guys are too sweet to me.” 

Remus makes a pfft sound. “Dove, I cannot believe that is your standard for sweetness. You’ve set the bar far too low.” 

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 7

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: You and Wednesday investigate Xavier before attending the Rave'n

I wake up to the sound of papers rustling and Wednesday thinking out loud to herself. The morning sun beaming through the windows making me never want to open my eyes.

I dramatically sit up, my white hair going every which way. I feel I have more energy than usual, maybe I needed that release of energy.

My feet find their way into the slippers by my bed, I'm wearing pajama shorts and an oversized band tee. The shirt has clearly seen better days as the graphic is faded.

I walk to the center of the room to find Wednesday in front of a bulletin board, crossing her arms in thought. The bulletin board is covered in pictures of wounds and bodies. I assume these are all the victims of the murders, Wednesday did say she snuck out last night to the morgue.

I turn around to find Enid sleeping still, so I keep in mind of my volume. "Good morning Wends, did you sleep or?"

Wednesday turns around to meet me, her eyes going to my white messy hair. "I can see you did." She responded in a whisper, unsure if it's because Enid is sleeping is because she's just naturally mimicking my volume.

Her eyes linger on my hair a moment longer before turning back around.

"Are you the one who set the statue on fire?" I ask in a whisper.

Wednesday moves a picture before pushing a thumbtack through it. "I thought you did. When I looked at you it was as if you were concentrating on the fire."

I at least know it wasn't Wednesday. "I think I did?"

Wednesday turns around again. "You think?"

"I kinda zoned out, but it felt like all the emotions of yesterday just kinda like, alleviated in that moment."

I find Wednesday's new soft gaze meeting mine. Ever since that vision yesterday she's been looking at me differently. A good different.

"Why did you play a song while the fire was going on?"

Wednesday stares off to the side before meeting my gaze again. "I wasn't sure what was happening and if you were involved or not. Besides, I can handle people being suspicious of me."

Wednesday turned back around, bringing her attention back to the bulletin board.

Was she trying to be a distraction for me?

"I'm gonna get ready, we can talk about whatever you uncovered from the morgue when I'm done." She stopped moving while I was talking before going back to what she was doing.

That's about as much of an acknowledgement I'm going to get from Wednesday with a statement like that. I head back to my section of the room to get ready.

"While most plants reward their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sexual trickery or deception." Ms. Thornhill is holding up a dangerous looking plant casually while addressing the class.

I glance at Wednesday, noticing Xavier staring at me before we both look away from each other.

Ms. Thornhill keeps teaching the class, but none of it retains in my memory over Xavier and I's occasionally glances at each other from across the sunlit room.

"Now, once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in exchange?" Ms. Thornhill looks to me, about to call on me to answer after noticing my lack of attention.

"Nada. Just like all the guys at the Rave'n." Bianca answers before Ms. Thornhill embarrasses me. Some light chuckles fill the classroom.

"Okay, okay. I know you're all excited about Saturday, which is why I haven't assigned any homework." Ms. Thornhill states, causing a majority of the class to cheer quietly.

"But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here." Some students stand to approach the teacher's desk, while Wednesday and I stay in place.

"What? you don't want to volunteer?" I say jokingly.

"I hope that isn't your best attempt at a joke." Wednesday glares at me for a moment, causing me to look away to see Xavier's glance on me.

"I feel bad, about what I said yesterday to Xavier." I say with a worried look on my face. "Maybe I overreacted."

Wednesday turns to see Xavier bending over to put something in his bag that's on the floor, revealing the fresh wounds on his neck.

"Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone." Wednesday states, turning back to me. "We can follow him until I notice something that can potentially give us a lead."

"Do you suspect Xavier?" I ask in a worried whisper.

"Only by proximity, nothing certain. Yet." Wednesday turns to look at Xavier again. "But, a suspect is still a suspect."

Wednesday and I find ourselves near a shed by the school. Xavier leaves the shed shortly after we arrive. We're hiding behind a bush so he can't see us.

"Cast the spell." Wednesday demands. I take out my wand, casting the disillusionment charm on her so she can sneak into the shed with ease.

"We'll meet back here afterwards so I can remove the charm." I don't hear a response, but I assume she nodded.

I stand, doing a light run to catch up to him. "Xavier!"

He turns around to meet me. "Hey y/n, what's up." He's clearly acting like nothing is wrong.

"I just wanted to apologize about how I acted yesterday, I shouldn't have blown up on you like that."

He avoids my gaze for a moment. "I should apologize too, I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate."

"No, no. You don't need to apologize, I should've controlled my emotions better." I say quickly after he's done speaking.

"Can you just let me have this?" He says with a smile.

I smile back. "So we're cool?"

"Yeah." He puts out his fist, waiting for our knuckles to meet.

I lightly tap my knuckles against his. "We should hangout soon. Maybe play Mario Maker levels made by sadistic assholes." I say jokingly.

He responds with a light chuckle, tearing his eyes away from me to look at the ground.

The creek of the shed door opening draws both of our attention away from the conversation.

"Is there someone in there?" He says, mostly to the wind.

We both approach the shed, opening the door more letting the daylight fill the room.

"Must be something wrong with the door." I say out loud before closing it.

I turn to meet Xavier. "I was being serious about doing something soon, I miss spending time with you."

"Maybe we can hangout at the dance on Saturday, purely platonically I mean of course." His face goes slightly red.

"I wasn't going to go, but if you want to hangout there I can." I state uncertainly before pointing behind me with my thumb. "I'm gonna leave, Wednesday is probably waiting for me so she can drag me to a crime scene or something."

"Alright, see you at the dance then." Xavier waves before walking off.

I find my way back behind the bush, accidentally bumping into Wednesday. "Shit, sorry."

I pull out my wand and holding my hand out expectingly. She finds her hand in mine. I tap the wand onto her hand as she becomes visible again.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, but let's get back to our dorm first." She states, quickly turning around before she starts walking.

The dorm is filled with sunlight from the sunroof, I find myself sitting in Wednesday's reading chair next to her bulletin board with her standing over me.

I hold Xavier's drawing in my hand with Wednesday's expecting glance over me. "What do you think?"

"I think if anything this makes him more innocent." I state flatly. "He's a psychic like his father, but he told me about how he gets visions in dreams usually in the form of nightmares."

I look up to Wednesday from the drawing. "I also doubt the monster knows this much physical detail about himself."

Wednesday looks at me a bit disappointed by my conclusion.

"But, if this is the case. He could be extremely helpful to our case."

Wednesday's look turns from disappointment to curiosity. "How so."

"He's getting visions about the monster we're hunting. He could likely give us some leads."

Our conversation is cut short as Enid bursts into the room, skipping across the room towards us.

"Good, you both are here." She stops in front of us with a smile. "Are you two going to the Rave'n? I'm about to go out with some friends to find clothes, if you guys are interested you can tag along."

I stand up. "Yeah I'll come with."

Wednesday gives me a confused look. "You're going to the dance?"

"Yeah, I told Xavier that we could spend time together at the dance. Purely platonically of course." I pause for a moment before I continue. "You should come to the dance to, it could be fun."

"Ooo, inviting Wednesday to the dance?" Enid draws out of the o's accusingly.

My face flushes red in embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that!" I say somehow in the least convincing way possible.

Enid gives me a smug look before glancing past me. Wednesday in now in her section of the room grabbing a few things. "Yeah, yeah. I'm getting tired of waiting! You two just need to-"

I find myself lunging towards Enid, covering her mouth with my hand to force her to stop talking.

"Enid, please stop!" I drag out the e in the word please.

She lightly kicks behind my knee playfully, causing me to fall on top of her.

"Enid!" I shout before scrambling to my feet. Enid has the dumbest smile on her face when I look over her. She's still on the floor.

"Are we leaving or not." Wednesday's monotone voice reaches my ears, causing me to turn around to see her ready to go out.

"Wait, you're actually coming!?" I take a step closer, excitement painting my face and lacing my voice.

"If you two stop bickering." She states flatly

I turn to see Enid's smug face as she's back on her feet now.

I walk past Enid while I head to the door. "Not a word about this."

She nods with the same expression before leaving the room with us.

"What kind of dystopian hell scape is this?" I state with a look of disgust.

Y/n, Enid, and I are standing in front of Hawte Kewture, the clothing store is decorated with blue and pink pastels. So, quite literally, my worst nightmare.

Enid turns to you with excitement. "Our first roomie shopping spree with Wednesday! The dance committee's suggesting all white to match the theme, but that's not gonna fly with Wednesday."

I turn towards them. "I have some more pressing matters to deal with."

Enid's excitement turns into disappointment. "But I thought we were bonding."

"I will meet up with you two later, or you'll meet up with me. Whatever comes first."

Y/n and Enid glance at each other for a moment. "If you say so." You say with slight disappointment in your voice.

You and Enid turn around to enter the store, I take the chance to leave before you manage to persuade me to enter that dungeon of a store.

When I'm walking down the street Thing taps my shoulder as we pass Uriah's Heap. "I'm going to see Galpin, I'm not stop-" I turn to look into the window to see a gothic black dress.

"Hi, Wednesday." The sound of a bell fills the air as my therapist leaves the store. "That dress will certainly turn some heads."

"Are you collecting more exotic trinkets for your office?" I state, drawing the attention away from the dress.

"Those are souvenirs from my travels. That's how I step outside of my comfort zone. Speaking of which, are you going to the Rave'n this weekend?"

"I'm not required to answer your questions out in the wild, am I?" I try to end the conversation.

"I look forward to talking about it at our next session." She turns to leave the other way. I turn to the entrance of the store, taking my time to enter.

I left with the dress in a bag, I wasn't expecting you to manage to persuade me to buy a dress.

I put Xavier's drawing on the sheriff's desk. "We both know there's a monster out there. If we're going to stop it, I think it's time we put our differences aside and work together."

"And this is your stake for me to deal you in?" The sheriff is now holding the drawing, inspecting it before grabbing a photograph and putting them side by side.

"Sorry you gotta do better than that. You've got some nice detail though." He hands me the drawing back.

"I didn't draw it." I fold the drawing before putting it back into my backpack.

"I need to know who did." He states firmly

"Unless we're exchanging intel, I'm not at liberty to say."

He sighs while looking off to the side. "Why would I share information about an ongoing murder investigation with a high school kid?"

"Because I go to Nevermore and you don't. Don't you want some eyes and ears behind those ivy-covered walls?"

"Listen Velma, why don't you and the Scooby gang stick to your homework and leave the investigating to the professionals." The phone starts ringing, causing the sheriff to answer. "What?"

The voice on the other end is slightly distorted by the age of the technology. "Mayor Walker's on line two, he's looking for an update."

I take cue to leave. "Hey, Addams."

The sheriff beckons me over. "Let me see that sketch again."

I walk back in, handing him the drawing.

"The person who drew this, that your suspect?"

I shake my head. "I believe he's having visions about it."

The sheriff is silent for a moment. "When you bring me some concrete evidence, maybe we'll talk."

I take the sketch back, before leaving the police station.

I'm sitting inside the Weathervane with Enid and her friends. I see Wednesday walk past though the window. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna check on Wednesday real quick."

Everyone at the table quietly acknowledges my statement before I leave the store.

The bell of the door fills the air. "Wednesday!" She turns around as I catch up.

"I see you found something." I look towards her bag.

We both continue walking, rounding a corner to be met with Tyler on the other side.

"Don't wanna ask what trouble you two are in now." Tyler looks past us for a second, looking at the sheriff's office behind us.

"Nothing we can't handle. Your father's in particularly frustrating form today. Avoid." Wednesday says as Tyler draws his vision back to us.

"Yeah, welcome to my world." Tyler murmurs before changing the conversation. "You guys have the Rave'n this weekend, right? It was all the buzz at the Weathervane today."

"Yeah, the Rave'ns this weekend." I answer, curious on where he's going.

"Are you going with anyone Wednesday?" Tyler asks, a bit of nervousness to his voice.

I find Wednesday glancing at me for a moment. "I'm going with Y/n."

I look at Wednesday trying to conceal my shock.

He avoids eye contact for a moment "Hope you two have fun." Disappointment laces his voice as he walks past us

Wednesday turns around to face him. "I'm not sure why you're upset."

"That's kind of the problem." Tyler turns around to meet us again. "I mean, call me crazy, Wednesday, but you keep giving me these signals.

"You're crazy." I interject myself into the conversation to be met with a scowl from Tyler.

His eyes soften again before meeting Wednesday's. "I thought we liked each other, but then you pull something like this, and I have no idea where I stand. I mean, am I in the more than friend zone or just a pawn in some game you're playing."

There's a lull in the conversation before Wednesday continues. "I like girls, Tyler."

My ears perk up at this wonderful news.

"I mean, yeah clearly. You're going with her." Tyler gestures his hand towards me. "Sorry, that was mean."

There was another lull in the conversation filled with awkward silence.

He points behind himself. "I guess I'll see you guys around." He turns around to walk away.

I walk into my shared dorm room to get ready for the Rave'n early. The room is dark as the sun has set. I'm the only soul in here. I assume Wednesday is still moving the evidence board to the bee shed.

Enid wasn't the biggest fan of having a board covered in pictures of corpse parts in the dorm.

I approach my desk to be greeted with a letter with the initials 'W.A.'

I pick it up, carefully opening the envelope as to not tear anything.

Dear Y/n Y/l/n,

I'm having trouble trying to find the words, this is all new to me. I believe I may have some sort of 'feelings' for you. Every time we come in to contact, I have this nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart races, unable to be calm in the presence of your touch. Yet, I'm insatiable for more.

I believe you may reciprocate these feelings, so why must we pretend otherwise? I want to attend this dance together more than merely friends.

However, if you don't reciprocate these feelings, I demand you burn this letter and forget this happened.

Wednesday Addams

The happiest smile slips onto my face as I jump in place. I put the letter in the top drawer of my desk before the door to the dorm opens.

Wednesday walks through the doorway, gazing towards me. She seems nervous.

"Wednesday!" I practically run to close the distance, my smile somehow getting bigger now that she's in my presence.

"I assume you found the letter." She states with a hint of worry.

I quickly nod. "Yes, and my answer is yes!"

Wednesday releases an exhale of relief. I see the weight release off her chest through her perfect posture.

"Can I uhm." I am now much quieter, my face quickly flushing red. "Can we hug?"

After Wednesday is silent for a moment and avoiding eye contact, I worry I may have overstepped.

"It's okay if you-"

"Yes." I find Wednesday's eyes have finally met mine again. "Please."

My smile returns before I wrap my arms around her into a warm embrace. Wednesday stands there for a moment with her arms by her side, unsure what to do.

Eventually, Wednesday reciprocates the hug. Wrapping her arms around my waist. Her touch is cool yet comforting.

We both untangle ourselves from the embrace, the warmth of each other's touch lingering on our skin.

"I'm going to get ready." I tell Wednesday, before heading to my closet.

I find myself waiting outside at the bottom of the stairs outside the dorm room. I didn't take as long as Wednesday to get ready.

I turn to the sound of Wednesday's heels tapping against the stairs. She's wearing this beautiful black gothic dress.

I can't help but gawk at the beauty descending the stairs. She looks ethereal.

"Wow, Wednesday. You look... " I'm silent for a moment, trying to find the right words and the confidence to speak them.

"Unrecognizable? Ridiculous?"

I find myself stumped for another moment. "Beautiful, I mean it Wednesday you have me at a loss for words."

Her gaze softens at my sentiment. Her eyes scan my body, silently admiring my appearance.

She breaks eye contact for a moment. "We can hold hands, if that's something you want to do."

I think it's so cute that's she trying to play it off as if she doing it for me.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I hold my hand out, waiting for hers to meet mine before our fingers interlock. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me from her contact, bringing to life the butterflies in my stomach.

"Shall we go?" I can tell by the slight shakiness to her voice I'm having the same effect on her.

I nod, my smile impossible to hide, as we make our way to the dance.

Wednesday and I walk through the entrance, our fingers interlocked. The sound of pop music fills the room as I feel everyone's eyes on us before Ms. Thornhill approaches. "Wednesday, Y/n. What a lovely surprise.

Thornhill's eyes stare at our hands. "I didn't know you two were a couple." She says with a smile

Wednesday and I glance at each other. "It's kind of a new thing." I say awkwardly.

"We're going to get drinks." Wednesday states, mostly to me.

"Have fun you two!" Ms Thornhill says with a smile as we walk away.

We approach the long table together. I squeeze Wednesday's hand so I don't get use to her touch.

"OMG I love the look!" Enid approaches, excitement filling her very being. We both turn towards her and she notices our hands.

Enid's eyes go wide. "Wait are you two officially a thing now?!"

I feel the temperature of my face drastically rise, Wednesday turns her face to see mine.

"I uh-" I start to say before Wednesday interrupts me.

"Interesting choice of date." Wednesday states flatly, looking past Enid to see Lucas.

I follow Wednesday's eyes, finding Lucas standing awkwardly.

"Wait, your date is Lucas Walker? You know he's the worst right?" I say, a hint of malice in my voice.

"It's not what it looks like." Enid says defensively.

"Good, because that pilgrim already has two strikes in my book." Wednesday is practically staring daggers at Lucas.

"Lucas is trying to make his ex jealous, and I'm trying to make Ajax jealous. It's a win-win."

"Why can't you just talk to Ajax instead of doing this? Communication is important." I say, ending my sentence quickly as I see Lucas approaching.

He puts his hands up like we're arresting him. "Wednesday, Y/n, I come in peace."

"That's a shame, I brought my pocket mace." Wednesday says, causing Lucas to lower his arm with a bit of fear etched onto his face. "The medieval kind."

Wednesday turns to grab herself and I a drink as Enid and Lucas walk away. "Just to let you know in advance, tomorrow night we're going to stake out a cave with Eugene. Eugene saw something in one of Xavier's drawing."

Wednesday hands me the drink. "I haven't been too good at keeping you up to date on our plans. I apologize."

I grab the drink. "It's cool, thanks for the heads up." I motion to dink Wednesday's and I's drinks together before each of us takes a sip.

We both turn as we see Xavier approach us at of our peripheral vision. "Hey Xavier! Did you ever find someone to come with?"

He looks around awkwardly for a moment. "Yeah uh, I came with Bianca."

The smile fades from my face. "What, why would you do that?"

Xavier shrugs. "Better than going alone I guess."

There is a lull in the conversation until 'The Goo Goo Muck' by 'The Cramps' started playing.

Wednesday drags me towards the crowd dancing. "Dance with me."

"Wednesday, I don't know I'm not much of a dancer." There's a hint of anxiety on my face as we get closer to the crowd.

"Why'd you agree to come to the dance with me if we weren't going to dance." She's dragging me in-between people now, persistent on the idea.

"I uh-" I find myself still as Wednesday let's go of my hand.

I find her eyes staring into mine intensely as she starts to get into the music, shaking her shoulders back and forth to the rhythm. I stand there awkwardly, watching her.

Her movements are rigid, but rhythmic. I find myself entranced.

I leave the trance after a few moments, remembering where I am. I look around to find people staring, and I can't tell if it's the good or bad kind.

My heartbeat accelerates at the sudden attention. I find myself unable to move. Do people think I'm weird? Why won't I dance?

I force my legs to move, shaking from the anxiety as I walk through the crowd of people dancing.

"Y/n?" I faintly hear Wednesday's voice as I make more distance.

I find an almost empty area just outside the party. I sigh as I sit down.

"Y/n?" I hear Wednesday's voice again as she sits down next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just. I get overwhelmed by crowds easily." I say, an awkward silence fills the air besides the muted sound of the music from the party.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you." Wednesday states, a hint of empathy in her voice.

I find myself staring at the floor. "I want you to have fun as well though."

I find myself having difficulty choosing between looking at Wednesday and avoiding all eye contact, flickering between both.

"How about we take it slower." Wednesday scots closer, my eyes manage to remain on Wednesday's empathetic ones. "When a slow song plays, we'll dance together. I'll lead and guide you as we move along to the music."

I find myself nodding with a smile. "Okay, thank you Wends." A little bit of the anxiety fading.

Bianca walks in, taking a seat near us. I hold back any negative comments as it could effect Xavier's night as well. I notice her eyes are slightly glossy.

"I know this isn't usually something I'd ask you, but are you okay?" I ask, slight concern in my voice

Bianca looks at me before shrugging, looking away again the next moment.

Wednesday and I exchange a glance. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

After another moment of silence, Wednesday interjects. "Where's Xavier?"

"We had a little tiff." Bianca says, giving in. "About you two actually."

Wednesday and I share a concerned glance. "What about us?" We say simultaneously.

"He wasn't expecting to see you two together. He was happy for you at first, but there was jealousy building up or something. After he saw you two dancing, or more so saw Wednesday dancing and you standing there, he asked me to use my siren song on him to have him forget his feelings."

I look away for a second, ignoring her comment before speaking. "He did that?"

Bianca nods with her eyes slightly more glossy. I can imagine how used she must feel.

Our conversation is cut short when a scream finds it way to our room. Wednesday and I instantly stand, looking towards the noise which is followed by multiple screams.

Wednesday grabs my hand as we run side by side back to the dance, where the screams originated. Some people covered in what looks like blood run past us.

After we squeeze through the crowd, we find the sprinklers are spraying the supposed blood all over the party.

Wednesday smiles at the scene before sticking out her hand under the continuous splatter, putting her finger to her mouth to taste whatever it is.

My face contorts a bit in disgust.

Wednesday's amused smile quickly fades. "They couldn't even spring for real pigs' blood." Her shoulders drop in disappointment. "It's only paint."

People continuously run past us in fear, unable to tell who's bumping into who. Suddenly, Wednesday's head falls back, entering a vision.

I hold Wednesday to avoid her falling and for us to not be trampled. As the crowd loses volume, Wednesday comes back. "Eugene is in the woods."

She meets my eyes with concern. "He's in danger."

Wednesday grabs my hand before running with the crowd. Letting go of my hand whenever we escape the crowd, we soon find ourselves leaving the school into the woods.

The hectic sound of our panic-filled footsteps fill the forest with the crunching of leaves. The moonlight casting a pale glow over the forest.

I wave my wand out, emitting a blue light to guide the way.

"Eugene!" Wednesday and I take turns shouting. My heart beating at a thousand miles an hour, my legs burning at the sudden activity.

We both stop for a moment, looking around. "Eugene?!" I shout.

"Y/n! over here!" We hear Eugene yell.

Wednesday and I turn towards his voice, running towards it as fast as possible

We find Eugene laying in the fallen leaves. "Eugene." Wednesday states, standing in place.

I quickly approach Eugene, kneeling beside him. He has three fresh claw wounds across his chest, the blood pouring out of them. I close my eyes, recalling a spell I've been practicing the past few months.

I put my wand to the end of one of the claw marks running across his torso, blood trickling out staining his clothes.

"Oh my God! Is he alive?!" Ms Thornhill approaches from behind.

I close my eyes in frustration and panic. "Everyone please shut up!" I shout, overwhelmed. "I need to concentrate."

Everyone goes silent, staring at my back. I put my wand back to the top of the wound, running it down smoothly till it reaches the bottom.

"Vulnera, Sanentur." My voice utters the incantations slowly and rhythmically in a hushed lullaby.

I repeat the incantation, following the same motion. This time, the blood starts to clear away into nothing. Cleaning the wound.

I pause for a moment, before doing the incantation one more time. The wound knitting itself shut.

I take a deep inhale. "Two more to go." I utter to myself, feeling the four eyes behind me staring into me like daggers.

I find the end of the second cut, my wand trembling. I take another deep breath to collect myself.

"Vulnera Sanentur." It feels as if my voice is the only sound in the world.

Whenever I finish with that cut, I feel my eyes getting glossy. The stress overflowing my body. I can't break down just yet. I find the last cut, casting the healing spell one last time.

I stare at his unconscious body, at his healed but new found scars. Tears start to stream down my face, the stress escaping my body.

I put my hands over eyes, my shoulders slumped forward. The sound of my sobs echo amongst the trees. The sense of relief strengthening my overwhelmed tears.

Part 8.

Past Lives Masterlist

[littlebvtterfly]

Hi, everyone! And Happy Pride! This is probably coming in just under the line, but I'll throw it out there nonetheless since someone did ask for it. I've been feeling kind of creatively in a void and I no longer know what to do, so I am doing this because it usually helps me out a great deal. And, I always love to celebrate Pride with you guys! Anyways, I hope you will all join and have fun!

P.s.: I am currently trying my best to rework or make Pinterest boards for OCs who have none, so bear with me.

The rules and regulations are simple, but they exist nonetheless, so here they are:

The exchange, for now, is open until June 30th. I may extend it if people are interested.

LGBTQ+ OC's only, please! Yes, you can send in someone with a non-same-sex relationships as long as one or two of the people in are LGBTQ. Trans and non-binary OC's are always welcome!

You may make 1-2 requests, but I will probably reblog it, saying you can ask for more because I always do (hehe).

Please reblog this post to spread some awareness. You can like for remembrance, but just a like doesn't count (you already know this; I know my 5 regulars who come here every time)!

As aforementioned, this is open to my regular drunks and new patrons alike, so please do not be shy. Think of me as I think of birds; I am more scared of you than you are of me.

Fill out the form linked below and find the password in the form!

Please only send me face claims with good quality and plenty of material to use. Also, no cartoon characters. Video game characters may work, depending on the animation style. I'm not trying to discriminate; it can just be really tough for me to find material for cartoons, anime, video games, etc., as I edit by making little video clips first and so on. However, if you slide in my DMs, we might be able to discuss some stuff.

Please, please, please fill out all the columns I need and choose at least two gift options. I just like to have a fallback in case one gift doesn’t work out for any reason, though I usually do post two gifts for everyone.

Remember the pleases and thank you's; pleases and thank you's make my heart grow fond.

I don't do Harry Potter or Stranger Things OCs, and while I don't have a specific list of FCs I don't use, I ask that you do not request anything for overtly problematic actors. Thank you!

I accept pretty much any gift in return: GIF edits, mood boards, playlists, story reviews, drawings/art—anything is fine. If it's a story review, please let me know in the form so I know you did, as I don't check my accounts every day. You can find my writing platforms in my pinned post.

I'm fine with gifts for any of my OCs; my master list as well as the link to my Pinterest and Spotify are in my pinned post.

Please remember that in order for me to post my gifts for you, I need to know you have given me a gift first. I don’t want to sound greedy in any form; I have just had issues with this before. I do want to make everyone who hands in a form a gift, and it hurts when I can’t. If you submitted and can’t make gifts for any reason that comes up, it’s totally fine; I will most likely do another exchange in no time.

FOR ANY OTHER QUESTIONS OR CONCERNS, FEEL FREE TO SEND ME A MESSAGE, AND I WILL TRY TO CLEAR EVERYTHING UP!

CELEBRATE PRIDE WITH ME HERE; HERE IS THE LINK FOR PRIDE; PRIIIIIIIDE!

TAGGING: @eddysocs @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @nikosasaki @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @avcrymorgans @andromedalestrange @far-shores @rose-of-oz @bibaybe @come-along-pond @dancingsunflowers-ocs @justahopelessssromantic

[ladysomething]

Did I read hanahaki fic ? Yes, omg, yes !! I don't think I have read any hanahaki lestappen, you HAVE to do it, the people needs it. Though, I need to ask, happy or tragic ending ? I😱🌸

happy ending of COURSE!

I actually have some of it written, so here, have some!

2019 

“Hanahaki is often misrepresented, Max,” Francois says gently, French accent stilted. “It’s not often a terminal illness, and you are in the very early stages. It can easily be resolved.” 

Max purses his lips. 

He’s sure that’s the case for others, but it’s not that easy for him. 

“What do you actually know about Hanahaki?” 

Max sighs, slumping down in his seat. Truthfully, he knows barely anything, just what he’s seen on TV; that the cause is unrequited love, that the longer is goes the more flowers will grow around his heart and in his lungs, that he could have them surgically removed but risk possibly side effects if he does. 

He’d known that when he’d coughed up his first flower on the flight back from this year’s Austrian GP he was in trouble. He’d known he needed to see a doctor immediately. 

He knows who it is that he’s in love with that is the cause of all this, too. 

Francois sighs, then opens his drawer and plucks out a pamphlet. He hands it over to Max, who makes sure to let Francois know how reluctant he is by taking about two seconds too long to take it from him. 

“I’m sure you’ve been told it’s cause is unrequited love, but that isn’t true,” Francois says. “The cause of Hanahaki is an inability to be honest about your feelings with the person who is the object of your affections. The more you lie, and keep your feelings inside, the more the flowers will choke you. The person does not need to return your feelings, Max. You just have to tell them.” 

Well.

That would be nice, he supposes, if it made any difference at all. 

But just as impossible as it is for Charles Leclerc to return his feelings, it’s equally as impossible for Max to tell him. With who they are, the sport they’re in, what his dad would say—

No. Whether Charles reciprocates is the least of his worries.

2023 

Max doesn’t see Charles’ Instagram post until after he’s already landed back in Nice, and by that point it’s hours old and the headlines are insane. 

There’s not much else for them to focus on, he supposes, considering he’d won the Championship weeks ago. The final race of the season was interesting only to those invested in the results of the Constructors, so Charles casually revealing he’s suffering from a chronic illness is much more exciting to the world. 

CHARLES LECLERC REVEALS HANAHAKI DIAGNOSIS

CAN CHARLES LECLERC STILL RACE IN 2024? 

SHOULD THE FIA BAN CHARLES LECLERC FROM F1? 

Max considers calling Charles as soon as he see’s it. 

He wants to know how he’s doing, how bad his symptoms are, what his management plan is. What doctor is he seeing? How often are his check ups? What medication has he been given, and is he getting any side effects? 

What, exactly, is it that has Charles so torn up he’s developed Hanahaki? 

When Max was diagnosed, he told only a few select people. The one’s who had to know—Christian, the Red Bull board—and the one’s he wanted to know—his mother and Victoria, Daniel. They’d all been so overbearing for days, weeks, months afterwards, and Max had felt even more suffocated from their attention than he had from the fucking flowers. 

He locks his phone and tucks it into his pocket as he disembarks the plane, ignoring how tight his chest becomes as he does. 

[avelera]

haha, whoops, i'm one of the people who're guilty of kinda enjoying the nickname thing (i don't write though), but it's a good point that it contradicts how they express themselves in canon

idk what country you're from, maybe this is not new info, but to maybe add further context:

i get an impression that in english getting called by a nickname/shortened version of your name is a very usual, casual thing, like if you introduce yourself as daniel you may get called dan by people immediately, unprompted, even in a [semi] professional setting? meanwhile i just don't like my name very much and want people to call me by the shortened version. just without the last syllable, nothing elaborate. and i do feel pretty weird introducing myself that way or explaining if asked, it feels like i'm asking people to show friendliness/closeness by asking that. also if they do know my legal name (at work for example) they end up defaulting to it often anyway. i think i could get away with it though if i had a more friendly and bubbly demeanor

basically i'm wondering if this is a thing because for some people it has more of a baked-in meaning of closeness, or at least overt friendliness, than it usually has in english. (though again i agree that this is not a thing in their canon dynamic)

Hmm, so my answer to this is multifaceted so bear with me for a second.

Just to keep it on Viktor and Jayce for a second, I'm a whacky stickler for writing characters as they are in canon. Many fanfics aren't even trying to be canon-adjacent though so while them using nicknames in a fic takes me out of the story, it's not necessarily right or wrong, it's just how the writer chose to write their story.

I was mostly making the point against them using nicknames from the point of view of, "If you're trying to write them in-character, why would you use nicknames? They never use nicknames." Which is also why I opened it up for the possibility that they do use nicknames in League of Legends, which turned out to be true and explains a lot of why that trickled into Arcane fic. I'm just an Arcane-only person so it raises my hackles a bit when I see those two blended but I get why people do it and would probably do the same if I knew League. (Jayce is just so different from his LoL counterpart it's hard for me to get on board with and it's why I didn't really engage with the fandom when only S1 was out even though on my own I watched Arcane like 100 times straight).

Ok as for the cultural stuff, obviously I can't speak for the entire Anglosphere but I can offer my perspective.

Yes, having a nickname is common and commonly used as a sign of affection. For example, my name is Maggie which is short for Margaret. I'd be put off if someone used my full name, but it has three syllables which is also a longer name than Viktor which is just two syllables I don't really get why it needs to be shortened further, but that's just me, the owner of a two-syllable name.

Unlike some other languages like, say, Japanese though US English does not have as rigid a hierarchy of which names to use to denote familiarity, at least not between adults (as a child, I was always taught to use Mr./Ms. "Last Name" with adults). You'd use last names upon introduction, sure, but switching to first names quickly is hardly unheard of, or even nicknames. I know some other languages like Russian, for example, also have a complex system for how and when to use diminutives and they specifically denote levels of closeness and familiarity (or at least, so my small brush with Russian literature taught me).

Now where I'd add the Jayvik nuance is that regardless of what someone's name is, long, short, nickname, or last name, you always use the name people ask you to use.

So if I had a colleague named William who wants to go by William and doesn't want to be called Will, it would be impolite for me to use a nickname if he didn't want it, even if it's easier for me to say. The most common polite thing to do with strangers or in a formal setting is use Mr./Ms. Last Name until that person gives you permission to use their first name, which is usually given pretty quickly unless the person is a bit of a jerk lol.

So yeah, to your last point, I think it's possible (I don't want to presume) that people having Jayce give Viktor a nickname when he doesn't in the show are either:

1) Basing it off League or general fanon or

2) Choosing to show closeness between them using nicknames as a love language that contradicts what the show portrays, which again, is an artistic choice that's completely valid, even if it's not for me. And I do think that yes, that's because I believe a greater mark of affection, for me, is using the name someone requests of you rather than using a diminutive or nickname that they didn't ask for.

I hope this sort of answers your ask and isn't just me rambling, lol!

[lindsaylemons29]

8x12 reactions/out of context

Jee my beloved

Ok so for reference Maddie had pretty short hair during the kidnapping but was pregnant, and she now has hair that's AT LEAST 4 inches longer and its been 5 weeks?!?!???

EW TEXAS GET OUT OF THERE DIAZ

Damn what the hell is that fire station

"like home" stfu bitch

"you don't have to worry about that sir" HA WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT

JOSH "four of us got listeria...I still go"

"queen of the pressure cooker"

Maddie i think ur stubborn and oblivious like your brother

HE CALLED HIM RAVI FIRST TRY 👏👏👏

Damn not the vocal cords

(unrelated)FUCK OFF SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING INTERRUPTION

*back to our regularly scheduled programming*

Helena Diaz 🍅🍅🍅🍅

ok Eddie I love you but please make wise financial decisions

Helena he knows about his son

Eddie needs some 1 on 1 time with his son and I have a feeling he's not getting that *glares at helena*

GET ALL THE THERAPY

that is an impressive level of shiny eyes maddie

I have a feeling jee is gonna be the way it comes back

Ah, hiring freezes *cries*

And this is why you didn't need to buy a house eddie

Cute little apron buck

Also I love how buck is at the station and just taking video calls while cooking

The fuck is this judge Judy shit

Bro you know these hearings have to be recorded your ass is cooked

"open sesame" buck u little dork

"weasel's going down with the ship" I don't think that's it goes

LMFAO may you rest in peace 727-L-30 vehicle

FIRST THE LOFT NOW THE FIGHT CLUB CAR!?!?!

A PRIUS!!!!

Aw baby Chris pics

Eddie please not the "I forgot how hot Texas can be"

Also that is a safety hazard edmundo please cockblock them

It took 4 rides for him to mention firefighter I'm impressed

EDDIE CMON SAFETY FIRST

eddie is going thru it rn

Damn c'mon people he's not 1 star no tip across the board...

"your son wants to do this" HIS SON CAN TALK FOR HIMSELF

Lady you have headphones if you don't want to listen put them on (also Eddie kindly please hush)

I take that back lady we love you

Ok I don't trust that 5 hour energy knockoff(I guess they got the GMC and Toyota brand deals but 5 hour was too far)

Eddie is that a designated Uber driving hoodie

Please do not give yourself a heart attack eddie

oh dear

hey at least he took down the baby photo chris

Buck he does not have to *call* him, texts exist for a reason

Eddie if you are still outside the friend's place please leave

MAY MENTIONED 🎉🎉🎉

honestly jlh is having a great 8B first the kidnapping and now the lost voice

I WAS RIGHT IT WAS JEE

ok cool you talked but have you talked about the kim of it all

ok I missed buck this episode but I guess last week was pretty buck heavy so I'll begrudgingly allow it

[a-whisper-in-the-forest]

A game of darts

Part 1 ( Disgraced apple pie) Part 3 (A deal)

Villain turns the page of their book. They lean back against the couch in the living room and start reading the first sentence on the page. “Damn it!” the Villains’ Sidekick yells. “How can I lose again!” Other Villain laughs. “Maybe start by not challenging someone with perfect aim as a superpower.”

“I'm not even using my power, Sidekick here is just horrible at darts.” Assassin answers, pulling their dart out of the board. “Bullshit. You are using your power.” Sidekick huffs as they sit down next to Villain on the couch. “Come on, I'll make it fair. One more game,” Assassin says as they pull Sidekick back out of the couch. “Okay, okay,” Sidekick sighs “And I'm winning this time.”

Assassin starts by throwing the first dart, conveniently landing it in the triple 20. And so does the second. And the third. “One hundred and eiightyyy.” Other Villain yells like the presenter of the dart games on TV. “Stop you using your power!” Sidekick argues with Assassin. “I'm not,” Assassin says as they plop down on the couch next to Villain. “What are you reading?” they say as they put their head on Villain's shoulder. Villain sighs. They should've stayed in their room. Way less distractions there. But then they remember what Supervillain said. ‘You have to socialize with your siblings.’ They weren't real siblings, but that's what Supervillain liked to call them. “A book on the history of vikings,” Villain answers. “Sounds interesting.” Assassin answers, snuggling closer to Villain.

“Ha! Suck it, Assassin!” Sidekick yells. Both Villain and Assassin look up at the board. They landed two darts in the triple 20 and one in the 20. “I still have more points” Assassin answers with a smug grin on their face. “Not for long!” they say letting themselves fall onto the couch, replacing Assassin who is getting ready to throw again. Villain really needed to find another reading spot. “It's not fair, Villain. They keep using their power.” Sidekick pouts next to them. It's moments like these where Villain notices how young they actually are.

Maybe they could lend Sidekick a hand. It's handy that the room is lit by a few lamps instead of the big light. Makes it easier to play with a shadow.

“How the hell?!” Assassin's last dart lands in the 1. “What did you do?” Assassin almost flies towards Sidekick. “I did nothing. Why are you so angry? People can miss sometimes…or were you using your power?” Sidekick answers smiling. Villain can't help but smile a little. “Oh, Villain, you absolute assh-”

They were stopped by the sound of laughter. And next a thud as Other Villain falls off their chair. “Oh, Assassin. You should see your face.” Other Villain's eyes begin to water. “Shut up,” Assassin says with venom in their voice. Oh, Assassin and their short fuse, Villain thinks. Right at that moment their phone vibrates.

‘Feed the hero Sidekick ’ appears on the screen. Right. Villain stands up to go to the basement. “Villain, don't leave me alone with Assassin. They're going to kill me,” Sidekick says, grabbing Villain's arm, slightly panicked. “You wanted help, now live with the consequences,” Villain says smiling. Assassin is never going to actually kill them, so Villain doesn't feel too bad leaving them.

They open the door to the basement, warm plate in hand. The Sidekick immediately crawls to the corner of the room. “We're done with that. I am just here to give you some food,” Villain says, trying to sound somewhat comforting. Unfortunately, the stone cold voice they had to learn themselves to speak with, comes out. They place the plate on the ground in front of the sidekick. The Sidekick, however, doesn't make a single move towards the food. “When am I going home?” Sidekick's voice sounds raspy and doesn't sound louder than a whisper. “In a couple of hours, just hang on a little longer,” Villain says. Hero's not going to be happy with them. What does it matter? They're just a hero…

Right?

“Okay…” Sidekick says shakingly. They drag the plate closer and start to eat. Villain sighs. They really hated this. Punch a hero? Sure. Kill an enemy? Fine. Torture a defenseless kid? No, that doesn't sit right with them. But every time they wanted to rebel, to fight the orders, Supervillain would push it out of their mind. They didn't want Supervillain to take control of them again. To make them do things they didn't want to do. Whenever Supervillain did take control, it was like they were a programmed robot. They were still there, but it wasn't them that was moving their body.

They despised it.

By the time they finished their train of thought, Sidekick had finished their meal. Without saying anything, they picked up the plate and went back upstairs, leaving the trembling Sidekick behind.

A few minutes later Villain puts the dirty plate in the soapy water. When they entered the kitchen to put the dirty plate away, they had noticed the pile of dishes. Having nothing better to do, they decided to wash them. They were only a few plates away from finishing when they felt two arms wrap around them from behind and hug them. “Assassin nearly murdered me with a pillow,” the villainous Sidekick mumbles into Villain's shoulder. Villain hums in response. They had a feeling Assassin would do something like that. “Did they eat?” Sidekick asks innocently like the young teenager they are. Again, Villain hums. “Do you mind if I stay here for a minute? I need a hug,” Villain can hear the Sidekick's muffled sniffs. They slowly turn around to face Sidekick. “Another nightmare?” Villain asks quietly. The Sidekick only nods and hugs the Villain even harder, letting the tears flow freely. Although they don't like to admit it, they have a soft spot for Sidekick. Ever since Sidekick was sent on their first mission, Villain has been their caretaker. Helping them through tough nights, giving them fighting tips, teaching them how to do basic stuff like washing their clothes…

“How about you go to your room already? I'll come in a minute.” Villain says to the now calmed down Sidekick. “O-okay,” Sidekick tries to say between the sobs. All they had to do now was finish the dishes and drop off the Hero's sidekick. They hope Hero won't make this too much of a hassle.

~

“Have you gone insane?!” Other Hero yells out in Hero's tiny office. “No, but it is the only way to get them back!” Hero answers, pulling the USB out of the computer. “And lower your voice.”

“You're about to give super secret information to THE supervillain. The Agency is going to literally kill you,” Other Hero says panicked. “Don't worry about that. I used some programs so they will never know it was me.” Hero says, trying to calm down Other Hero. “I hope they don't find out.” they respond, still not convinced. To them it seems stupid to give up such important information for a Sidekick. What Oher Hero doesn't know is that Hero is not just bringing back Sidekick, they also want to find out why Villain would do something so cruel while clearly being so against it.

Next part

Hi! Wow, it took me long to most part 4. I'm very sorry about that. My exams are starting soon so I'm probably going to post even less frequent ( didn't know that was even possible tbh.) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this part. It's a bit all over the place but it hopefully gives a little insight to the future parts.

(Also, every time i get a notification somebody commented, reposted or liked something, i get so excited. I am honestly suprised people like what i write.) (I'll stop ranting now)

[seaglassmelody]

For Sabriel and Lucanis: first time Lucanis couldn't cook for whatever reason, and Sabriel stepped up in his stead. 💛

Thank you so much for the prompt!! Sorry this took me so long to get to n_n;; I kept changing my mind about how to approach it but I think I finally landed on something I like haha

Under the cut because this got a lot longer than I expected!

----

"I thought I told you that you needed to rest."

Sabriel stood in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at Lucanis at the counter. He looked up from the cutting board, a flicker of guilt traveling across his face before he schooled his expression.

"It's my turn to cook." He replied neutrally.

Sabriel pinched the bridge of their nose, sighing in frustration. "You need to stop putting weight on your leg. Your ankle is going to take forever to heal if you keep pushing beyond your limits."

Given how badly the encounter with the Antaam Reaver had gone the day before, they were lucky his only injury was a twisted ankle. Taash's arm was in a sling that Emmrich had fashioned once the trio had lugged their tired bodies back through the eluvian. The dragon hunter tried to argue against the strict order not to use the arm for at least a week, but while they would push back hard against Emmrich, Sabriel's gentle admonishment was harder to ignore.

She wished in this moment that Lucanis was as easy to reason with. He wasn't looking at her, focusing on chopping asparagus for whatever his dinner plans were.

"I'll be fine to cook. I can rest after dinner."

Sabriel set her jaw. She was usually more flexible about her orders and respecting people's boundaries, but she did not enjoy her medical advice being ignored. It was one of the skills she was most proud of.

In a few quick strides, she covered the space between the door and the kitchen, getting into his personal space. "Lucanis. Put the knife down and go raise your leg on the couch."

"Rook-"

"Now Lucanis."

He looked up, a challenging look in his eyes, but his expression changed when he met their gaze. He seemed almost perplexed.

"Rook is. Angry."

Sabriel flinched as she heard Spite's voice very close by. She tried to relax her face, smoothing her expression into something calmer.

"I'm fine, Spite. I'm just…"

With a soft sigh, Lucanis rested the knife on the counter top. "I'll ask Bellara to take over tonight."

"No no, don't bother her!" Sabriel said quickly, waving her hands. "She was really deep in working on the archive when I went to talk to her earlier. I can follow a recipe. Let me do it."

He studied her face another moment, his brow furrowed. "If I sit at the table, will you let me tell you how to make it?"

She couldn't help but breathe out a wry laugh. "If you're that insistent of being in control of the meal, I promise to listen to your instructions. But only if you elevate your leg on another chair!" She put her hands on her hips, trying for stern and commanding.

The flicker of a smile on his face told her she didn't quite succeed.

He shuffled past her, clearly trying to hide his limp and failing. "We have a deal then."

Sabriel took a breath, then went to rinse their hands as he got himself settled. By the time they set themself back up in the kitchen, they had gotten their feelings under control. "All right chef, what's for dinner?"

He rolled his eyes with exasperated affection. "Pasta primavera. The asparagus should be ready, but the zucchini needs to be diced. Properly." He paused for emphasis, "And the broccoli needs to be trimmed."

Sabriel blinked. "What about the pasta?"

He shook his head. "Vegetables need to be prepared first. Then we will worry about the pasta."

They opened their mouth to argue, then thought better of it. "Right."

"You want to do it differently."

"I agreed to follow directions." They replied archly, turning to the cutting board and grabbing the zucchini. "But I better not hear any commentary about my knife skills. We all know I'm not as good as you."

"Don't sell yourself short. Your cuts are always thin and even." His voice was soft and sincere.

Sabriel felt her face color and stared hard at the vegetable in front of her. "As long as I'm not peeling, right?" She tried to joke, trying to back away from the sudden swooping sensation in her stomach.

His answering laugh did not help. "Yes, thankfully there are no potatoes to mangle in this recipe."

"Those are not. Potatoes?"

"No Spite, these are tomatoes." Sabriel latched onto the opportunity to change the topic. She picked up one of the little fruits off the counter. "They're red, see?"

"The potatoes. Were red."

"Well, I guess they do come in a few different colors. Have you ever seen purple potatoes?"

And so began a long lecture about the variety of vegetables that existed in Thedas, her audience of two enraptured by her explanations of produce cultivation and farming techniques - none of which she had personal experience with, but a lifetime of reading had taught her so many things.

It was only with reluctance that Lucanis would interrupt to give more cooking instructions. He was frequently interrupted in turn by Spite asking a question, until it came time for the noodles. There would be no risks taken with cooking pasta.