#he's on a food strike and wants Hot to Go

[crow-winged-wolf]

I need motivation to finish and post my story. So... I'm posting the first "chapter" here, so peeps can criticize (Or go wild over!) my writing lol. Also, don't be surprised if black and white sketchy doodles crop up, a few scenes have stuck in my memory and I want to doodle them. Probably no color, but doodles yes lol. This chapter is called "Dinnertime" in my lineup of chapters, (Not ready to name drop the fic yet) It comes early in the story. The first full chapter that isn't the intro chapter. I truly hope you like it, you can read it below the cut. (Nothing NSFW, but the story as a whole is 18+. This chapter is PG 13 tho lol)

Dinnertime

She came into the dining hall to the sound of Lucanis busy at the kitchenette, Spite apparently over his shoulder and muttering something that was making Lucanis appear frustrated.

“No, stop suggesting that.” Lucanis growled, Rook catching his frustration.

“Spite, stop.” She commanded, the spirit looking up at her and scowling. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but couldn't tell if it helped at all as Spite grumbled something in her direction, but fell silent for the moment.

Lucanis sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you, but he's relentless today.”

“I'm sorry, I tried.”

“It's fine.” He nodded. “Do you need something? It's close to dinner, so I don't suggest eating anything, but if you want some coffee while you wait, I made a fresh batch.” He chuckled, motioning to the steaming coffee pot off to the side. Rook graciously took a mug, sipping at the slightly too hot liquid as she perched herself on the counter behind him.

Whatever Lucanis was cooking made her stomach ache with suddenly discovered hunger, her coffee now unsatisfying in comparison. She decided to strike up a conversation to distract herself from the hunger pains instead of just suffering in silence. “So, what were you and Spite arguing about before?” She asked as she rested her elbows on her knees, crossing her ankles and swinging them idly. It seemed like he wanted to answer her, but thought better of it and shook his head.

“Nothing that concerns you, Rook.” He mumbled.

“You sure?” She chuckled, Lucanis nodding hesitantly. “Okay.” She mumbled. For a Master Assassin, he was extremely transparent around her. “So, that smells amazing and somewhat familiar, what is it?” She asked, staring at the large pot of gently bubbling food. Lucanis hummed as he stepped away from his culinary creation, Rook watching in intrigue.

“I made chicken scampi, since I found out you are very much not a fan of fish.” He turned to find her sitting on the counter, looking rather proud of herself for being in his way. He wanted to be upset, but couldn’t quite summon the anger needed, instead settling her with a raised eyebrow. “It doesn't pair well with coffee, but… I have a few bottles of wine at the ready that work much better.”

Rook stilled, eyes flickering between the dinner simmering on the stove, and him. “You… you didn’t have to do anything special for me.” She stammered, sitting up slightly as he neared her.

“Yes I did.” A smirk pulled at his lips, Rook unable to suppress the smile that was trying to crack her face. She wasn’t used to anyone going out of their way for her when it came to her picky tastes, this was… good different.

“That sounds great, I'll tell the others!” Rook grinned, moving to get off the counter, but halting as he rested his hands on either side of her legs and leaned in close to her, caging her in.

“You’re on my counter.” He mused quietly with a smirk.

Rook smiled back, tipping her head to the side in unsaid defiance.“Well, you’re welcome to remove me, if you want.” Her voice was a low purr, her eyes darkening.

“Maybe I…” He stopped, eyes searching her face, then stepped back. “Sorry,” He breathed, Rook catching his wrists. Not again. He wasn't chickening out again. She pulled him into a hug, sighing over his shoulder.

“I’ll go tell the others dinner is ready.” She said morosely, Lucanis nodding. She waited until he hesitantly pulled away, sliding off of the counter and chancing another glance at him. She was close enough to just steal a kiss right now, but… She gently reached up, placing a hand at his collarbone. Hopefully that was enough for both of them. She saw his arm twitch, as if he wanted to place his hand over hers, but restrained himself. With a curt nod, she headed out of the dining area, Lucanis quietly watching her go.

I smell smoke. Meat charring.

“MIERDA!” Lucanis yelped, grabbing for the pot and stirring it, hoping it wasn’t actually burnt.

When she came back, it was with the majority of their companions, and to the sight of the table set for all of them, two plates in particular catching her eye. The wine glasses were already filled, the plates had food on them, they were side by side, and Lucanis was already sitting at one of them with his hands entwined and supporting his chin over it. He seemed deep in thought, sitting up straight when everyone came in. When Rook went to take a seat across from him, he gave her a disappointed look, glancing at the plate next to him.

Next to him? She circled around the table, pretending to examine the food in the pot before stopping in front of the set place setting. “Is that mine?” She asked gingerly in Antivan, glancing at the others to see if they noticed. He nodded shortly, Rook laughing quietly to herself. She set her hand on his shoulder as she swung her legs over the bench seat one at a time, sitting down and smiling clumsily at him. “Grazie.”

As she dropped her hand from his shoulder, he caught it under the table, leaning into her side. “We need to discuss your Antivan, you speak like an old nonna.” He murmured, his dialect different from hers and taking her a moment to recognize. Up until now, she knew he could speak Antivan, but didn’t know it was a different Antivan.

“Yes, it’s the same Antivan I’ve spoken since I was nine.” She laughed. “You’re the one mispronouncing shit.”

“Are you two gossiping about us in another language?” Harding giggled, looking between the two of them in a mock scolding manner. Both blushed as they shifted away from each other, a few of the others laughing at their reaction.

Dinner went by with fantastic company, and Rook discovering she loved chicken scampi. Lucanis was practically elated to see her devouring it so heartily and returning for seconds, many of their friends mentioning they weren’t used to the tiny Elf eating so much, but Nels didn’t care. This was amazing, and she was very vocal to Lucanis about it every chance she got. Mostly just to see him look embarrassed by the positive attention. She also had an inkling Spite was adding his own commentary too, as he was having difficulty looking at her at times.

When the others had left, she remained to help clean the dishes, Lucanis glancing at her out of the corner of his eye every now and again. “Is something wrong?” She laughed as she carefully dried the dish in her hands with the cloth, setting it on the pile to be put away.

“Curious about you.” He mumbled in Antivan, Rook stiffening.

“About?” She asked in Common, not playing into his game.

He gazed at her proper, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “Where did you learn Antivan? No one speaks like that.”

“Salle. Everyone in Salle speaks like that.” She laughed, Lucanis's brow furrowing. “What? I was a de Riva, this shouldn’t be a surprise to you. We de Riva live in Salle.”

He made a surprised noise in his throat, shaking off the shock and resuming his work on cleaning the dishes. “I forgot you were House de Riva. That makes sense.”

“How did you forget?” She giggled.

“It makes sense why you speak like a Nonna. Viago was your Talon.” He chuckled. “And you did tell me you were a de Riva while in the Ossuary. Unfortunately, I was focused on other things at the time.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded. “And I was House de Riva. I'm not as long as I'm exiled.” She murmured, her tone sad and pained. Lucanis noticed, smiling softly at her.

“We don't need to tell anyone, Rook de Riva.”

She laughed at how he rolled the r’s in her name, gazing up at him. “Well, as long as we are saying my name, it's actually Neliel de Riva.” She was partial to Nels, too, but one step at a time.

His smile grew wider, one eyebrow arching at her. “I was wondering. ‘Rook’ was a rather on-the-nose name for a Crow.” He dried his hands, holding one out to her. She took it cautiously, confusion etched across her face. “Lucanis Dellamorte.” He stated.

“I know who you are.” She laughed, even more confused.

“Yes, but did I introduce myself?” His smirk grew wider as Nels laughed louder.

“No you didn't. So Lucanis, and Spite.” She replied.

“And Spite.” He nodded in agreement, returning to washing the dishes.

“Who properly introduced himself by punching you in the face.” She muttered as Lucanis chuckled dryly.

You wouldn't let me. Talk to Rook. Spite grumbled.

“Yes.” He sighed.

“Has he done that recently?”

“No, he's gotten better since our agreement. Which reminds me, I should put a pot on.” He turned to attend to filling a pot with water and situating it on the stove, Nels looking around at the dining space. She remembered when they had first come to this place. Just the four of them. This whole area was dark, dirty, and lifeless. Shortly after Lucanis joined the group, he had it cleaned up and looking warm and inviting again. More chairs for the table, a fire in the hearth, and the pantry cleared out and replenished. She wandered over to the fireplace, turning a chair to face it and sitting down tiredly.

It was a rare moment of calm for her. She wasn't being called away, there were no urgent threats that she needed to attend to, no one was injured or dying. She could just sit and think. He caught the usually upbeat expression fade from her lips, her eyes dulling as the mask slipped and she set her arms on her knees and let her shoulders sag forwards. He knew that look all too well. She was tired. He wanted more than anything to bring her some form of comfort, perhaps tell her she could take the day off or something, but he knew that wasn't possible. The best he could do was gently hold out a mug of coffee to her, wishing to let his fingers start across her hand, her arm, her shoulder in support or comfort when she took it.

Instead, he pulled one of the other chairs over to sit in, close enough to count as company, far enough she was safely out of reach. She thanked him quietly for the coffee, blowing softly on the liquid before taking a sip.

~

Nels sighed forlornly as she crossed the small square, not entirely happy to have left the kitchen, both because it was dark, and because Lucanis was there. But she was exhausted, and falling asleep at the table was going to annoy him. And he would probably insist she use his cot if she was going to sleep, which would make her feel horrible for taking the only thing he could sleep on, even if it appeared painfully uncomfortable.

She winced as she searched for the source of the light. The fact that there was no day night cycle here was jarring. She was tired, but the light suggested it was the middle of the day. She waved tiredly at the Caretaker as he materialized at the base of the gaudy wolf statue, halting a moment later when he spoke.

“You are the only one to not shape your space to your needs.”

“Sorry?”

“No need to apologize, young traveler. Simply place your hand on the door and think about what you want.”

Neliel turned to regard the Caretaker properly. “Just�� wish it into existence?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flickered to the dining area, the Caretaker noticing. “He requested repairs to the cooking area, more chairs for the table, and a chandelier. All fulfilled.”

“Ah. Well… thank you.” She mumbled, nodding. That room had been just a room she crashed in when exhausted for the longest time, it was going to be nice to have it feel more familiar. She dragged herself through the Lighthouse, pausing at the top of the hallway to her room, peering down the hall to the infirmary. She let out a short laugh as she drifted down that hall instead, pushing the door open slowly and letting it close behind her as she entered. “Varric? Hey, how are you feeling?”

~

“Neliel.” Spite rasped, the sound the closest to a pleased chirp he could manage.

“Yes, her name is Neliel.” Lucanis mumbled distractedly, trying to focus on his book.

“Nnnnnneliel.”

Lucanis rolled his eyes, glaring at the demon. “Are you going to keep repeating her name now?”

“Rook is easier. Neliel is prettier.” Spite purred, drifting closer to the door and reaching out. He recoiled from the barrier as the rune to keep him in activated, Spite frowning at the shock. Lucanis chuckled, shifting against the stone wall as he tried to pass the noise off as a cough. “You should visit Neliel.”

“No, I’m going to stay here.” He answered in that bored, flat tone again.

“She likes you. Won’t hurt you. Wants to be near you.”

Lucanis peered up from over his book at the demon. “Yes, I know.” He said slowly.

“Want to visit Rook.”

“Not tonight, Spite.”

“Not sleeping! Visit Rook! Neliel!” He advanced on Lucanis, stomping closer, his feet making no sound despite his attempt to be intimidating.

“Not tonight, Spite.” He said more forcefully, putting the book down to glare up at the demon, neither backing down. He might not have been as worried about being punched anymore, but he knew Spite had other ways of hurting him if he truly wanted.

“Not fair.” The demon pouted, crossing his arms and dropping to the ground like a child to sit in front of Lucanis.

“Sorry, Spite. A lot of things aren’t fair.” He mumbled. “We can visit later when everyone is waking up again. Or she might visit us.”

~

Nels was exhausted at this point as she dragged her feet down the hallway, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. Just a quick nap. She just needed to sleep for a few minutes. As she reached the door, she remembered what the Caretaker had said. Just… wish it? She pressed her forehead to the solid wood of the door, placing her palms on the worn surface, and closed her eyes. She wanted to be home. She wanted to be in her room again. The large bay window where her toxic garden grew, her bookshelves of stories and plants, the plush four poster bed with gentle indigo drapings, her sectioned off area for mixing her poisons… She really missed home. Fuck she missed home. She wanted her room in Salle back so bad. She had no idea if her belongings were even there anymore. Her plants were probably dead, her ingredients dried up, her bed repurposed for someone else to sleep in.

She sighed against the wood, opening her eyes slowly, staring at the dark grain in front of her face. She was foolish to think any part of the world would wait for her. That’s not how it worked, ever. She pushed the door open, sighing heavily and stumbling forwards to be met with that low, darkwood shelf, her trinkets littering the surface. As usual. Her eyes travelled up to… wait, was that her bed? The room was much different. In place of a fish tank, a hazy set of arched windows greeted her, a few empty pots littering the surface in front of it. Her bed sat against one wall, the ugly green couch stubbornly still in front of her with a shelf set along its back, but it seemed to fit in with the touches of green throughout the room. The walls were adorned with various Crow and plant related decorations where bookshelves didn’t cover, her new Antivan coffee press proudly displayed on a small cabinet to her right. Her direct left held her wardrobe and a chest for her weapons and weapon care.

What shocked her the most was the two side rooms. Two? One led to a washroom, complete with a tub, the other a small space with plenty of empty vials, decanters, tables, and wax. Makers blood, this was a poison mixing room. The whole place was reminiscent of her old room. She flopped down on the bed, moaning happily into the pillows. This could be her home. This was amazing. “Thank you!” She shouted at the ceiling, grinning wide enough to crack her face. This was what she needed.

[ofviolentdeath]

On toddler bubble bath duty. Be back soonish xD

[suuuupernovaaa]

red dress

summary: a man disrespects you, and joel handles it

tags: jackson joel, age gap, 30s reader, 50s joel, defensive joel, protective joel, aggressive simp joel, sexual assault

MASTERLIST

It took an incredible amount of convincing to get Joel out of the house that evening. Big gatherings weren’t his thing, especially when music and dancing were involved. He was always happy to go out for dinner, have a drink, or enjoy a quiet evening alone with you - but dancing?

In the end, it was the dress that convinced him. You knocked on his door wearing a red dress covered in white flowers, tight around the bust and waist, flowing to your ankles, with more cleavage that was probably necessary, and he sighed and grabbed his coat.

He muttered something about not wanting to let you out alone dressed so indecent.

You had both had two drinks before he agreed to a dance. Just a slow one. Even if he was acting reluctant, you knew how much he enjoyed wrapping his arms around you, his fingers brushing the top of your bottom, swaying you back and forth.

“Are you still mad to be here?” you whispered in his ear.

“You’ll be the one who’s mad when I tear that pretty dress right off you later,” he whispered back, and you threw your head back with a triumphant laugh, even as a thrill at the promise in his voice ran through you.

Later in the evening, when Joel was talking to Tommy and Maria, you found Ellie and Dina at the snack table.

“Wow!” Dina exclaimed at the sight of you, and you curtsied.

“Wearing this thing was the only way to get your dad out of the house. Sorry, El,” you said, and she rolled her eyes but smiled at you, just a little.

“Gross,” she said, and Dina elbowed her.

“It’s not gross! She’s so hot, I’m almost jealous of Joel.”

You waved your hand in the air to dismiss her words, and took a pretzel off Ellie’s plate.

As you opened your mouth to say something, you were knocked off balance by a loud, firm slap to your ass.

Your face was the perfect picture of shock, mirroring the two girls in front of you. Dina reached out, catching you before you stumbled over into her.

“What the fuck?” you hissed, turning around to see a stranger. Medium height, blonde hair, and glazed over eyes. This man was drunk off his ass, over served three drinks ago.

Ellie pulled on your arm, stepping in front of you, though you stood a head taller than her. She raised her arm, poised to strike, but before she could, the man clattered with force into the snack table.

Pretzels and chips flew everywhere, and where your assailant had once stood was now Joel, his eyes alight with rage.

He was gearing up to throw a few punches, so you stepped between him and the man, now passed out covered in food.

“You got him. Let’s just go,” you said.

Joel looked over your shoulder for a tense moment.

“Damn,” Dina whispered.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to wear this dress anymore,” you told him. The slap had been so hard that your ass still stung. You didn’t know how many had seen, but you felt hot with embarrassment at the idea of so many people in here watching you get slapped like that. “I want to go,” you told Joel, your eyes filling with tears.

You turned to the girls. “Thank you, for catching me, and for stepping in,” you told Ellie and Dina respectively. They were looking at you with concern and a hint of pity, which made you feel even worse.

When you turned to Joel, he had removed his jacket, and placed it on your shoulders.

Without another word, you left.

You didn’t cry until you were safe inside Joel’s house, but you could feel him vibrating with rage the entire walk home.

“Baby, I should’ve killed him,” Joel said, probably as softly as he could given how angry he was.

“Unzip this dress, please,” you said, leading him to his bedroom. You kept a few outfits here, for your frequent sleepovers.

He obliged, and you shimmied out of the dress, letting it pool on the floor.

“I shouldn’t have worn that.”

Joel bent down and picked up the thin fabric, fisting it in his hands.

“This dress ain’t to blame for what he did. You ain’t to blame for what he did. It was his fault. Tommy and me’ll deal with him.”

You nodded, tears still falling down your cheeks, and turned to grab a t-shirt out of the dresser.

Joel hissed when you did, a sharp intake of breath.

“What?” you asked as you pulled one of his worn shirts over your head.

“He left a mark.” The words came out through gritted teeth.

You ran into the bathroom, twisting and turning, so you could see a red, palm-shaped welt on your ass cheek.

“Mother fucker,” you said. Joel appeared in the mirror behind you, rage set in his harsh features again. “You can be mad about this tomorrow, Joel. I just need you to hold me tonight.”

You turned, and he reached for you immediately, gathering you in his arms, practically smashing you into his chest.

You took in a long, deep breath of him. The scent of whiskey and pine and Joel. It was intoxicating. You wanted to bottle it.

He lifted you up, and you wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you to the bed. He lay you down gently, reverently, and lay down beside you.

“If you’d walked into that barn stark ass naked, it wouldn’t have given a single person in there the right to touch you,” he said, looking down at you. He reached out, wiping a tear from your eye.

“I know. It feels just, embarrassing. That maybe everyone saw.”

He shook his head. “Only one should be embarrassed is that fucker. If he’s not, he will be soon.”

You knew you should protest. Tell Joel it’s no big deal, to keep his cool, but it was a big deal. And what the hell is the point of dating a man like Joel Miller, a man who is hell bent on protecting the people he loves, if you don’t let him do exactly that?

You pull his face down to yours and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

He rubs his nose across yours, and kisses every spot on your face.

Hard with others. Gentle with you.

“I love you,” he says, finally settling down next to you. “Maybe you can wear that dress sometimes still… just ‘round the house.”

You smile into the crook of his neck. “Only for you.”

[frogeyedape]

I ran out of tags XD Good Omens Spoilers Beware! (time for dinner now)

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB–

Keep reading

[draftbeerbibi]

FOR ME, IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU - Sylus x Non MC! ( Part 5 )

Summery: you find yourself in lads universe after a particularly close interaction with truck kun. How does life go from here after arriving in the N109 zone leaders backyard when MC hasn’t arrived yet?

Disclaimer, Sylus might be OOC, since i’m not very good at writing so bear with me. This will be multiple parts!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

You were fiddling with your bracelet.

One you had been graciously gifted by Sylus for the auction under the pretense of it otherwise ‘gathering dust’ in his humble abode, but you had seen him looking online for it, searching for just the right one.

You heard the clock strike 12, but sleep would not come, tossing and turning, but nothing helping. You were certain you had exhausted all possible sleeping aids so you decided to just get out of bed and maybe grab a bite. Sylus and the twins are always asleep by this time, and the base was very big, so you weren't worried you would run into them.

Except for the fact you had forgot to factor in that with MC in the picture, Sylus wasn't very nocturnal anymore, his usual sleeping time now filled with trying to resonate with miss hunter, and not succeeding, and making sure she gets comfortable enough with him.

You're in your pj's, t-shirt drooping off of your shoulder as you shuffle into the kitchen. Though you had grown accustomed to the N109 zone's perpetual darkness, you missed the kiss of the suns warmth at times you felt so cold inside you wondered if anything would ever be able to warm you again.

The base is once again silent, his text from yesterday haunted your mind. You knew he wouldn't let this go, but you were a coward, so you chose to run away while you still could.

You sigh, shaking your head, as if that would make all the thoughts go away. You honestly weren't even hungry but you needed to do something to take your mind off of things. Wrapping your bedhair in a messy bun you shuffle around the kitchen looking for an easy meal.

Sylus being Sylus, he has a plethora of food sources up for grabs, so you grab a simple ready made porridge from the shelf. As you read the instructions you hear the front door open and muffled voices echoing through the corridor.

One obviously belonging to Sylus, and the other being much more high pitched you figure it was a female, specifically, the one who had shaken up everything you had just built up in the past 4,5 months.

Your shoulders stiffen without meaning too. Their voices sounded like sandpaper to you, grating past your skin, leaving your nerves open and exposed. But his voice, oh how soft it was, agitatingly teasing, but not directed at you. No, his precious miss hunter was now the center of his attention.

Your hands stop moving as your attention unwillingly centers around their conversation. To your surprise however, miss hunter hadn't sounded like she had warmed up yet at all. Curse you and your feeble hope. Though that didn't stop Sylus from almost cooing at his newfound 'lover'.

You will your hands to resume their task and pretend to be invisible. You hope he plays along. As the voices get closer you hear him faltering as he sees you in the kitchen.

You feel the blood rush to your ears, the sound so loud it drowns nearly everything else out. Heartbeat too fast, breathing once again to shallow. But then, he starts talking again, and moves away from the kitchen.

Your shoulders slump.

Without missing a beat, your eyes well up. Hot tears spill over your cheeks, and you don't even try to stop them anymore. It was useless anyway. You continued making the porridge, hands trembling slightly. How could he not even acknowledge your existence? You carefully put the porridge in the microwave, and just stare as the seconds tick by.

Numb.

That's the best way you could describe it at this point. It felt all wrong. You wanted to go home, but you weren’t certain you had a home anymore. You never really fit in. Neither here nor where you originally came from.

The microwaves harsh beep resounds through the kitchen, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts. You open the door and grab a towel to wrap around the now hot package of porridge.

You sit down at the kitchen counter and carefully open the package, nearly getting a third degree burn from the steam. You hiss as you blow on it. Moving so frantically you caught your own reflection in the oven. You looked horrid, dark circles encasing your eyes, cheeks hollower then you remember them being, and your hair disheveled.

You scoff at your own reflection. Pathetic. That was all you could think. You can’t even taste the porridge, but you shove it in nonetheless. Better something then nothing. It's become your mantra at this point.

The kitchen feels cold, the lack of companionship leaving the once warm and cozy kitchen feeling lost and deserted. The metal spoon feels foreign in your fingers as you softly poke your porridge. You discard the leftover half as you move to the bathroom. You decide it be best to take a shower, as to not draw too much attention to yourself.

You slowly undress yourself, turning on the shower to let it get to the right temperature. Once happy with said temperature, you brush out your hair and move under the shower head and let the borderline boiling water cascade down your body. You just stand there for a while, skin turning red and steam filling the bathroom.

Finally you move to clean yourself off and wash your hair. It had taken you longer then it usually would. Once done you dry yourself off and moisturize your skin, you take a second to think. Maybe you should just go out? You haven't gone out for a drink since you've been here. For a good reason of course, but maybe you could somehow sneak into Linkon and find a good bar there? That idea really struck a cord with you and you immediately look to put on something remotely wearable for a night out.

Entering the walk-in closet, you look at your small corner of clothes in the big room, made to fit hundreds of thousands of dollars of clothes. Unlucky for you, you had barely enough to fill up 3 shelves and have a couple clothes hanging. You do have a couple dresses but those are much to fancy for just a night out, so you hop into a short work skirt and a semi casual blouse and hold onto your heels as to not make to much noise when going out.

Applying a small layer of make up to hide the eyebags and make you look more alive, you feel adrenaline course through your veins. If Sylus caught you right now there was no way he would let you go. Or maybe he would? You weren't sure anymore. You check yourself out in the mirror, grinning softly when you don't look half dead and make way to the door as softly as you can.

In the hall you could hear Sylus's snores softly reverberate through the hall. Your heart clenches softly. The sound so achingly familiar, but no longer yours to dwell on. You call a cab, while surprised they even have cabs in the N109 zone. You put on your shoes and when the car arrives you get in softly and leave for Linkon.

~~~

The square is huge, and the sun was setting so beautifully. Sylus must be waking up right now. You missed the sun so dearly, so you just sit on a bench for a second, soaking up the lost time with your friend in space. The big fireball sets slowly, as if savoring the time with you just as much.

Taking a deep breath you realize you haven't smelled fresh air, truly fresh air, in months and a small smile graces your features. Once the sun has set completely you grab your phone and look for the nearest bar. Luckily for you, the nearest one was just a block away so you move from the bench to the bar.

For some reason your nerves are on edge, though you haven't seen Mephisto (You have learned all the birds hiding spots at this point) you felt like someone was watching you. Goosebumps form on your arm as you shake your head. You've just been on edge lately, your hormones and mental state are fried you tell yourself.

When you see the name of the bar illuminating the now darkening streets, you breathe a sigh of relief. Opening the mahogany doors your met with the smell of cigars, alcohol and cologne. Jazz music softly dances through the chatter of the people. You sit down at the bar and when the bartender asks you your order you ask him for a scotch neat, and as he walks away to grab your drink, you settle in your seat, focusing in on the way the trumpet conveys emotions that hit too close to home for your liking.

The clink of a glass makes you break your train of thoughts. You thank the bartender and take a sip of the amber liquid. The subtle burn flows down your throat and you feel yourself relax slowly. Though scotch would never be your first choice in other circumstances, it felt like it was called for today.

The chatter is consistent. You gaze at nothing really, letting your eyes cross the room as you take larger then necessary sips of your drink, and before you know it, your glass is empty. Ordering another one, you feel the familiar buzz of your phone still clutched in your hand.

You move it to your line of sight and your breath gets caught in your lungs when you see his name pop up. You don't even read the message, grabbing the drink that was just placed in front of you and downing it in one go. The burn was more significant this time and it makes you wince a bit. Tonight you were going to let go of everything, to the best of your abilities.

~~~

The cycle continues for a while, until you cannot read the time on your phone anymore and your positive that if you were to stand up right now your knees would buckle under the weight of the buzz in your brain.

It feels like it's been hours, maybe it has. You don't know anymore. When your certain you won't fall you get up to pay. The numbers felt astronomical to you, but you had gained Sylus's permission a long time ago to use his card, though you had never done so before, you decided today was the best time to do so.

The payment went through without a hitch and a lopsided grin dawns on your face. Your head was swimming and so was your vision, so finding the door turned out to be a bigger challenge then previously anticipated.

You not so graciously slam open the bar doors and inhale the fresh evening air. The temperature had dropped significantly, but being as inebriated as you were it didn't really bother you.

You walk. You don't know where, but for the first time in weeks, your heart didn't feel as heavy, and your steps felt almost giddy. Linkon was truly a sight to behold, technology far beyond what you had ever deemed possible, advanced to the point it was almost scary.

The buildings were tall, like, really tall. You marvel and look around in unabandoned glee. But then you feel it. An unfamiliar presence. You turn around as fast as you can without getting whiplash when suddenly your hoisted off the ground and tied up. You had no chance at resisting really so you let it happen.

Another deducted point in the battle between you and MC, because you could never fight your way out of this situation. So when the engine of the car your dumped into roars to life, all you can do is pray that Sylus still cares enough about you to come find you.

~~~

Part 6!

A/N: Y'all, thank you so much for the patience you have shown me! I'm very excited to know what you guys think of this new chapter! <33 Have a great day everyone💕

Taglist:

@jeondyy @animegamerfox @nm4565natty @famouschopshopgalaxy @supershygirl @justpassingdontworry @madam8 @babygirl-panda19 @sleepykittyenergy @corvid007 @bubera974 @t0rchknight @z3vl @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @dysphxriaii @strxw-bxrri @sillyfreakfanparty @cordidy @rynnpersonal @maria-elite @dana-nite @misselysia @phisen @wiosna88888 @hao-ming-8 @mentaltrouble2201 @gkfofucha @reni502 @0nychinus @lighting-and-shadow @harbingers-lullaby @yeahhemmings- @moonlight-dream54 @eialovescats @thisfeelswrong @cheshire-kitsune @nutshellera @mblaqgi @iunse @ninaaargh @tenaciouszombiewombat @sylusaethercore @000rpheus @udejoenrlddo @dyeinsomniadontwake @222410 @hon3yydew @angelwhizpers @dyeinsomniadontwake @starllight613 @pluto-890 a

[rosy-hollow]

Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t a man for sweet things.

That was the first thing you noticed about him when he first came into the coffee shop. 

The CEO of the well known company known as Dynamight, he came in to the cafe where you worked regularly with a pretty woman you eventually came to realize was his girlfriend.

They were a nice pair, and though you felt a little guilty for it, you couldn’t help but check out the CEO himself. He had gone viral on the internet only a year ago for becoming one of the youngest successful entrepreneurs of all time, launching his spicy food globally. With striking red eyes, spiky hair that looked like it would be soft to the touch (not that you would, even though you really wanted to), and his voice, god his voice, you could go on and on about how husky and gravelly his voice was, deep and commanding, one could immediately tell he was a businessman just from his authoritative tone.

However, he was kind. You could see it in the way he always opened the door for his girlfriend, treating her with the utmost care.

They were the perfect couple.

From what you could tell, he was a man of routine. Because every single day, without fail, he’d order the same exact thing. Two medium iced americanos, one with milk, and one without. It came to the point where you’d always start off your morning by making said two cups before anything else, knowing they’d come by to pick it up anyways.

Until one day, he came alone.

He didn’t order anything this time, instead just quietly shuffling into the booth he normally took with such a hollow expression on his face it pained you as well.

You weren’t close, you and Bakugou, but seeing his gentle demeanor gone in an instant, replaced with such a cold and hard shell made your heart clench.

It was strange, though you felt fleeting moments of attraction for the man (you’d never overstep boundaries though, respecting his relationship (?) ) and yet, you…cared.

It was strange, you thought, how you frowned and told your coworker to cover for you for a few minutes, and this time, stepping out of the routine you were used to.

It was strange, not making the americano you were used to, now trying something new.

Thinking about Bakugou, and what you noticed of him from the past few months of daily coffee visits, you decided that maybe, just maybe, he needed something new too.

Adding a few ice cubes to make the coffee relent its hot temperature, you put a lid on the cup and walk over to his booth, placing it on his table. 

“Here.” you say softly. “On the house.”

Bakugou looks up at you and blinks, surprised, staring at you as if he was drinking you in for the first time ever.

You chuckle awkwardly, unsure of what to do, internally panicking that you overstepping your boundaries.

“You looked a little, uh…downcast? I figured getting something in your system might make you feel better.” You smile gently. “I know it’s not what you usually order, but I figured a change of pace might be nice.”

Bakugou clears his throat and coughs out a thanks, under his breath. It’s not much, but you feel your heart warm all the same.

You watch as he sips it gingerly, eyes widening as he tastes the sweet flavor.

“Is this…caramel?” He murmurs, surprised.

You swallow thickly, nervous. “Yeah, I made a caramel macchiato for you..! …Do you like it?”

Bakugou smiles, a rare, genuine soft smile, as he clears his throat and takes another sip. “Yeah,s'good...I think you're right. Maybe I needed a change of pace.”

You smile warmly and look back at your coworker, who’s calling you over to help out in the kitchens. 

You look back over at the blonde apologetically, his eyes still trained on you, nodding in understanding as you tell him that you’re needed elsewhere, but to not hesitate to call you if he needed anything.

As you walk away, you don’t notice the red eyes still trained on your retreating form. 

Bakugou scolds himself. His ex-girlfriend had dumped him only two days ago and now he can’t get your damn smile out of his head.

When you return from the kitchen, you see Bakugou’s booth empty, save for a $50 tip and a card that reads “Call me.” with a number on it.

You can’t help but feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach, trying to tame your flustered face as you quickly pocket the money and card and rush back to your counter, now replaying your interaction with the man over and over in your head.

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t a man for sweet things.

But you? You might be the exception.

A/N this was smthn i wrote for an event a while back... but i liked it a lot so repost!!

[gf2bellamy]

hi athena!! hope youre doing very well<3 could i request reader staying at spencer’s place for the first time, she wakes up in the middle of the night to drink water or sth and gets cold im her light pajamas (its summer maybe) and wears his shirt to the kitchen, and when she does so he wakes up and sees her in his shirt and gets all flustered and blushy cause she looks so cute and pretty and it strikes him that he finally has a gf who wants him back and loves him and yeah sorry for the long description have a nice day <333

cold — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff fluff fluff a/n: hiii !!<333 i hope you like this :)

You shivered as you tiptoed out of Spencer’s room. You immediately regretted your choice of pyjamas , a tanktop and shorts,  the ones you had brought with you to Spencer's apartment. The choice of clothing had seemed reasonable at first. It had been a very hot summer day after all. Yet, the temperature dropped at night, by at least 10 degrees. 

This was your first time staying over, and the evening had been nothing short of perfect. From giggling over Spencer almost dropping his food, because he was so nervous to cuddling on the couch as he read to you while brushing his fingers through your hair. 

The two of you had fallen asleep just barely an hour ago, but you’d woken up again with a dry mouth and the need for some water. Which is why you were leaning against the counter now, a cup of water in your hand. While the cold water soothed your throat, it didn't help with your body temperature. 

“Why is it so cold?” you mumbled to yourself, in the dark, rubbing your arms.

You didn't bother washing the glass, considering you were way too sleepy, and you already missed laying in Spencer’s arms. But as you walked past the couch towards Spencer’s room, his cardigan thrown over the arm of the couch caught your eye. (It was folded, of course.)

Your tank top wasn’t exactly keeping you warm, and before you could second guess yourself,  you slipped it on. It warmed you immediately. Happily you patted back to Spencer’s bedroom. Spencer hadn’t moved much, still sprawled across the mattress with one arm outstretched toward the space you’d left behind.  Once you settled under the covers, Spencer immediately pulled you into his arms.

“Where were you?” He didn't really sound awake. But he was rubbing his knuckles lazily over your spine.

 “Just got thirsty. Go back to sleep,” you whispered, feeling slightly bad for waking him up. Spencer just made a soft sleepy sound as he pulled you closer. He managed to muster the last ounce of energy to kiss your forehead, before he went back to his dreams. You fell asleep with a smile and warm, from both his cardigan and his hold.

The next morning, you were the one to wake up to an empty side of the bed. Cold sheets and a faint indentation where his body had been just 20 minutes ago. You sat up slowly , stretching with a loud yawn. Somewhere outside of the bedroom, you could hear the coffee machine hum to life too. The sound immediately put a smile on your face. You could already picture Spencer filling up the two cups of coffee, clearly wanting to wake you up with breakfast and coffee.

And that was indeed Spencer's plan. 

He slipped out of bed early, determined to surprise you with breakfast in bed.He was just pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with the tiny chip on the handle that you insisted made it “lucky”, when he heard your footsteps. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. So much for the surprise.

He turned, ready to greet you with a "good morning," but the words dissolved on his tongue the second he saw you.

There you were. Groggily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

In his cardigan. 

“Morning, Spence,” you mumbled, stepping closer as you stared at the pancakes he had made. He was still blinking at you, not moving, even when you stood next to him at the counter, your cheek resting against his arm. You didn't reach for the pancakes immediately, the taste of toothpaste still lingering in your mouth. 

"You made breakfast?" you asked, pouting slightly, not in disappointment, but in that soft, overwhelmed way you did when he caught you off guard with his sweetness. The pancakes had chocolate chips on them, forming a smiley on the dough. 

You finally looked up, noticing his uncharacteristic silence. "Spence?"

His face was flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. You stared back, watching as he blinked rapidly.

You were in his cardigan. In his apartment? Arms hugging his waist ? Looking at him with those loving eyes? That look in your eyes that was only reserved for him? 

“Morning”, he finally managed. His voice was quiet yet laced with so much sweetness, almost as sweet as the chocolate chips he had been snacking on. Your hands were still on his waist, softly rubbing his shirt. 

“Where did you just go?” you grinned, tilting your head. The oversized cardigan slipped off one shoulder, exposing the strap of your tank top beneath. Spencer's hand reached out instinctively to tug it up. His thumb lingering on your shoulder. 

"You're wearing my cardigan," he said, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and let your hands fall from his waist to adjust the sleeves. "Is-is that bad? Sorry, I was cold last night," you mumbled, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Not bad at all.” Spencer shook his head. “Not at all. If anything –” He paused, when you met his eyes. “If anything, I’d like you to just wear my clothes from now on.” 

A surprised giggle escaped you, and Spencer took advantage of the way your face lit up, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead and you could feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "You look so pretty I malfunctioned," he admitted as he leaned back just enough to see your reaction. "That's all."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a smile so wide it almost hurt. "Well, it's very cozy," you said, fiddling with the hem of the cardigan.

Spencer's gaze dropped to where your fingers played with the fabric before returning to your face, his expression unbearably tender. "You wear it better than me," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I really do," you teased, grinning up at him.

You were joking, of course you were, but Spencer just nodded, completely serious, his eyes tracing the way his cardigan swallowed your frame. The sleeves pooled around your wrists, the collar slipping off one shoulder again, and god, he never wanted to see you in anything else.

But more than that, more than the way you looked drowning in his clothes, Spencer still couldn’t quite believe it.Believe that you loved him. Enough to stay over at his apartment. Enough to fall asleep tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers curled in your hair.  Enough to be standing in front of him right now, bathed in morning light, his cardigan hanging off your shoulders, peeking at the pancakes with that sleepy, contented look.

He didn't notice himself zoning out again. 

“Spencer. Where did you go again?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist while the other sneaked toward the plate, popping a few chocolate chips into your mouth. 

"Sorry," he shook his head, blinking rapidly. He needed to stop doing that, needed to stop getting so lost in the overwhelming reality of you choosing him, staying with him, loving him, but god, it was impossible when you looked like this. When you felt like this. When you were here.

You gave him another concerned look, your fingers tightening slightly at his waist before you grabbed another chocolate chip, holding it up to his lips. "You sure you're okay?"

Of course he ate it immediately but not without catching your wrist first, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingertips. The chocolate melted sweetly on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the way you looked at him, all soft and fond and his.

"Mhm," he hummed, lips still brushing your skin. "I just love you." The words came out muffled, half-embarrassed, but so unbearably true. He was drunk on it, on you, his thoughts syrupy and slow with affection. "A lot," he added, because once wasn't enough, would never be enough.

You watched him with wide eyes. “Why do you have to be so lovely all the time?” you said, pouting now. 

Spencer couldn't help it. He gestured dramatically at you, his voice pitching higher with playful emphasis. "Look at you." As if it wasn't obvious. As if the sight of you swimming in his cardigan, your hair mussed from sleep, wasn't enough to undo him completely. "You're wearing my clothes. How am I supposed to not be lovely about you?"

"You're too sweet for your own good, Spencer Reid," you sighed, shaking your head as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his chest. His arms came up automatically to cradle you closer, one hand splaying across your back while the other gently carded through your sleep-tangled hair. You melted further against him as his lips found your crown, pressing a series of featherlight kisses.

"Can we eat?" you finally mumbled ( after at least 15 kisses. )

Spencer chuckled, the vibration rumbling pleasantly against your cheek before he placed one last kiss to your temple and pulled away. You immediately claimed the nearest chair, swinging your legs slightly as you settled in. Spencer followed, his chair scraping closer until his knee bumped yours. He turned his whole body toward you, so he could admire you.

"Oh my god, Spencer," you cheered around a mouthful, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "You didn't burn them."

"Funny," he deadpanned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He took notice of the way your sleeves kept falling into the way of your fork. without hesitation, he set his own utensils down and leaned across the space between you, his fingers gently folding back the soft fabric until your wrists were free. You repaid his kindness by pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling when he immediately flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

"I love you too," you murmured, realizing with a startle you hadn't said it back earlier. You'd always prided yourself on never letting those words go unanswered, not when they came from him, not when they filled you up with so much happiness, you thought you might burst with it. Spencer looked up from his plate, syrup glazing his fork mid-air. His smile was soft, knowing, the morning light catching in his lashes as he met your gaze.

"I know you do," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

And it was.

[dokyumms]

i'll take the time, treat you like a lady

pairings: the8 x afab!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 616

cw: periods, mention of medication (ibuprofen), excessive use of “băobèi”

a/n: a request for anon! posting this late bc i legit spent the whole day writing a svt reaction just to get a writer's block halfway through but i still tried to finish it and it didn't end well........

"i'm bleeding, in pure pain, and hormonal."

that's the text you send to minghao on a tuesday afternoon. to be fair, it's the truth. your period came in full swing with no warning while minghao was out, so now you're stuck with bloody bed sheets (that are currently being washed) and the worst cramps you've gotten in your life.

normally, you wouldn't text him over this stuff, but right now, you're definitely not in the mood to be alone.

at first, he responds with, "??" but then follows up with, "i'm On my way!"

groaning at the throbbing pain in your lower abdomen, you curl into yourself and wait impatiently for your boyfriend on the couch.

it’s about 15 minutes before minghao enters the apartment, calling out your name as he takes off his shoes.

he softens when he finds you on the couch, still curled into yourself, arms wrapped around your waist area as you sleep.

reaching out, he almost thinks about letting you rest more, but then you make a discomforted noise in your sleep and he pokes you a little.

“bǎobèi, i’m here~” he sing songs softly, attempting to wake you up. you wink one eye open, and go right back to sleep.

now he’s the one groaning, “aren’t you on your period? you need to wake up so you can take ibuprofen.” unfortunately, you’re too stubborn for your own good, refusing to get up.

he sighs, deciding not to test you, he gives you a kiss on the forehead, “fine, if you don’t want to get up, i’ll just take care of you from here. give me a minute.” you cry out in protest at the absence of his warmth, but that reason is quickly replaced by another strike of pain going through your lower abdomen.

after what seems like years (for you), minghao returns with ibuprofen and a hot water bottle. “here, let me take care of you, love.” he says, stroking your hair and watching you intently as you take the painkiller.

he lays the hot water bottle on you, giving you another kiss before he gets up to go make you a meal when you reach for his arm.

“can you just stay here for a little?”

“but you need to eat something,” he insists hesitantly, though he does consider your suggestion.

“please, hao,” you plead, looking up at him with the best puppy eyes you can muster.

you watch as he goes through an internal argument with himself before finally accepting defeat because he doesn’t want to accidentally make you cry.

“don’t complain when your stomach starts hurting because you haven’t eaten.” he warns lightly (knowing damn well he’d go make you food in record time) as he slides in next to you. you laugh, thinking of something to shoot back, but you feel the throbbing pain come back before you can say anything.

you bite back a curse and fall onto minghao’s chest, whining, “when does it (the ibuprofen) kick in~”

“soon, băobèi, soon.” he murmurs, pulling a blanket over you two and wrapping his arms around you. “it’s gonna go away, i promise.” he whispers along with other reassuring words, holding you tightly.

but once the pain subsides comes the emotional sensitivity…

“what’s wrong, love?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead when you start crying out of nowhere.

“i was just reminded of this video that had a cat in it and i realized that i’ll never have a cat because i’m allergic. but they’re so cute~” you cry into minghao’s shoulder.

“ah, we can get a stuffed animal cat, it’s okay băobèi.”

“but it’s not the same!”

and this repeats every single month.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Yoongi Fic Recommendations Part 2

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

part 1

Series

Miss Dial (s) by @versigny ⊹₊⋆ [11:31] You: okay so i’m texting you now like I promised instead of drunktexting yoongi and telling him how badly i want his cock tonight. Arent you proud?

[11:32] unknown number: this is yoongi, hi 

Please Be Naked (a f s) (ft. namjoon) by @floralseokjin ⊹₊⋆ Recently heartbroken, it feels like you’ll never be able to get over it. But a chance encounter with a guy you haven’t seen in months changes everything…  

One Shots

want a taste? (f s) by @suga-kookiemonster ⊹₊⋆ pretzel pro. most skillful tongue in the food court world. allegedly. that’s what yoongi keeps telling you, anyway. of course, you’re reasonably skeptical of his claims—but if there’s one thing that motivates the notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong.

take care of you (f s) by @kookslastbutton ⊹₊⋆ To keep your fiance from burning out you suggest a weekend getaway to Gapyeong, a charming town about an hour outside Seoul. You've specifically asked him to leave his work equipment at home but like a deep rooted habit, he still brings it with him. You're left with no choice but to find a way to get his attention back.

You Broke Me (f) by @7ndipity ⊹₊⋆ Just clingy, fluffy Yoongi after Reader comes home after a month-long trip

Shy (s) by @7ndipity ⊹₊⋆ You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

Sweet Spot (s f) by @cultleaderyoongi ⊹₊⋆ Three months into dating, Yoongi ponders what the perfect scenario for a love confession would be. There's no manual stating when and where and how is appropriate. It's only convenient when his body reacts faster than his brain, doing the job for him.

Eargasm (s) by @lavishedinjimin ⊹₊⋆ The idea of having your first ever orgasm by talking to a hot, random stranger through your phone scares the living hell out of you, but maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.

F*ck Christmas (a f s) by @sailoryooons ⊹₊⋆ Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

Workaholic (s) by @hobiwonder ⊹₊⋆ Yoongi needs to relax and Hoseok has many tricks up his sleeve to make him. None of them Yoongi thought included hiring a hooker to pay him a visit one stormy night. You were only trying to escape a crazed man chasing you down on a stormy night. Never was your intention to end up in an attractive man’s house. Definitely not one who thought you were a hooker. 

Backtrack (s) (ft. jimin) by @mapofthesea ⊹₊⋆ There’s no telling just how long you'd been stuck in the windowless studio, and you’re just about ready to walk out and forfeit your paycheck for the week, until your bosses strike up an interesting bargain.

the pink pill (s) by @dollfaceksj ⊹₊⋆ In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

all night (s) (ft. namjoon) by @axigailxo ⊹₊⋆ in which listening to music during a smoke sesh with your best friends namjoon and yoongi in the studio turns into much more

damn the charcuterie board. (s) (ft. jimin) by @bratkook

[allfearstofallto]

"Tell Me You Love Me,"

Yandere! Male x Fem! Reader

FT: Childe and Scaramouche

TW: yandere, forced married au, violence, mentions of punishments (rice kneeling and starvation)

Childe

With your eyebrows knitted together and furrowed, lips pressed together in a tight smile and cheeks just ever so slightly puffed out, this is when Childe found you the cutest. Your smile was nice and he had an extra special place in his heart for the way you looked as you sobbed, but nothing could ever top your pout. It was to the point where he'd do things to entice it out of you, intentionally teasing you to see you puff up in that oh so adorable anger.

His cold, thin finger reached out and gently poked the soft cushion of your cheek, sinking into the plumpness of your face. Even when you slapped his hand away, he couldn't help, but to swoon at how cute you were. You couldn't harm him, not with those weak little punches, but you sure could try. And he absolutely loved watching you try. You seldom touched him of your own accord, so what was the harm in enticing you to do so? 

“I'm not in the mood to deal with you, Ajax,” You muttered, voice barely above a whisper. You spat his name like it was filthy, even crossing your arms afterwards as if to show you were deathly serious. He knew that you were, you had every right to be, yet he still sat next to you, so close his thigh pressed against yours. 

He placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest in an unwanted embrace. It was a move that earned him a slap across the face from you. A painful one at that. Not unbearable of course, more akin to a cat scratch. Yes the cat hurt you, but who could stay mad at such a cute animal?  You on the other hand, he could see you holding your tingling palm, trying to hide the pain you were feeling. You were able to hit him because he let you, but an untrained fighter such as yourself was no match for a harbinger.

“Now look what you've done,” he could feel his cheek growing a bit hot from the strike, “You've gone and hurt the both of us.”

You shot him a glare, a very harsh one. If looks could kill he would've died on the spot. But he was immune to your gaze. More than immune to it actually, he reveled in the fact that you looked at him that way. That your pretty face could make such an awful expression. That the hatred you felt for him, causes your features to contort into something almost ugly, but beautiful to him.

“Maybe I wouldn't have had to if you weren't such a liar!” You raised your trembling voice, eyes welling with tears. Watching you go from anger to falling apart at the seams. He was the only person who could make you feel this way and it made him feel a sense of pride.

“What'd I lie about?” He teased. He looked up with a finger pressed against his chin, playfully beginning to ponder. If your hand wasn't already aching from the slap, you would've punched him, right in his smug little face.

“You said I could go,” you words were strained through tears that wouldn't stop cascading down your face, “I did everything you told me to. You promised!”

He snapped his fingers in recognition, “Oh! That's it! You wished to go to the lantern rite!”

The sight of him pretending was making you even more angry. But you couldn't let it boil over any more. Childe would only allow so much before he started to get upset, finally showing you how gentle he was being with you before. Few people even got the chance to place hands on him and live.

“You said I could go,” you repeated again slowly. 

And he did. You slaved away, doting on him like the perfect wife. Doing everything he wanted. You were at his beck and call, acting on his every whim. Just for the chance to touch the soil of Liyue again, to smell the air, to taste the food…to see your family. They went to the lantern rite every year, and you hoped that that tradition didn't end just because you'd vanished. All you needed was a glimpse of their faces, no talking necessary. Even though you knew they'd want to see you, the selfish part of you was okay with them thinking you were dead or gone for good. That way they wouldn't risk butting heads with the Fatui, or worse, actually managing to meet with Childe.

“I was hoping you'd forgotten about that,” Childe spoke, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

You merely scoffed. You wouldn't be that nice to him without incentive. Yet after the initial agreement, the trip was never planned, luggage wasn't packed, carriages weren't called. As the days grew more and more near, you worried about the long trek to Liyue from Snezhnaya. You'd miss the Rite if you left too late, yet there was no urgency on his side of the deal.

He hummed for a moment, thinking with that face you hated so much. It meant he had more up his sleeve. You knew better than to trust a harbinger to withhold their side of the bargain, but like an idiot you still trusted him.

“I have one more request,” he began.

“That's not what we agreed on!” 

“Then I guess you just don't want to go?” 

You crossed your arms in surrender. There was that pout that he loved so much. Those puffed up cheeks and furrowed brows. He could eat you up with how cute you were, practically begging for his attention.

“It's easy, I promise,” he leaned as close to you as he could get and you resisted the urge to slap him again, “Just tell me you love me.”

You rolled your eyes, realizing that this was where he was going with it. He always asked you to do it and you always refused. You didn't love him. You hardly even liked him. You despised him actually. Found him disgusting and deplorable. He was less than human in your eyes, more like filth under your feet. But your love for your family outweighed your hatred for him.

“I love you,” you said so monotone, you almost sounded like a robot. Despite your lack of emotion, his face seemed to light up with glee.

“Again,”

“That's not what we agreed-”

He cut you off before you could finish the thought, “Again.”

“I love you,”

“Say my name too,” his voice was breathy, hurried even. You'd never seen his face such a deep shade of red before. It didn't even cross your mind that the Ajax that teased you so much, the Ajax that forced you into a marriage and so many other things, was able to blush. He hushed you again before you could open your mouth in protest, “Say my real name.”

You let out a sigh, “I love you, Ajax.”

His smirk was disgusting as he sat next to you in glee, like the words were sinking into his heart. Childe just sat there, riding the high of feeling your non-existent love before he spoke again calmly.

“I'll have the carriage packed tonight, we leave in the morning,”

Scaramouche

You are Scaramouche's life blood. Truly what keeps him going. His heart which ticks instead of beats, ticks for you, his cold body, warms for you. Although, he'd never admit something as embarrassing as that. Nor would he tell you that he longs for your presence at his side constantly. That he rushes through his assignments, while being noticeably irritable and unapproachable, just so he can make it home to you. Where he'll pretend that he's not head over heels in love with you, and scoffs at your every word. Ignoring you, while simultaneously sticking to you like glue, even with your protests.

He watches couples as they smother each other with affection, kissing each other as if nothing else matters, embracing one another like they're physically unable to tear themselves apart, and he feels something so new to him. Jealousy? No. It's more akin to envy. He wants to do those things and maybe even more. He wants to be the obnoxious couple who can't seem to get their hands off of each other, he wants you to feel the withdrawal from his touch, as he feels from yours.

These are all hopeful thoughts, weary dreams even. He can force you to pretend, but he can't force the feelings. Even if he tells you to look happy when he touches you, there's a lack of light in your eyes that he can't even punish away. You'll never truly feel the way he wants you to. Not now, at least. But there's a wishful part inside of him that claws at his chest, hoping that someday you'll develop those feelings. As he watches you across the parlor, your focus more on the calligraphy that he told you to do than anything else, he knows that that day won't be soon.

You look so beautiful while trying to perfect the brush strokes. Ethereal even. Your skin glows under warm candle light, and even though you try to appear emotionless in front of him, the face you make when you concentrate always finds its way out.

“I'll be leaving on a mission soon,” he finally says into the silence.

You raised your head from your work, looking him in the eye before you speak. You truly are obedient, just as he trained you to be.

“Safe travels, my Lord,” you reply with that saccharine sweet voice, but he knows there's no meaning behind it. No compassion, no joy, no hope. You'd be happy if he died out there, still feeling the same indifference towards him that you do right now. It'd actually make you happier.

His mind shifts back to those couples he'd always see, the ones that were stuck to each other like glue. They'd beg and cry for the other not to leave, holding their hands to pull their lover back in a display of desperation for their time. Yet here you sat. Indifferent. Uncaring. Unloving.

“Don't you have anything else to say to me?” He questioned while that part of him that was still holding on to hope was fighting its way out. If you just told him to stay he would. If you told him that you loved him, he'd come home even quicker. He'd be more brutal, just for the chance to slip into your embrace. Yet only confusion met his question.

“I'll see you soon?” Words which were supposed to be spoken as a gesture of love, were coming out as a question. You didn't want to see him soon, nor did you wish for him to travel safely. Your lack of care has him seething, but only his regular, nonchalant demeanor showed on his face.

“Would you rather kneel on rice or go five days without food?”

Your head shot up when you heard his question, his voice cold and serious. Your heart was pounding in your ears so loudly, you wondered if he could hear it. He didn't have to to know how tense you were at the idea of the punishments, he could see it in your expression. Your look of indifference was quickly changed to fear, large doe eyes threatening to fill with tears.

“Neither, my Lord,” you stammered out, “I don't think I've done anything worthy of punishment.”

And you hadn't. You’d done everything he told you to, exactly the way he wanted you to. Yet his ego and constant need for more of you, to claim you as his entirely, to swallow you whole, it made him angry. He'd given you a better life than you'd ever had before, he'd give you anything you wished for if you'd just open your pretty little mouth to ask, and all he wanted in return was your affection. Your attention. Your love.

“I'll ask you again, even though you know I hate repeating myself,” his red framed eyes glared down at you. Even at his short stature, he suddenly felt mountain tall, dwarfing above you in a way that made you want to sink into yourself, “I'll be leaving on a mission soon, do you have anything to say to me?”

You gulped down your saliva, feeling the way you had to force it down your throat as more pooled in your mouth, “Safe….safe travels, my Lord,” you stuttered. It was the same thing you always said, the same thing you were told to say. He left on trips often, but the script never changed. You were to wish him safe travels and see him off at the door. Yet here you stood before him, a quivering mess as he glared down at you, growing angrier at what was presumably the wrong answer.

“You must want to be punished,” he hummed while looking disinterested.

The pain of rice digging into your knees or the hunger pains of starvation, they were both punishments you knew well. Neither was one you wanted to experience again. After such hard work to act the way he wanted you to, you'd gone a long time without being punished. But the way he was looking at you struck fear in your head, your hands trembled as you desperately began to plead.

“I don't understand, my lord, please tell me what I'm doing wrong,”

“You really are stupid,” he scoffed, but there was a flush forming in his face as he realized just how overboard he was going for this one little thing. Something he'd never asked for before. But the thought was eating away at him, the hope was clawing out of his body. Bashfully, he looked down at the floor, “Tell me that you love me…and that you'll miss me while I'm gone.”

Your tears were dried quickly and you slowed your labored breathing. A bit of anger was bubbling in the pit of your stomach, anger at the fact that was going to punish you over something so miniscule, anger you hadn't felt towards him since the very beginning of this all. Since the day he told you that you were going to be his wife, but it wasn't a question, it was an order. Your very first order.

“I love you, my lord. I'll miss you so very much while you're gone,” you wondered if he wanted a performance. You did your best to make the words sound genuine, despite the way you detested him and his finicky personality.

“Do you mean that?” He asked, his voice sounding almost hopeful. In his heart of hearts he knew it wasn't true, but that didn't stop the excitement from growing.

“Of course, my Lord,” you lied. It was a good lie though, seeing as it earned you a subtle smile upon his lips.

“I'll bring you back a gift from Mondstadt, for being so good recently” he whispered while lightly patting your head. But the enticing idea of a gift wasn't even enough to pull you from your fear. You'd dodged a bullet, but there were more to come.

[cherrrydior]

intoducing sleazy!rafe

note: this was not supposed to be smutty. I got carried away 😭. i need more dialogue... HOW DO I ADD MEORE?!?!? I gave up at the end, im sorry

oh, how you ignored all his red flags just because he had a pretty face and striking blue eyes. you've come to regret it and there's not much you can do about it.

on your first date, rafe shows up half an hour late, in a wrinkled, orange polo shirt, high with a freshly rolled blunt behind his ear. there's remnants of white powder along the edge of his nostril. his hair is greasy, and you wish he had put more effort into his appearance with all the dirty stares you were receiving.

he lazily chuckles at god knows what. his pupils are blown and his eyes are lidded. he has to tilt his head slightly up to be able to see you.

"let's eat?" you're unsure at this point, hesitating to call up one of your friends fo an excuse. your friends warned you about this. did you listen? no. you didn't want to prove them wrong though, always seeing the best in people.

"yeah... yeah"

when you flip you hair over your shoulder he says "i wonder how many times it'll wrap around my wrist." you freeze.

you fight every nerve in your body to refrain from rolling your eyes. gosh, he was so high.

the whole date went by with him making crude remarks directed towards you and the alcohol you guys were getting served was not doing anything to help the situation. you were buzzed and horny.

his gaze kept dropping towards your glossy lips and chest accentuated perfectly by the silk dress you were wearing. with the way he was licking his lips and shifting in his seat, there was no way he was letting you go home without him.

you felt exposed with the way he was eye-fucking you and you felt all the more turned on, your nipples hardening and poking out through the thin fabric.

you, were no better. you mirrored his actions, eyes constantly flicking down towards his lips every time he licked them, suggestively taking food into your mouth and leaning down enough to expose as much flesh of your tips without flashing him your nipples. something about his nasally, rich kid voice had you hanging onto his every word.

"y'look sexy." rafe's licking his lips, undressing you with his eyes. you squirm in your sit at his gaze. "got such a beautiful little thing sitting in front of me."

he's hot, that's for sure. maybe, one night wouldn't hurt.

"wanna go back to mine?"

"mhm" the moment you affirm your answer, he throws a wad of cash on the table, grabs your bag and drags you out the restaurant. he's taking large steps, much to large for your stiletto clad feet. "rafe, slow down." he slows down and looks back at you, before he starts walking towards you and throws you over his shoulder.

you squeal and he gives your ass a firm slap making you yelp. "what a slut. y'ass is basically hanging out." you gasp at the delicious sting on your cheek. "fuck, I don't think I can wait." he hissed as his truck came into view.

unlocking his truck, he pushes you into the back-seat, grateful for his illegally tinted windows. and then his lips are on yours.

he's everywhere, all at once. hands grabbing whatever he can, wherever he can. thighs, cheeks, ass, tits. he's groaning into your mouth, tongue pushing past your lips and fighting with yours.

short, heavy breaths fill the vehicle. your flushed with need. a needy moan leaves your lips as rafe starts undulating his hips into yours. your hands snake to his belt. "I need you." you whisper against his mouth. he just hums and rolls his hips with more insistence into you, chasing his own pleasure. he clasps both your hand between his and puts them above you while his other hand continues groping your tits.

he trails his kisses down to your shoulder, nipping and sucking along the way. a particularly harsh suck has you hissing, knowing it would leave a mark. he bites the strap of your dress, pulling it down your shoulder. he does the same to the other side, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress, pulling it down.

your panties are drenched, sticking to you like a second skin. the friction of rafe's tip underneath his jeans, rubbing against your clit has you mewling in pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum" he snaps out of his horny daze and stops moving. he pulls his lips back but attempt to chase after him yet you fail. there's a string of saliva connecting the both of you together.

rafe fumbles with the buckle of his belt and leans over to open the centre console. he pulls out a condom, putting the edge of the wrapper between his teeth and tugging to rip the foil open while pulling himself out his boxers. you pull your own panties off, chucking them at rafe's face.

he rubs his tip along your folds before pushing in all the way. rafe looks at you to find you already staring up at him with doe eyes and your bottom lip between your teeth. a nod from you, and a roll of your hips is all he needs before he starts pumping in and out of you. fast.

it's not long before you hear the squelch of your pussy and the sound of skin slapping. "fuck. y'feel s'good, baby," rafe grunts out. a desperate, whimper escapes from your lips at his praise and you wall flutters around his thick cock. "y'like that, don't you?"

you let out a needy whine. "more." rafe flips the two of you over so that you're straddling him. one hand gripping your hip, the other grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts fucking up into you.

rafe's focus goes down to your tits and the way they jiggle every time he slams his hips into yours. he brings his mouth down and starts sucking on your nipple and you choke on a moan.

he brings one hand down to your clit and starts rubbing, listening to the way you let out an unrestrained sob, the pleasure becoming too much.

"w-wait" you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach and squeeze if your pussy, trying your best to push yourself away.

"y'bout to come, hm?" you nod your head, getting a small, breathless "yes" out. "cum f'me, baby." you feel your body convulse as your orgasm washes over you, however, rafe keeps fucking into you chasing his high, finishing moments later.

[queenpiranhadon]

𝙰/𝙽: This was actually really cute and really fun to write <33 This is apart of @pretty-sparkle-bomb 's Dynamight GZG event so go check out the other works once they're released!! Here's my masterlist!

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): Nothing really, Bakugou experiences a breakup (not with you) pining, coffee shop AU, I don't think reader's gender is specified but it's written with f!reader in mind <3

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): CEO!Bakugou x Barista!Reader

Katsuki Bakugou wasn't a man for sweet things.

That was the first thing you noticed about him when he first came into the coffee shop.

The CEO of the well known company known as Dynamight, he came in to the cafe where you worked regularly with a pretty woman you eventually came to realize was his girlfriend.

They were a nice pair, and though you felt a little guilty for it, you couldn't help but check out the CEO himself. He had gone viral on the internet only a year ago for becoming one of the youngest successful entrepreneurs of all time, launching his spicy food globally. With striking red eyes, spiky hair that looked like it would be soft to the touch (not that you would, even though you really wanted to), and his voice, god his voice, you could go on and on about how husky and gravelly his voice was, deep and commanding, one could immediately tell he was a businessman just from his authoritative tone.

However, he was kind. You could see it in the way he always opened the door for his girlfriend, treating her with the utmost care.

They were the perfect couple.

From what you could tell, he was a man of routine. Because every single day, without fail, he'd order the same exact thing. Two medium iced americanos, one with milk, and one without. It came to the point where you'd always start off your morning by making said two cups before anything else, knowing they'd come by to pick it up anyways.

Until one day, he came alone.

He didn't order anything this time, instead just quietly shuffling into the booth he normally took with such a hollow expression on his face it pained you as well.

You weren't close, you and Bakugou, but seeing his gentle demeanor gone in an instant, replaced with such a cold and hard shell made your heart clench.

It was strange, though you felt fleeting moments of attraction for the man (you'd never overstep boundaries though, respecting his relationship (?) ) and yet, you...cared.

It was strange, you thought, how you frowned and told your coworker to cover for you for a few minutes, and this time, stepping out of the routine you were used to.

It was strange, not making the americano you were used to, now trying something new.

Thinking about Bakugou, and what you noticed of him from the past few months of daily coffee visits, you decided that maybe, just maybe, he needed something new too.

Adding a few ice cubes to make the coffee relent its hot temperature, you put a lid on the cup and walk over to his booth, placing it on his table.

"Here." you say softly. "On the house."

Bakugou looks up at you and blinks, surprised, staring at you as if he was drinking you in for the first time ever.

You chuckle awkwardly, unsure of what to do, internally panicking that you overstepping your boundaries.

"You looked a little, uh...downcast? I figured getting something in your system might make you feel better." You smile gently. "I know it's not what you usually order, but I figured a change of pace might be nice."

Bakugou clears his throat and coughs out a thanks, under his breath. It's not much, but you feel your heart warm all the same.

You watch as he sips it gingerly, eyes widening as he tastes the sweet flavor.

"Is this...caramel?" He murmurs, surprised.

You swallow thickly, nervous. "Yeah, I made a caramel macchiato for you..! ...Do you like it?"

Bakugou smiles, a rare, genuine soft smile, as he clears his throat and takes another sip. "Yeah, s'good...m'not usually one for sweet things, but...I think yer right. Maybe I needed a change of pace."

You smile warmly and look back at your coworker, who's calling you over to help out in the kitchens.

You look back over at the blonde apologetically, his eyes still trained on you, nodding in understanding as you tell him that you're needed elsewhere, but to not hesitate to call you if he needed anything.

As you walk away, you don't notice the red eyes still trained on your retreating form.

Bakugou scolds himself. His girlfriend has dumped him only last night and now he can't get your damn smile out of his head.

When you return from the kitchen, you see Bakugou's booth empty, sans a $50 tip and a card that reads "Call me." with a number on it.

You can't help but feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach, trying to tame your flustered face as you quickly pocket the money and card and rush back to your counter, now replaying your interaction with the man over and over in your head.

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't a man for sweet things.

But you? You might be the exception.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The GDA scrambles to recoup losses. Relationships begin and end- badly.  [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: I dunno. It's! Uhm! Ref, you shouldn't say that!

[Part one]  [4]  [Ao3] [6] [Chapter Index]

5 * Godspeed, Kid [8k]

"You broke my heart, 

I hope you die,

Emptier than how I feel inside,

And when you lay your head to rest at night I hope that you,

Never fall asleep when you think of all the things you do."

Plate Glass Apology - Apes of the State

        "He's not even gonna see it." Your nosy co-worker says. 

        "It's the principle." You say, pouring the milk slower, getting to the bottom of the pitcher where the thick foam sat. "Can't work up the guts to say something so," your words ebb as you delicately shake the pitcher, letting a glob of foam sit atop the caramel latte, "I'll do this until he notices." With a flick of the wrist, you strike the glob through. Leaving a heart of milk foam you hide under a white lid. 

        "Black Americano, London fog, and a caramel latte for Nolan." You push the drinks out all at once. A teenage boy slides off a tall chair at the center table in the lobby. You avert your gaze as he grabs the order, muttering thanks. You watch him walk away, feeling heat in your cheeks and butterflies in your belly. 

        He slides into the chair, passing out drinks. Not taking the lid off the cup, not noticing again. It's whatever, you're too scared to say what you want. Too shy. What were the chances anyway? Cute boy and a yearning barista? 

        His brick wall of a father catches your eye. Mustache twitching up at you before he turned to his son. He speaks low, so low you can't hear.  "I think that girl likes you, Mark." 

        Mark stiffens, going bright red. "T-there's no way you know that."

        Nolan sips his Americano. Nothing close as good to the real thing, but passable for a peaceful morning with his family. "Oh, I know."

        His mother laughs into her palm. The order printer spits out a ticket, you get back to work. 

        At some point, your manager sets you behind the register. The Saturday mid-morning rush is killing you. Understaffed, flooded with orders. The customers keep coming with no end in sight. You're the only cashier, and the people are getting impatient. 

        You can feel the waves of contempt wafting off everyone behind your current customer. Some middle-aged nobody who was currently driving you insane. "I want something hot, no, cold, wait, mmm, maybe hot." You make recommendations. "It has to be keto. Are any of your syrups gluten-free? What's the calorie count per squirt of syrup? Do you have sugar-free milk?" You try and try to steer her in the right direction but she won't listen. The line is growing and honestly, you want it to move so you can talk to the boy in line. Holding his cup, blushing, looking at his feet, then at his parents for moral support. 

        You shouldn't do it. Using your powers in public was a terrible idea, it always was. People don't much like mind-fuckers. You'd been demure using them. Controlling people wasn't right, it felt icky. You were determined to be good and very, very normal. 

        But you have no choice. She's not shutting her fat lip and you wanted to flirt. 

        You lean forward past the register, whispering, "You're gonna get a black coffee. Gonna love it so much you'll tip me twenty bucks. Then you're never coming back."

        Her eyes glazed. "One black coffee, please."

        "Coming right up!"

        He's two customers behind. You get them out of the way. Lean on the register, like you're too cool for fast food- or is it fast coffee? 

        He sets the cup down, looking anywhere but at you, "Tell me if I'm being weird or crazy or whatever but uhm..." He lifts the lid. The heart had melted into the latte. Oh, he hadn't seen it, had you just forgotten the caramel syrup? He didn't actually want to talk to you. 

        Across the cafe, his father loudly cleared his throat. 

        Mark forced himself to make eye contact. "Uh. I just wanted to say this is like, the best latte I've ever had and I uhm- wanted to give you something." He fumbled with a scrap in his back pocket. Pushing it into the tip jar. You see numbers hastily written on the back of his dad's receipt. Then he's flipping open his thin wallet, "I'm also gonna actually tip too don't worry, I'm not that full of myself."

        Your fingers fish the number out the jar. "This is more than enough for me." The words hit him like a mallet. He almost jumps out his shoes. Horrified a girl actually flirted with him.

        And that's how it started. A nudge from Nolan turned into texting late at night about shitty minimum wage jobs. Turned into his mom driving you to the theaters, to a first kiss for you both, after seeing a terrible adaptation of a comic book. Turned into wanting to go to college together, you'd never even thought about college before. Turned into him saying he'd help you figure out the money situation. You lived alone as a teenager, circumstances, life and powers you didn't tell him about. Turned into a single job for Machine Head, offering enough money for tuition.

        The funny thing was, Mark gave you his number the same day you caught Machine Head's camera eye. Hell, in the same five minutes. He'd been right behind the lady you'd hypnotized. Came up to the counter when the rush died two hours later. Long after he'd left, come back just to give you a sleek business card. His number, the address of his high rise suite.

        "If you ever wanna actually do something with your life." He'd said. And with him and Mark, you actually started to consider it. 

        ***

        He's leaned over her body, bandaged and still. Pulse slow but strong. Leg in a sling hung off the ceiling. His new mask resting on the edge of her bed. Not looking up when Cecil walked in, followed by you. 

        "I already told you, I'm not leaving her." He says. Back moving as he speaks. So much wider than when you knew it. Voice deeper, matured, and so tired. 

        "Yeah, yeah, they could come busting down the door any minute to kill her to get at you." Cecil says, "But I just hit them with all I've got and they're fine, Mark. So please, turn around and talk to us."

        "No."

        Cecil turns to you, jutting his jaw toward Mark. Telling you to talk. You already know your powers won't work on him. You were still weak from Narcan. Exhausted from being passed around and almost dying. So God forgive you if you don't speak with good faith.

        "You're pathetic."

        At that, he whips around. Brows twisting. "Who-" He stares, taking seconds to process, too long. You're almost unrecognizable. No light in your eyes. No teenage awkwardness. No smile. "If you're bringing her out to convince me, the answer's still no." He turns back to Eve. You're not important enough to look at longer than twenty seconds. There was none of the barely contained want you saw in the alternate Marks, no immediate recognition. 

        Your fists ball. You were just a chess piece of Cecil's to him? 

        "He almost fucking vaporized me with nukes and they're fine." You would play the role of pawn just fine. Your anger at the situation was genuine, leading you right into Cecil's trap. "If that won't work, nothing will. The planet needs you."

        "Then Eve needs me more than ever." He says hollowly.

        You want to vomit. All over him and his puppy-dog eyes. All over her and her pretty face, and altruistic personality- always thrown in your face on the news. 

        It had nothing to do with the current happenstance but it comes ripping out of you.

        "Do you even care that you ruined my life?" He doesn't respond. You want to hit something. Break someone's bones. You remember Seventeen falling to the ground dead. The swirl of emotions you felt. You think if you did it again, there'd only be one emotion. 

        You go on, watching for a reaction. A shoulder slump, a sigh, anything. "I owed Machine Head after the job because I didn't deliver. You threw me in jail. He protected me. I owed him more, and if I didn't pay up, he'd kill me. Do you even know what I had to do? Did you ever think about it? I never even got to finish High School, Mark!"

        He doesn't flinch. Braced for a lashing. You realize then and there. He'd must've known you'd gone back. He worked for the GDA long enough for someone to fill him in. Flew over the city all the time. Knew people who knew people. He'd have heard it through the grapevine at some point. He'd only come looking the once. Maybe thinking to himself in his stupid puppy brain that you were better off without him. That you could make your way in the world. That you didn't want to see him and weren't totally drowning and in such desperate need of saving.

        "Look at me." You try to grasp for power that doesn't come, you could make him, but you can't. Your lips wobble. Cheeks burning with humiliation. Not only because he wouldn't look at you but Cecil was there, witnessing the whole thing. You turn your mind to something more pressing, another thing that makes you so angry you want to rip off heads. "If you're gonna fuck the planet over, have the decency to look at me and tell me you're not helping."

        His head dips. Leaning closer into Eve's orbit. "No. The answer's no. I can't leave her."

        He won't look at you. You're nothing but an unimportant memory. Something in you breaks. The onslaught of Marks you didn't even know cared about you more. But what had you been expecting from him? Hope for a romance re-lit? Hope to have the balls to kill him? You don't know.

        You hold back tears. Force your quavering lip into a hard line. "Fine. You won't do shit? I will." Cecil looks at you, brow raised as if he wasn't wanting for one of you to step up.

        "I'll figure it out." You tell him as you storm out the room. Unable to hold the tears any longer. 

        ***

        You're gone. Gone. Blasted to dust. Dead, again.

        He knew the trap was coming, but he couldn't stop it and save you at the same time. He thought he could be stronger, faster, but that damn noise got him. Made his ears pulse and bleed even with the noise cancellation device in his suit. Hell, part of him hoped since the others seemed to care so much, maybe they'd stop the bombs.

        Now he's in the pit that used to be an island. Ocean water roaring down the ledge. Looking for pieces of you. But there is nothing but water and rock.

        He checks his tracker, coming to his senses after minutes of reeling. Your dot doesn't appear. Your vitals no longer showing in the corner of his lenses. 

        He wants Angstrom to appear. Wants to rip that engorged brain off his scalp. He should've known it was a ruse, a sick joke because you were dead everywhere but here, and no way in hell would he- or any of them- be so lucky as to hold you again. 

        Angstrom doesn't come. Nor do anymore bombs. The planet is out of defenses. 

        One by one the Marks give up. Speeding off the to nearest city to level or person to kill. Blaming this world for false hope. Leveling it more than it already had been. Suppose that's what Angstrom was planning. For that, he'd kill the bastard whenever it was time to meet at the rendezvous.

        ***

        There is nothing to do but wait. Cecil withheld the remaining heroes in safe houses across the globe. The ones that didn't listen, the ones that thought letting the Invincible's scourge the planet was stupid, never came back. Cecil's plan was simple, wait for it to be over. He'd tried taking them down one by one, tried en masse, tried everything but only a handful fell. The remaining were too much for any defense the planet had and the real Invincible wasn't lifting a finger to help. 

        So Cecil made every other hero follow suit. Biding his time. Waiting to launch the rescue missions rather than offense. 

        He did things where he could. Trying to contain. Remotely launching tear gas specially compounded to fuck up a supe, but of course it did nothing to Viltruimtes. Playing that awful sound that made Mark weak. Except most speakers on the planet couldn't play it at the correct pitch, so the most it did was cause a minor annoyance before the speaker was smashed.

      Psycopomp watched as you avoided everybody. As you went unpunished for your crimes, many of the same things she'd done, but shit. Making people do as you said was just immoral. At least with the dead, they couldn't feel or even know what was happening. 

        Cecil wanted Psychopomp to help. To zap her into areas under attack for her to raise the re-dead re-animen. She refused because he let you walk free. 

        Then he'd laid it on her like this, "There's only a handful of people on the planet left with a chance of killing any of the alternate Mark Graysons. She took one out single-handedly, that's not for nothing. Listen, if you help us we can think about opening an investigation on (Y/n) but as long as this lasts, we need her." 

        Psychopomp agreed. Glazing over the word think. She was sent into the field, one disaster after another raising the dead undead. Watching them get killed again and again. Being zapped back to the GDA just to be sent somewhere else in the next five minutes, rinse, repeat. 

        Day one was bad, day two was worse, and on the dawn of three the destruction started to lull. Cecil lost more employees than he'd thought possible. The hospital wing keeping Eve alive was down to three staffers working round the clock. They'd drop of exhaustion any moment and they'd all be fucked because Mark, the real Mark, would be so angry he'd finish the destroying the planet before his alternates could.

        Then there was you. 

        Hovering around the remains of the GDA headquarters like a ghost. Useless because you didn't understand military strategy. Petty gangwar bullshit didn't apply anywhere here. Nowhere else to go because there's nowhere to go, as if Cecil would let you leave anyway. Keeping you around as a last resort, plans tumbling around in his balding head. Nothing solid enough. 

        So he let you wander, let you have time alone in the one working bathroom, washing your body with hand soap and mineral thick water. Didn't bat an eye when you pulled the armor off a guard's corpse. Even down to the white tank top undershirt and shorts he wore under. Least you had the decency the put the guy's hands over his dick.

        Cecil wasn't blind or stupid. You dressing yourself in the black and green armor of a GDA solider was no coincidence. There were plenty of dead lab techs to take normal clothes off. 

        You looked for nearly an entire day for a pulse rifle that was fully loaded and still shot. Most of the dead guards fought for their lives before being cut down. You could shoot, but had no idea how tech this advanced was reloaded. Hell, just holding the rifle felt awkward compared to your six-shooter. It wouldn't be enough and you knew it. But you didn't know what else you could do. 

        You practiced firing, using guns with less ammo. It was the only thing that felt useful to do. The only thing that felt right, because marching into the hospital wing and shooting Mark wasn't an option.

        The last of the engineering staff reverse-engineered the remnants of the cuff they'd broken off your ankle. Barely. The signal was spotty, and his location was never exact but they had an estimate of where one of them was at all times. 

        It rose alarms when his signal was stopped above the Grayson household. Cecil cut to the closest working cameras he had, which happened to be real close since he had dozens of eyes on the Grayson's since Nolan went rogue. 

        The tracked one wasn't alone. Hovering over his childhood home was Mark, Mark, Mark, and Mark, and a handful more Mark's. They were speaking so far from the nearest micro-mic the sensor could barely pick up the words.

        "--s taking him so lon-"

        "How is he late? He--  -teleport."

        "Stop whini--"

        You push off the wall. You'd been waiting. Watching. Hoping a handful of them would group up again and you could kill Mark over and over and over. All you could think about these last two days was Mark. His back toward you. How long it'd taken him to recognize you. The memory of meeting at your shitty job. The anger boiled you alive. Made you stupid enough to stay with the GDA and not move into a safe house. Though Cecil never suggested you did. Part of him hoped you could do something.

        Their conversation carried on. You moved to Cecil's side, pulling the dead guard's helmet over your head. "I'm going." Your tone leaves no room for argument.

        He should argue. You're barely a real adult. So much to live for. So easy to kill in a Viltrumite's hands. But he doesn't, because he knows you killed one of them, you could kill more. Rest and rage have fueled you with diesel and you're ready to light the match. 

        "Are you sure?" Donald turns from the screen, monitoring the Marks. "There's no guarantee we can get you out once we send you in." The teleporter was fixed for a few hours, but sending in all those re-animen for the bombing? Fucked it over again. The first few times they sent out Psychopomp, she was fine, but the last trip went bad. You vaguely heard she refused to go back out into the field. That the teleporter didn't work when it was supposed to, that she got hurt by one of them.

       But at least she found Caligula while running for her life. Fuzzball came bounding up to her, happy to run beside her. She was smug when she'd come back despite shaking and being paler than an eggshell. Caligula sometimes came to you for love, but it wasn't enough to heal the chasm that'd opened in your chest. You shooed him away, no love to give. Psychopomp took the role of mommy dearest.

        Fine by you. 

        You weren't actively suicidal, just angry. Spiteful. In your wildest dreams, you thought of people praising you for bravery. Cash prizes and a penthouse. Everyone knowing Mark didn't go to the final confrontation, but you had. He let you go alone so he could be sad at his girlfriend's bedside. 

        Then again, you didn't give two horse shits about saving the planet. You knew you wouldn't live to see glory and that was fine. You wouldn't know how to live with glory. To uphold a shiny new hero status. You were bad and couldn't conceive of any other way you could be. 

        "I'm sure." You tilt your head toward the teleporter, "Are you going to let me go or not?" 

        Cecil's scarred lip twitched. "It's a death sentence." His words weren't meant to convince you away. They were a warning label slapped down for legal reasons.

        "I know." You made your way to the teleporter. The men trailing behind you. 

        You look back at the screen. The Marks chatter on. You let the rifle rest on your knee while your hand goes to your pocket.

        "You should know drugs like that don't actually enhance powers." Cecil nods to your soldier pants where you'd stuff the last two bottles of codeine atop your phone, wallet, keys, other odds and ends. As if you'd need them where you were going. Old habits, they say.

        "They do for me." Your foot hovers over the teleporter edge.       

        "We've done extensive testing on drugs combined with powers. Enhancements are always from a placebo." Donald says, robo jaw clinking. 

         You don't want to believe him, but you do. Because the 'power-up' was never consistent. You drop the bottle back into your pocket. Just another thing you had hoped for that wasn't true. "Well, thanks for ruining the placebo."

        "Doesn't help anyone if you overdose," Cecil says gruffly.

        A wry smile ticks your lip under the gray-tinted visor. "You saying you believe in me?"

        "You're the last chance we've got, so I have to." He can't see but you roll your eyes.

        Your foot comes down on the teleporter platform. You turn to the tech running the thing, "Get me close enough to shoot but not close enough to immediately die." They nod. 

        "Hey!" Her voice cuts the room, the finality of the moment. Psychopomp weaves around Cecil and the techies. Right side of her supersuit torn away. Banadages wrapped tight around the stump that came a few inches off her shoulder. Entire arm gone. You hadn't noticed, so lost in your own head.

        "You said there'd be an investigation." She says before Cecil tells her to go lay down. The medical staff barely saved her life yesterday. 

        "I said I'd think about it." Cecil says, waving to a tech to get started on powering up the teleporter. 

        She snarls, rearing on you. "So what? You're just gonna leave on some suicide mission before telling me where my brother is? Like it'll make up for all the shit you've done? You a hero now?"

        You blink slowly at her. Unbothered because so much worse had happened these last days you couldn't bring yourself to care. Around you, the machine rattles and glows. 

        "Tell me!" She snaps. 

        "If he wasn't dead before, he's dead now." Not an admission, by any means, but enough for her to put the puzzle pieces together.

        Just before you're zapped away to your early grave, Cecil says, "Godspeed, kid."

        The light around you apexes. You can't see anymore. "Fuck you."

        You hear her voice, not letting you get the last word in, "No!"

        You're shoved backwards. A hand on your arm. Then you're both gone. Leaving Cecil to care for the cat, already winding around his legs.

        ***

        Back-first, you hit the pavement. Head cracking against the ground. Armor absorbing the blow. 

        Psychopomp peeled herself up wobbily on her one arm. Shoddy supersuit no match for the unpaved road.

        She's going to scream questions about her brother. Going to call their attention to you. You do what needs to be done-  crack the side of her head with the rifle's butt before she can even open her mouth. Her eyes roll back as she goes limp on top of you. You look to the sky and find nothing. Carefully, you slide out from under her and begin to walk that painfully memorable trip to the Grayson household.

        You'd recognized it immediately on the GDA screens. Remembered making out on Mark's bed. Dinner with his family. Texting him while you were in the same room, giggling about it.

        The world around you is ashes. Most of the fires already gone out, all the houses eaten up. You withhold a, "Jesus Christ." Keeping the gun's muzzle tight to your body. You wonder from where Cecil watches. 

        You peak around the corner of LeBolt Street and Green Drive. Sure enough, the last house on the left stands on its last white legs. Car gone from its driveway, making you remember Debbie. You liked her, hoped she wasn't dead even though her son was a prick. 

        Above the ruin, they wait. You can't hear their conversation. You count, one, two, three... eleven. Fucking eleven. You took down one because the others were distracted, but distracting ten to remove one? Seemed impossible. 

        You were afraid, not in the traditional 'oh shit I'm going to die' sense, because you had felt like that for the better part of five years and it was easy to tune out. The feeling that filled you was more final, a righteous 'I need to kill at least half these people before I go to hell'. You figured it was best to start small, experimental. You hide in charcoal rubble and fire a single blast into the curbside in front of your hiding spot. 

        "Oh great, somebody left a survivor." Mohawk bitched, "No wonder he won't come, he's too afraid someone else is gonna see his fucked up head."

        Some of them snicker, most don't.

        "I've got it." A voice says, "Gotta work out the kinks in my back still, think that kid actually knocked a disc loose."

        "Who cares, just do it." Someone snaps.

        He's at the curb in a flash. Falling on his haunches, flicking at the still smoking debris. His swim-capped head gleaming from the distant sun's glow. "Alright guy, come out. I've got worlds to take over and I really-"

       You dare not speak for fear of being heard even at a whisper. Your arm comes out, fingers beckoning. He'd been looking in your direction. Lazy smile playing on his lips before the control sunk it's claws in.

        He hobbles over and crouches in front of your hiding spot.

        Before, you'd have drunk codeine and given it the credit but now? Credit was given to the rage this place brought you. Walking around this very block, talking about nothing and everything. Hope for the future. Mark's back to you. 

        You point through the charcoal of the shuddered window you'd been hiding behind. His eyes follow, landing on Scars. Your finger goes to your throat, crossing it in a slow, deliberate line. Kill him.

        You wish there was a universal gesture for 'come back when you're done so I can tell you to murder these other freaks'  but there wasn't. Unless he knew ASL, which you highly doubted.        

        He blasts off the ground. The shudder falls and you barely duck out of the way before it could pin you to the ground. You find another hiding spot to watch from.

        Someone already murmuring, "Took you long enough," at his return.

        Knowing these freaks, they'd jump on Swimcap the second he attacked. He'd be the one who wound up dead. Sex offense poster boy would be a nice bonus. Then they'd come, searching for what drove Swimcap kill crazy. You'd use them to kill each other. Make the last one standing snap his own neck- if you got that far, if your power didn't drain.

        Scars opened his mouth, "I didn't hear a scr-" His teeth clacked shut on his tongue. Blood filling his mouth as he's shot a mile into the sky. You watch Swimcap shoot up after him. Your puppet got above Scars head before he could regain his bearings and balled his fists over his own head before bringing them down on Scars' chest. He came back down to Earth like a meteor, smashing the remnants of the house. Sending shockwaves through the busted neighborhood.

        Swimcap flew down, feet extended, aiming to sever Scars head from his neck. Scars catches him by the ankles, rolls, and slams Swimcap  facedown into the foundation of the house. "Fuck's wrong with you?" He doesn't wait for reply, climbing atop the other version of himself, letting fists rule. 

        The others lower in the sky, curious. 

        "You can't double cross me, I was going to double cross you." Scars snaps between blows.

        Swimcap finally regains his bearings, catching one fist then the other. Four teeth knocked out of his mouth, blood vessels burst in his eyes, the lenses of his cap broken. Scars catches the look in his eye, the glaze of control before a knee slams into his dick. Swimcap gets on top.

        You lean forward. Smiling like it was the best movie you'd ever seen.  

        A fist is raised. Then grabbed by a red glove.

        "We're supposed to be working together, not killing each other." Omni-Mark says. 

        Scars sneers, "Like we weren't going to turn on each other at some point."

        Swimcap brings his free fist down. Snapping Scars head to the side. 

        "Stop it." Omni-Mark says, "Or I'll be forced to act on the aggressor."

        "I can handle this myself!" Scars hands come up to either side of Swimcap's head. "He just surprised me!" The muscles in his arms bulge, veins on his hands pulsing as he presses and presses and presses. Swimcap's jaw ticks, goes unnaturally to the side, eyes go redder, bleeding tears before they pop out, dangling on his cheeks. Then the top of his head pops up, brains squirting up in a pressurized blast. Chunks landing on the front of Omni-Mark's suit, much to his distaste.

       Scars shoves the body off, not minding the blood. Omni-Mark lets his limp wrist fall, holds out his newly freed hand to help Scars up. He slaps it away. "Didn't need your fucking help."

        "Really?" Mohawk's scratchy voice calls down, "Cuz it sure looked like you needed it to me!"

        "Shut up." Scars says.

        Together, the landed pair rejoin the group in the air. 

        "Any idea why he did that?" One of them asks.

        Looks and shrugs are shared. "Guy blew his load too early, I guess." Mohawk says. A minute passes. He speaks again, "Seriously, what's taking that guy so long?"

        "This would pass a lot faster if you'd shut up," Emperor says.

        "He knows he can't deliver on his promises anymore." The bald one looks from version of himself to version of himself. "He's scared shitless."

        "No way he can't deliver me more universes." Scars spits. 

        "Don't act like you weren't losing your shit when she died." Mohawk jerks in the air. Tense all over. Waiting for someone to come at him so he could hit something hard as he could.

        "I think it was fitting." Scars tone is all confident sarcasm, but he won't look at anybody. "Bitch deserved it."

        Two of them look at each other. A Mark in his old blue-yellow uniform, no mask. The other in what looked like a tracksuit with a fluttering mask covering his face. Puzzlement crossed between them.

        Mohawk was on him, fists twisted in the bottom of Scars mask. "I was gonna kill you eventually, but I think now's a great fuckin' t-"

        "Dregs! Dregs, you bitch! Where the fuck are you!?" Screeches through the neighborhood's exposed bones. So many of them go rigor mortis stiff. Then the sound comes again, "(Y/n)! I know you're here!"

        You peek out of your hiding spot. See Psychopomp shambling down the street where you'd popped into existence. Blood streaked down her pallid forehead. A snarl on her thin lips. 

        She's stupid. You think. She's suicidal. You think. She wants to get me killed.

        She throws her head back, "Come out!"

        Phantom is the first on top of her. Grappling her hard by the shoulder and stub. "(Y/n)? You said (Y/n)? You said (Y/n) is here?" Desperation pierces through the modulator. That of someone teetering on the edge of an endless chasm. 

        "Who-" She tries to slap his hands off and finds she can't. She switches gears, fighting not an option. She'd already seen what happened back in New York with the other contingencies. Remembered just who had ripped her arms off before Mercy healed them. Her voice held a quiver, "Yes, did you see her?" 

        "Obviously not." Emperor lands beside her. "You said she's present?"

        "We came together." Psychopomp breathes out. A nervous sweat shone on her cheeks, like she finally realized what she was doing. "Knocked me out and left."

        Jesus Christ, she'd switch sides if it meant getting at you.

        Lensless is next to touch down. "Uh, I saw those bombs go off like, right in her face. She's dead. You just know you can't escape without us catching you. I mean, shit, I'd do the same thing but-"

        In goes a breath, out comes a hateful scream, "Dregs!"

        You don't budge. She ruined everything on purpose. Most of the Marks had come from above the house to swarm around her. Only three remain above the house, impassively watching. The maskless one, the tracksuit wearer, the white-clad warrior. Eyes in the sky. If you even put a finger out of your hiding spot, they'd see. It was best to stay put, make her look crazy, let her die, then resume the plan.

        Except Phantom had sensors in his lenses. A sensor he used to scan the area, quickly picking out the outline of your crouched form behind a wall. He was on you. Tearing off the GDA helmet before you could attempt to shove him off. 

        It was you. Oh God, it was really you.

        The helmet falls out of his hands. He hugs you quick, almost imperceptibly so, before the other versions of himself round the corner with Psychopomp in tow. 

        "Stay where you are." The command is for them, not her, as if it'd work anyway. You had no idea how long they'd hold. You're not coming off Narcan so probably more than a millisecond. No longer than forty-five seconds at best.

         You dip down, snatching the helmet, pulling it back on over your head. But they'd all seen. The helmet was a matter of protection and anonymity of emotion. Protection that'd do little against them but still, it was something.

        The collective paused. Marks stiff, most of them anyway. A few seem unaffected, just waiting to see what would happen. Blood is already starting to pool at the top of your nasal passage.

         Psychopomp prowls closer, stopping when she sees a gun the size of her thigh cradled in your arms.

        "Where is Digby?" She demands. Ah, the whereabouts of her heroine skinny brother. That old chestnut.

        You watch the Marks for signs of a cracking hold. Look at Psycopomp, pale with yesterday's bloodloss. And run. 

        You can't deal with all of them at once. This was a one-by-one operation. You needed, "Cecil!" To get you the fuck out of dodge. You needed to regroup. Come back later. Not have Psychopomp fucking ruin everything.

        But the teleporter light doesn't consume you. You are not saved.

        You are grabbed from behind almost soon as your legs started pumping. Arms tight around your midsection. Pulpy eyehole pressing to the side of your visor.

        "Jeez, you're slow." Lensless says.

        "Let go."

        He does. But your control on the others had gone. They could converge on you whenever they wanted and "Cecil, God damn it," won't, "help me!"

        Help doesn't come. Rescue doesn't come. 

        Scars laughs, wiping bloodstains off his suit to little avail, "You're on your own. He never comes if it means his own neck." Just like Cecil had warned.

        Psychopomp moves through their ranks. Not accepted in, but so insignificant there'd be no point in killing her. They all had to wait for Angstrom anyways. 

        "Where is he, Dregs?"

        You're on your own unless you convince her to work with you. "Last our guys saw, he fell into the lava pits when Invincible fought Doc Seismic." You lie through your teeth. The first thing you could think of while tying in Invincible. 

        "Bullshit!" She calls. The Marks frame her back. Watching. Curious about you, your life, your enemies, your petty human squabbles. "He couldn't be in Washington, he couldn't drive."

        Crossed arms tensed over a red-white chest. "Keep speaking to my wife like that and your other arm is gone." 

        Psychopomp looks. Visabily shaking at the Omni-Man impersonator's presence. 

        You ignore him. "Machine Head sent him to do mule work there to pay off his debts." You go on, rolling with the story. "Best not to tell you so you couldn't bail him out again." 

        Her eye twitched. "I was the last person who saw him alive in New York, Dregs. Don't lie after you said that cryptic shit at the GDA. Don't I deserve to know- don't you still care about me a little bit?"

        No, but you don't say that. Instead, you pivot, "If those motherfuckers behind you don't die right now there'll be no justice system to help you find out what happened."

        Mohawk cackles, "Hah! That's so code for she killed that guy!"

        "Is it?" Psycopomp asks. 

        "Don't listen to them." You insist, fingers tightening around the pulse rifle. "They destroyed the planet, Psych. Don't be stupid. Work with me here."

         "If the planet's already destroyed, how is she going to take you to court? 'S better if you just get revenge right now." Scars grins. Knowing exactly what buttons he's pushing. 

        You have to tell the truth. Make her so blind with hatred that waiting years for supe-prisons to be rebuilt just for you to rot didn't even seem like an option.

        "Alright, fine." Your breaths come short and humid under the visitor. You're not sure you should be saying this. Before it'd definitely get you killed for sharing confidential business information, but Machine Head was out of the picture so who was going to punish you- God? "Digby's somewhere in the Colorado River." At that, her face falls, a single tear slipping hot down her cheek. His death had always been a suspicion, no evidence, no confirmation. No CCTV. Nothing. All set up by Machine Head's men. But now it was confirmed, after two years of searching, wondering. 

        "So he's..."

        "Dead, yes."

        "And you..."

        The sorrow is morphing, unstable, but in a state so fresh and raw you could mold it to your advantage. The only card you had left to play. "I had to. You know how our line of work is. If you want to kill me, I get it but if you want the actual privilege of doing me in yourself- help me deal with these assholes first." You knew the undead civilians would do nothing to them, but a minor distraction was the best thing you could pull out of this situation she'd forced you both into.

        She blinked. Tears coming faster, faster. "You..."

        You see one of their fingers twitch, wondering when he should step in. 

        "You can't kill me if they do first, Michelle." Her name is a slap to the face. Only passed about in private, such as your apartment air mattress. Anger reddens her. She's shaking her head, mentally trying to ward off your manipulation. Hands are flexing now. 

        "Kill you? What? No, babe, I'm here to take you home." Mohawk says loud and clear for all to hear. Taking a mallet to your plans.

        "He's lying." You say. "You saw that one," you nod toward Emperor Shoulder Pads, "had me by the throat. He's trying to trick you." Except you didn't think he was. 

        "You made me do it." Shoulder Pads replies. "But I wasn't going to k-"

        "Shut your mouth." You turn back to Psychopomp, desperate, "These people are not our allies or enemies of an enemy. They are going to finish the job and kill us both if you don't do something." 

        And Psychopomp saw right through your flimsy manipulation. "You're scared of what I'm going to do to you."

        She wasn't listening. You had to go in, hard, unnecessarily brutally honest. Full-on nuclear blast.

        "I didn't have to tell him to kneel." You say, telling the truth to her for once, "He knew he was screwed. You knew how deep in debt he was to Machine Head, but you just kept letting him use. Telling yourself he'd quit before he overdosed. He knew he'd never be able pay and never be able to stop." Her hands come up and start to glow. You hoped those zombies would be pointed anywhere but at you. "He wanted to die. He knew he couldn't give his daughter a good life and knew Shelly was too religious to abort."

        "Shelly-" She says, dimly remembering his brother's girlfriend. Remembering she hadn't seen her in years. The last time she saw her was with Digby. For awhile she blamed Shelly, then there was you. Machine Head. A tip from a friend. "-Was pregnant?"

        "Oh shit." One of them says. You don't look to see who.

        "Five months." You supply. "She didn't want to die but she walked in, couldn't be helped."

        "You killed my niece?" It was more a question than a statement.

        "Machine Head would've killed me if I hadn't, Michelle."

        "You killed my brother!" Her fingers curl, as if sucked in by the light vortexes of power in her palm. "My family!" The only she had left.

        Mouths twist into smiles and horrified frowns at your cruelty. 

        You don't know where to aim the pulse rifle. At them or her. "You can kill me when this is over. Fuck, throw me in the slammer even."

        "I don't give a shit about justice!" The houses around you stir with dead residents coming to life, "I'm going to fucking kill you- now!"

        "Listen!" You were losing control of the situation. Once the action started, you weren't sure you'd be able to escape. 

        "No! Jail isn't enough! I've seen what you can do. I've been there to see the kinda shit you make people do. There is something wrong with you, and you just need to die." She can't stop crying.

        The first of the undead shamble out of their broken homes. They aren't slow. On you in what feels like moments. You're forced to turn to fire green blasts into their heads. Stepping out of the way of their still reaching hands when they fall. 

        "God- Jesus- Damn it." You elbow, pistol whip, kick, and shoot at the growing horde but it's too much. You'll be overwhelmed soon. "Stop being stupid. They'll kill you." 

        They look like they will. Phantom surges forward to save you but is grabbed by the ankle by Scars.

        "I want to see this." He says.

        Phantom forces himself still. He must not reveal how deeply you'd infected him. So he watches, waiting for things to be dire enough to actually justify jumping in. As do the others, who felt that tickle of desire to play hero. 

        Some, Mohawk, Scars, Lesnless, watch because it's so nice seeing you kill. There were other approving glances, but so quiet and unnoticeable you didn't catch them in your panic.

        "I don't care! I don't fucking care!" The buzzed hair atop her scalp seems to bristle at the sight of you still living. Her palm glows brighter, extending her reach much as she can with the bloodloss. "Die! Just die!"

        No amount of coaxing will do it. You made a bet and lost. You had to take whatever winnings you could still scrap.

        You let decrepit hands hit the body armor. Forcing yourself through the crowd of gored families. Whacking heads and shoulders to make a clear lane for you to aim- and fire. The first shot is taken by a women with no eyes. She goes down. More zombies surge to block your shots. 

        The Marks twitch with nervous energy. Thinking of jumping in, but uneasy to show their weakness for you in front of the others. Deciding if you're not out in ten more seconds, they'll do something.

        You take a breath, steadying as your line of sight crowded with the dead. Their teeth gnawing at your arms and ankles. Weak fists at your back. And shot, once, twice, thrice through the bodies until the fourth blast goes through Michelle's head. Spitting her face from the top of her lip to her buzzcut. 

        Michelle hits the ground. Brains splattering on the pavement. Her minion's grip and teeth loosen. 

        Arms scoop under your knees, support your back faster than you can breathe. Taking off before you can think to scream. Shooting toward the clouds. The rifle falling out of your hands.

        He couldn't take it anymore. Seeing you covered in blood. Seeing you holding that weapon. You weren't supposed to be like that. Supposed to look like that.

        "I thought I lost you." You feel the rumble of his chest. Black and blue carbon fiber suit rubbing against your body armor. You have to force your head up against the sudden G-force. Mask covering all but the horror and relief in his tone. You can see the shell of your mask reflected back in those blue lenses. 

        You don't think just speak, "Let me go."

        He does. Involuntarily. Mortified that he did. Unmoving, waiting for your next command but you drop so fast, scream so loud, it never comes. He watches as you plummet five-thousand feet.

        "Catch me! Catch me now!" No one could hear you over the whistling of the wind. 

        All that fighting. Days of angsting, building up their deaths in your head. Only to kill one, then yourself on accident. Way to go, idiot.

        You see a white flash. Feel yourself stop. Your body jerks against the suddenness. Head snapping back, whacking against a solid arm. You are gone, nothing but black swimming unconsciousness. 

        "She's fine." You hear him say, Mark for sure, but in a tone you hadn't come to know. "To my understanding, humans can not withstand sudden changes in atmosphere."

        "Let me see! I wanna see if she's still breathing." Mohawk, definitely. "Hey, dickhead! You almost fuckin' killed her! You happy up there!? Yeah, you better stay away from me, pussy."

        "She is." The new Mark says evenly. 

        Another comes to volley. "We should get back to the rendezvous." 

        Green light penetrates past your closed eyes. Making them twitch and flutter open just in time to see him step into existence. Red lights screwed into his supermassive brain. Metal welded to his body. Power pooling at his feet, sustaining himself in the air. "No need." Eyes, one brown, the other milky with blindness, slide to you, "The location doesn't so much matter, as long as we have the guest of honor."

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.1 gojo satoru sent you a message

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 1.3k (short one to start off, but the rest are longer)

a/n. welcome to this pilot chapter! this was originally going to be a one-shot but i got way too carried away and ended up planning out a whole series. i hope you enjoy!

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

|| 2:13AM Gojo Satoru has requested to follow you

You blink the sleepiness in your eyes away as the harsh light of your phone hits your face. Somewhere in the middle of the crazy dream you were having, you heard your phone incessantly pinging and eventually woke you up to make you realize you forgot to turn the ringer off before going to sleep. Among all the spam email, iCloud storage warnings, and news headliners, there was one notification in particular that had you wondering if you were still dreaming.

“Ugh…y/n, please, turn your phone off,” you heard your roommate Mina mumble in the twin sized bed at the other end of the room as she shuffled her pillow above her head so that it covered both of her ears. You glance out the window of your shared apartment, peering at the pale moonlight, before your tired and heavy eyes travel back to your phone and press on the Instagram notification.

Suspecting this was maybe some prank account, you clicked on the small icon in your inbox that took you to a profile page. Gojo Satoru, Senior at University of Tokyo, Business Major, D1 Soccer #10, SAE. 12k followers, 172 following, 38 posts. 

Still thinking you’re dreaming, you accept the follow request and watch as the number on his following increases by one, now 173. Your thumb swipes up on your phone as you take in the square images of his profile. Pictures of him and his friends recreating memes…food that he’s eaten recently…frequent vacation posts in exotic countries…and a whole lot of what seemed to be professionally taken soccer photos of him striking goals and hitting balls with his head in mid air. You have put a lot of effort into your own Instagram photos (despite your modest 464 followers), mostly posting compilation slideshows of your favorite film photos that you’ve taken recently, yet somehow his feed looks much more inviting than yours.

You turn onto your side and continue to look through his photos. 624 comments, 373 comments, 958 comments. Many were from his friends trying to embarrass him, and many others were from girls that probably wanted him to notice them. You noticed he only really replied to comments from his friends. 

You knew who he was, of course. Gojo Satoru was one of the most, if not the most, popular guys on your college campus. When you got to college, you thought the whole “social hierarchy” thing would be over but it still seemed like there were certain groups of people that almost everyone knew about, "elite" individuals who other students could only dream of associating with. At UTokyo, the fraternities and sororities practically owned the place so of course Gojo was well-known since he was a member of the school’s most iconic frat, SAE. Not to mention, the school adored its soccer team–undefeated since 2012–and Gojo Satoru was the most talented center forward the division has seen in years. 

But as for why he requested to follow you, a film major that doesn’t play any sports and isn’t even in a sorority, well you’re just not sure. 

It’s then when you get yet another notification. 

“Oh my god, y/n, turn it off!” Mina mumbles into her mattress. You click the side button to turn off the ringer. 

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru sent you a message 

Your heart starts to beat a bit faster as you quickly slide to your DMs page. You notice three unread conversations from a few of your friends, probably from when they decided to send you their entire explore page, and then you see a little (1) next to your message requests box. When you open it, you see his icon in your inbox. It’s a simple picture of him in his soccer jersey, his smile wide as one of his team members who was mostly cropped out of the photo seemed to be putting him in a headlock. You see the first few words of the message.

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weir…

You’re about to click on it when you stop yourself. It was really late at night and you didn’t know if you wanted to entertain a conversation with this man you knew literally nothing about (at least on a personal level) and weren’t even sure why he was messaging you in the first place. Plus, he would see that you’ve read it and so you would feel anxious to respond. But there was no way to see his full message unless you opened it. Even though you considered this to be weirdly intimate since it was a message sent at two in the morning, you figured that was probably normal for the likes of people like Gojo Satoru, who probably were out drinking and partying until five in the morning every night, regardless of any 8AM lectures or not. 

But unfortunately, curiosity always kills the cat (that’s the expression, right?) and so you click on his message. 

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weird…I don’t think we’ve ever met before, but my buddy’s really into your roommate, and he’s tried to invite her out to our frat’s house parties but he’s had no luck. Think you could convince her to come this weekend? You’re welcome to come too, of course

You blink in surprise before rolling your eyes, not entirely sure why you were expecting any different. Maybe Mina wasn’t budging on his friend’s advances because she wants to be asked out on an actual date, and not to some house party. But you figured frat guys wouldn’t really understand that. Besides, how did he know that you were her roommate? You’re just about to type a response when you see three little dots in the left side corner, indicating he was typing, and you hold your breath.

|| 2:27AM Gojo Satoru: Here are the details

And then he sends you a post from what looks like his fraternity’s Instagram page. There’s an address, a time, the name of the DJ and girls get in free bolded at the top. You realize you’ve never even been invited to a fraternity’s house party until this very moment. 

You briefly consider not responding to him and just setting your phone back down on your nightstand, rolling over, and falling asleep. But you find your fingers moving on their own to type.

|| 2:31AM You: you’re messaging me to help your friend get with my roommate?

There’s an uncomfortable two minutes where there’s no response from him and for some reason your anxiety is through the roof. You remember the countless times you’ve heard people describe Gojo Satoru in passing: there’s just something about him that demands your attention. 

His notification pops up at the top of the Instagram app when you were scrolling through reels to distract yourself and you accidentally clicked on it too fast. 

|| 2:33AM Gojo Satoru: Uh, yeah? 

You sigh as you ponder the proposition. You don’t even know for sure why Mina wasn’t really responding to his friend’s advances, maybe the guy was a creep or just not her type. And even if she was somewhat interested in him, she’s already refused to go to any of their frat’s house parties, so how would you be able to persuade her? 

You finally convince yourself you’ve had enough of Gojo’s messages for the night and you’ll choose whether or not you want to revisit the topic again in the morning, until another message flashes across your screen.

|| 2:38AM Gojo Satoru: What can I do to get you to convince her to come this weekend?

You bite down on your lip at his question, and an idea flashes through your mind.

|| 2:40AM You: i’ll find a way to convince her. my terms and conditions will come later

He responds in a second.

|| 2:40AM Gojo Satoru: Deal 

a/n. dude literally slid into your DMs lol. thank you for reading! i also post this story over on AO3, if you're more into that format, but i just wanted to start posting over here on tumblr too. hope to see you in the next one!

➸ take me to chapter two!

[luvelve]

˚ · . lucky strike - c. seungcheol

summary: your first time giving head to anybody and lucky for you, that anybody happens to be your boyfriend seungcheol. you’re kinda nervous because unlike you, this isn’t his first time.

pairing: bf!seungcheol x afab!reader

genre: smut (18+ minors dni!)

wc: 2.9k+ (got carried away again :<)

warnings/tags: making out, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, lots of praise, softdom-ish!cheol, shy & inexperienced reader, bigdick!seungcheol, mentions of food & alcohol, seungcheol & reader are a bit tipsy, use of petnames (baby, angel, pretty), throatfucking, gagging, crying, finger sucking, cum eating

a/n: this is tiktok’s fault for always showing me “he’s the type to talk u through it” type of men. and to me, that sounded like none other than choi seungcheol !! so here we are. forgive me for any warnings i may have missed :< as always, likes/reblogs/feedback are highly highly appreciated ok bye <3

it’s been bugging you for weeks now. it first crossed your mind when you and seungcheol were driving home from a night out with close friends and it just dawned on you how you and seungcheol haven’t done anything yet. well, aside from making out.

seungcheol had told you from the beginning of your relationship that he wanted to take it slow with you. he didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. he also told you that things would fall into place eventually and that there was no need to rush. you loved that about him.

but, being the massive over-thinker that you are, you also can’t help but compare yourself to your other girlfriends who have been in longer relationships and what they have possibly already done with their boyfriends.

you feel like you’re ready to do more with seungcheol and that you’re not just pressured by the people around you. you so badly want to bring this up to him but every time you try, you end up steering away from the topic.

the wall clock reads twenty minutes past nine; it’s a friday night and you and seungcheol are in his apartment already in your pyjamas when you should be dressed for a fancy dinner, stuffing yourself with pasta and wine somewhere in hongdae.

it’s been snowing nonstop these past few days and even on the one day that you and your boyfriend reserve every week to go on a dinner date, whether it be at the fanciest restaurant seungcheol can get a reservation at or the mcdonald’s just a few blocks down from his apartment, mother nature just won’t let up.

the two of you were left with no choice but to cook the ramyeon in seungcheol’s pantry. you also thought it’d be a good idea to bust out the remaining bottles of peach and grape flavored soju that had been left over from your camping trip over a month ago.

that was all over an hour ago, soup bowls and chopsticks long forgotten on the table, soju bottles empty, with some random sitcom playing on netflix in the background. you now find yourself on the couch straddling seungcheol’s lap, with your lips heavy on his. both of his hands resting on your waist, just above the band of your his boxer shorts.

breathy moans erupt from the base of his throat and it makes you dizzy. his plump cherry lips find your ear, your jaw, and your favorite spot: your neck.

"baby..." he whispers in between kisses, his hot breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine. all you can do is look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and continue kissing him, but this time sloppier and more desperate. seungcheol notices this and matches his pace with your own, your tongues fighting for dominance.

you don't know if its just you or the alcohol that's in your system, but you know that you want to do more than just kiss seungcheol tonight. plus the fact that you can practically feel his bulge growing under you isn’t helping either.

"nng.." you groan, breaking away from his lips momentarily and resting your forehead on his. your jaw falls slightly open, trying to find the right words to say and immediately, there's worry and confusion painted on seungcheol's face.

"baby, what's wrong?" he says in a hushed manner, his right comes up to your cheek.

“angel, did i do something? hey, you can tell me. hmm?” he adds, not breaking eye contact with you. he carefully fixes his position on the couch, not wanting to bother you.

“i… i-uhh…” you cut yourself off, you’re not nervous but you do want to be careful of how you say it. seungcheol looks at you with his big wet baby cow eyes, silently telling you that you can tell him anything.

“okay… so i couldn’t be more grateful for you wanting to take things slow with the both of us. i mean, really. a-and while i love love being with you like this.. like this close to you…” you trail off, hoping he understands or at least has a bit of an idea of where this is going. you kinda hate how he’s not breaking eye contact, you can practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin.

“mhmm…” he hums in agreement, biting down on his lower lip as he tries to suppress a smile. he does know where this conversation is going but he wants to hear it from you. his hand falls to the small of your back and he caresses gently, you can feel the callouses of his hands through the thin fabric of your sleeping shirt.

“i feel like i’m ready to… you know… do more with you.” you add, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up. you slouch so you can hide in the crook of seungcheol’s neck but he stops you from doing so. “hey hey, i wanna see your face.”

“so is that what my pretty girl really wants, hmm?" he exhales, the sweet look on his face now wiped away. he sits a bit upright, looking at you with dark eyes. you've never seen him this enamored by you, almost like he's hypnotized, and you haven't even done anything yet.

you only give him a slight nod, your breathing getting heavier, feeling like your heart's about to jump out your chest. again, you don't know what's gotten into you but downing soju in such little time definitely fuels what you're about to do next.

you move your hands from seungcheol's chest and onto his shoulders for stability as you rock your hips back and forth. you start slow and then pick up the pace when you see him lean back onto the couch and close his eyes for a few seconds with his jaw slightly open. you can feel his length get harder each passing second and it sends a pool down your panties.

you lean in to kiss him on the spot near his ears and on his neck and this sends shockwaves through his entire body. he feels like his dick is about to explode and all he wants to do right now is pick you up and lay you onto your stomach so he can have his way with you. but, for now he wants to savor this moment with you.

“mmh, just like that, angel.” he says softly, draping one arm over the couch and the other still holding on to your hips to help keep you stable. his words make you feel good, reassuring you that you’re doing something right despite never having done this before.

your right hand then leaves his shoulder and reaches down to massage the growing bulge under his sweatpants. you look down at him with hooded eyes, hand palming over his cock that’s dying to be sprung free.

“baby, can i put it in my mouth?” you ask. seungcheol’s turned on but also completely thrown off because if anything, he wanted to taste you first. aside from wanting to throw you around and bully his length into you, he’s always dreamt of being in between your thighs and tasting your sweet juices all while you tug at his hair as his name rolls of your tongue.

"i-uhh, baby are you sure you wanna do this? he replies, pushing his own fantasies aside first because he only wants to do more with you only if you're sure you want to. "yeah, i know i wanna do this. i've thought about it for quite some time now." you clarify. and that’s enough for seungcheol.

“okay, angel. i just wanted to hear it from you again." he claims, eyes fixated on yours. he quickly catches your lips for a deep kiss, you can feel the want that radiates off of him. he then interrupts, "although i was hoping that i'd be the first to... go down on you."

while his offer does sound nice and tempting, the thought of you being naked for the first time in front of seungcheol does intimidate you a little bit. not to mention that he's your first boyfriend. you think that it'll help ease your nerves and make you more comfortable if he goes first. a win-win situation, you tell yourself.

"well, i really like how that sounds... but i'm just super a little shy to.. y'know. be naked and all." you admit, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. seungcheol doesn't know whether to be mad, disappointed, or annoyed at himself because you feel this way. he thinks that he may have failed at being your boyfriend because you don't feel entirely comfortable around him. you immediately notice the shift in his face and quickly say something, "and it has nothing to do with you, i promise! it's just... i-i've never done this before." you run your thumb over the pout that's slowly forming on his lips.

you further explain the win-win situation that you came up with and seungcheol quickly processes your words and doesn't feel too bad about it anymore.

"so... will you let me?" you add, referring to your question earlier. he doesn't even have to think about it, and immediately agrees. "baby, i'd be stupid to not say yes."

"i'm gonna need a little bit of help though..." you whisper, looking at him with dark eyes and once again reaching down to continue palming his clothed cock as if nothing happened. "don't worry angel, i got you. we can go slow, yeah?" his voice breathy, and at this point he's already putty in your hands.

you're quick to get off seungcheol's lap and get on your knees in front of him. you're feeling nervous but also excited at the same time and so you reach for the band of his sweatpants to pull them down. he sees this and helps you, his hands hovering over yours as you do so.

despite this being your first time, there's still desperation in your actions. the way your dainty little fingers grab hold of his sweatpants and the way you look at seungcheol. as you pull his sweatpants down, you fail to muffle a gasp. fuck, he's bigger and thicker than you imagined. you already know that it's going to be a struggle holding him and putting him in your mouth. you feel your panties getting soaked at the sight of his throbbing cock in front of you.

seungcheol sits and watches you eagerly, his thick thighs spread out for you and his length already coated with precum. you sit on your heels, still admiring how heavy his cock is. "something wrong, baby?" he furrows his eyebrows, his eyes locked on yours. you don't know how else to put it so you tell him straight, "nothing, you're just... big."

he grins and even laughs a little, "i know you can take it." and so you do, you take the base of his cock into your hand and attach your lips onto his tip. you lower your head to get more of him into your mouth but you struggle to do so. you’re not entirely sure that what you’re doing is correct but you continue your actions. you come back up to swirl your tongue around his tip and seungcheol closes his eyes, "mmh, fuck. just like that, angel. slowly." he's so turned on by the sight in front of him that he can't even bring himself to close his eyes for too long.

he leans forward to gather your hair to one side and to press a quick kiss to your lips, practically tasting himself. you don't stop pumping his cock and so he moans into the kiss, feeling the vibrations erupt from his throat. he leans back onto the couch, and your mouth is wrapped around him again. your hand is settled at the base of his cock, stimulating him as much as you can while you cover his tip in spit. "use both hands, baby." he suggests, and so you do.

seungcheol watches as your hands and mouth move up and down in harmony and it's taking everything in him not to cum right now with your mouth so pretty around his throbbing cock. you take more of him into your mouth and your eyes are welling up trying to do so. his tip hits the base of your throat and he feels it when you gag. he expects you to stop but instead you keep him there for a few seconds until you have to gasp for air and you feel his body shudder at your actions. "angel, you're sure this is your first time?" he asks, gathering just enough breath.

"mhmm.." you swallow, looking up at him with sweet and not so innocent eyes, shooting him a shy smile. you're hit with a wave of confidence by seungcheol's words. he quickly lifts his left hand to push his thumb into your mouth, wanting to feel your tongue. he feels selfish, as if you sucking him off isn't already enough, but he just has to. you follow him by sucking on his finger without hesitation, doing the same things that you were doing to his cock a few moments ago. "fuuck, you're so pretty like this." he thanks his lucky stars because he has absolutely no idea what he's done to deserve you and what you’re doing to him right now.

your mouth returns to his cock, where your hands are still stroking him up and down. you make it your mission to make him cum tonight, wanting to see him all breathy and speechless. your hands and mouth increase their speed, and so does seungcheol's breaths. you can tell he’s close because his chest is rising and falling faster and you’re pretty sure the neighbors can hear the lewd noises spilling from his mouth. you wrap your mouth around him again and again, your head bobbing up and down while you look at him through your long lashes, slowing down your pace for a few seconds to tease him just a bit. where the hell did she learn to do that? he thinks to himself.

all seungcheol wants to do now is pick you up and throw you onto the couch so he can return the favor, but he wants to give this to you. he wants you to finish what you started, because he knows it’ll make you feel good. “taking me so well, baby. doing so good f’me.” the praises rolling off his tongue as he runs one hand through his hair.

seungcheol can feel himself getting closer and closer to his high and so your hands work double time twisting his cock. you spit on his tip and sink your head down, his cock bottoming in your throat again. as you come back up for air, he quickly bucks his hips up to chase the feeling as he’s on the brink of his orgasm. you can’t help but let out a small choke with tears falling from your eyes. “-m sorry, angel. couldn’t help it.” he quicky apologizes. “s’okay…” you reply with a sweet smile.

“hmm fuck, i’m gonna cum. you ready for me, angel?” he trails off, taking control as he strokes himself and his length just inches from your face. you watch him as his big hand goes up and down his cock at an erratic pace. you lift your hands up to rest them on his knees but seungcheol has other plans in mind. “uh-uh, hands on your sides.” he says firmly, and you comply. he wishes he could take a picture of you right now, obeying him and being his good girl.

“open your mouth.” seungcheol adds, his demeanor now completely different but you love that he has two different sides to him when it’s just the two of you behind closed doors. your jaw quickly falls into an ‘o’ and soon after, seungcheol reaches his high. he feels his orgasm throughout his entire body, fireworks shooting down all the way to his ankles. his vision goes white and his body writhes in pleasure. white ribbons of his cum shoot out from his tip and onto your face and in your mouth. you feel the warm liquid on your tongue and you don’t know whether to spit or swallow.

you close your mouth just enough that your lips don’t touch, the salty liquid resting on your tongue. you wait for seungcheol to come down from his high, his breathing getting slower as his hand moves from his cock and onto his thigh. your chest swells with pride because you couldn’t believe what you just did to him. your eyes are focused on him as he leans forward, “you can spit or swallow baby, it’s up to you.” he says, and you feel his breath fan over your face as he brings his hand up and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe off the cum that’s on your cheek and just below your lip.

you finally close your mouth and swallow his salty release, completely tasting him. he watches as your adam’s apple bobs up and down as you do so. “good girl.” he comments, ultimately sending butterflies to your stomach. seungcheol then wastes no time to connect his lips with yours, tasting a little bit of himself. this time around, you’re the one moaning into the kiss and biting his lower lip. he deepens the kiss, holding your cheek to get better access. it’s not rushed though, it’s one that says ‘thank you’ for giving me the best head of my life.

he pulls away and you feel his arms at your sides, pulling you up. he slots you between his thighs, your knees sinking down onto the couch and he looks up at you. “your turn?”

© luvelve — please avoid copying, reposting, revising and/or translating my work on any platform.

[madschiavelique]

﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 — 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

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

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

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 11,2k

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

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

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

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

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

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

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

Winner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did I kill her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you think this will stop one day?"

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

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

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

Water. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clean. I need to be clean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathed softly, trying to imagine its interior.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wanna talk about it?"

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

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

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

"Is waking up early illegal in Demacia?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. "It was an overreaction."

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

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

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

"Better out than in," Garen said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Viktor and Jayce, right?" he checked.

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

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

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

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

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

You relaxed your shoulders. "Got a point."

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

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

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

"Found me?" you repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you did, partly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viktor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so the Eight of Wands fell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded quickly. "Of course, Professor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Vikkie?" Fiora was calling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head. "No."

He nodded gently. "Good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you apologising?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

A warmth spread through your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So why are you coming here to apologise?" 

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

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

"How old are you?" you suddenly asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You literally called me a rag."

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

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

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

You chuckled. "This is a weird apology."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" you laughed. "No."

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

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

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

"Absolutely not!" you countered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I told you I-"

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

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

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

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

"Alright," you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fiora looked at you, her lips slightly parted.

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

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

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

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So” she resumed "we're cool?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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