#jayce k

[rededgecitycouncil]

Are there any longstanding feuds between families or neighbors in Red Edge that are reaching a boiling point?

Oh, sweeties, grab your popcorn because things are getting steamy in Red Edge. Word on the street is that the feud between Sloane and her ever-so-generous neighbors is heating up faster than a backyard BBQ. Sloane’s been glaring daggers—and not the decorative kind—at anyone who dares bring her husband a casserole, a pie, or anything wrapped in cling film. They call it "neighborly kindness," but Sloane sees right through the "random food" deliveries. Jealous much? Maybe. But can you blame her? Keep your eyes peeled; this pot is about to boil over @sloaneross @tfjayceking

[rededgefashion]

Step right up, folks! The curtain has risen, and the first attendees of the “Circus Fantasy” have stumbled in! And let me tell you, what a peculiar cast we’ve got here! First out of the gate is our resident ghost whisperer, Klaus—looking less like a ghoul chaser and more like he just popped in for a cold one with his ghost buddies. Cheers, Klaus! Next, we have Petra, who’s serving us serious influencer vibes. Seriously, if you don’t come out of this event with a million selfies, did you even attend? Now, Flynn is looking dapper in a suit! Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s about to sign autographs as the head honcho. Someone get this guy a top hat and a cane! Eric is giving us the chill factor of the century. Why does he look like he’s here to model pajamas? Seriously, who’s his agent?! And then there’s Jayce—wowza! Those arms could make anyone forget their own name. Can we please just ask him to carry us all to the after-party? Aurora is flaunting her sunny yellow dress, looking all cute and flirty. I mean, does she ever dress like anything other than an elementary school teacher on a field trip? Caleb’s looking sharper than a tack! He needs to rock this hair more often; I'm here for it! And Killian is killing it in red. Jeremy looks fine enough to be a model for “The Handsome Men’s Calendar.” And Sloane couldn’t be more adorable if she tried! Then there’s Sienna with that badass biker vibe. My heart is racing just thinking about her… slow down, girl, I can only handle so much excitement! Marc, seriously, what's your secret? Did you eat a handsome potion or what? Emersyn just waltzed in like she’s the star of Milan Fashion Week, and Isabella is absolutely glowing like she just won a “Best Dressed” award. Kingsley? Damn girl, keep slaying the game! Autumn's street style is so on point it could probably stop traffic! And Paris, looking cozy and cute instead of the usual heiress vibes—who knew that was even possible? Silas is rocking the "boy next door on a first date" look. I’m here for it! Noah might as well be shooting for "Sexiest Man Alive," 'cause he sure is looking the part. Brooke’s over here giving me major green-eyed envy with her fabulousness, and last but not least, we've got Pogue. Well, baby boy, you clean up so well I’m convinced you were made for magazine covers! Welcome to the "Circus Fantasy"—where the fashion is wild, and the guests are even wilder! 🎪✨

@marcxhall @missaurorathompson @tfjayceking @tfemersyn @thekillianquinn @kinsleyargent @petraxcromwell @ericxrose @parisastor @noahrodgers @autumnhawthorne @sloaneross @brookexbarlow @calebwarrenpeace @klausxrichards @silasrivers @siennaxjohnson @isabellaxsantos @flynnxgilbert @jayfellows

[xcaptvred]

˙✧˖° [ ◉¯] ⊹₊ ― starter / @ofxdrivenxkenners

jesse moved to set down the tray with his brother's favorite wings in front of him on the table, sitting down across from him. "ok, we've had an afternoon of normal brotherly activity of bowling and beers and now we've officially reached that time of day where you can tell me what's going on." he picked at the basket of fries that were sitting next to the wings. "and don't deny it, i can tell when something is up with you."

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Do you think Riot will make more seasons of Arcane in different regions post-s2, make more shows with different names that are set in the Arcane universe, or secret third option?

Yes and no.

To start with, yes: Arcane has been by far Riot's most mainstream successful media project ever (even outstripping K/DA), and there is literally no way in hell that the company isn't going to want to keep milking it until it is as dry, stale and withered as the PROJECT skin line.

So I predict that, absolutely, we will see new seasons of shows set in the League of Legends universe, probably animated, and hopefully with some of the extremely good animation partners Riot has managed to cultivate over the years.

The ARCANE branding is incredibly valuable now, and I wouldn't put it past Riot to do something stupid like name a show set in the Freljord ARCANE: True Ice or something unbearably stupid like that, even though the name relates extremely specifically to the setting and story of Piltover/Zaun and the Vi/Powder/Viktor/Jayce character group.

On the other hand, Riot might be the company on earth I trust the absolute least to effectively capitalize on and carry forward a success in creative arts that can't be monetized with skins and event passes.

Riot has an absolutely astounding history of tripping on their dicks when it comes to telling stories about their characters, in no small part due to its leadership quite simply never valuing storytelling as an end in itself. If it doesn't sell cosmetics or drive Engagement™ with the core League of Legends product, good luck getting Riot management to spend a fucking dime to make anything real.

Passionate people inside the company have to go to war, every single time, to make anything good happen. Legends of Bilgewater, the Spirit Blossom visual novel, the Marvel comics collaboration (RIP), Riot Forge, and very much Arcane, were absolute passion projects pushed over the line by people who literally put their jobs (and in many cases their health) on the line to make them happen.

Alex Yee and Christian Linke are old hands at Riot with a lot of clout, a lot of friends at the company, and a lot of goodwill to cash in, and if that hadn't been the case, there is literally no way in hell anything like Arcane ever gets made.

The behind-the-scenes documentary Riot themselves produced obviously goes out of its way to let Riot leadership suck themselves off about how much they contributed and how much they believed in the project, but make no mistake, they would have axed Arcane on the spot if there wasn't creatives fighting pitched battles every other day to keep it alive.

This is true of K/DA as well, by the way, there was a lot of internal resistance at Riot to that project - and to Star Guardians, and to Heartsteel. Anything cool Riot has ever made? Just assume that someone internally was shitting on it in meetings and trying to get it shut down.

Which is why I am intensely worried about Arcane in the long term. Not so much about Season 2, since it is mostly being produced by the same group of people, as far as I know, but that project is also going to be absolutely besieged by C-suite jackoffs trying to worm their names into the credits, making themselves Stakeholders™ and offering Feedback™ and voicing Concerns™, and I don't envy the showrunners the battles they are going to have to fight to keep these vultures away from the product.

But I am fucking worried about whatever Season 3 becomes. I am fucking worried about what happens the moment any of the key creatives behind the first two seasons resign, or get headhunted to new jobs. I am worried what's going to happen when Riot decides that the showrunners are "being difficult" and standing in the way of what leadership wants to do with the now very valuable ARCANE branding, and either corporately mandates them into roles of diminished influence or just outright fucking fires them (it'll be publicized as a mutual decision of course, it'll be publicized as a much celebrated retirement or "it's time to move on to new adventures").

Riot is a company with absolutely infinite capacity to fuck up a perfectly good thing for absolutely no fucking reason except some kombucha-chugging, suit-jacket-over-a-graphic-tee-and-sneakers-wearing, keeps-his-job-despite-multiple-sexual-harassment-allegations-because-he's-bros-with-the-C-suite, motherfucking "I am a player so I know what the players want" platitude-spouting "themes are for book reports"-ass Silicon Valley libertarian piece of shit decided he knows better than the artists whose work are the reason he takes home six figures a year.

[inkdragon1900]

K I actually want to talk about it. What’s with the white favoritism around Lestat?

Like I’m new here. Started watching the show last month. Like I love him obviously he’s a glorious toxic bastard. (Check my blog ie Aaravos from tdp and Ianthe from TLT)

But there’s like…this woobification vibe that some of yall in the fandom have.

And this isn’t about posts like “my babygirl is innocent.” Or “free my man. He was in a silly mood.” Cause like I get it. That’s just me with Armand. (Free my man he did all of it. But you’re honor he’s my wife)

But like…I’m AWARE of Armand’s whole deal. I’m not like “but he’s not that manipulative.” Gurl it’s why I’m into him. He’s a hot fictional bisexual vampire who manipulates like a woman playing 4d chess.

But these freaking takes like “just wait until Lestat can tell the full truth.”

Like I’m sorry but if the white man gets his turn with the talking stick and we get the story from his point of view and the writers make it objectively more factual then 3 freaking POC abuse victims I’m literally out and will not be tuning back in.

And like this is not my first rodeo in a fandom that has an issue with this.

Same problem in the Arcane fandom with the complete disregard and or needless hate over the POC character; Mel, Jayce, Sevika, Ambessa, and yes I have also seen a shit ton of Caitlyn hate or erasure of her being mixed race) and weird micro aggressions about Ekko.

Meanwhile Jinx, Silco, Vander, Viktor, and Vi are Fandom favs.

And the woobification off actually well done mental health struggles. Acting like Jinx’s BPD symptoms wouldn’t have happened if Vi had been a better sister. Or that Viktor is an UwU baby who can’t take care of himself. Bitch he’s disabled he’s not an infant.

And I’m seeing sooooo much of this with these Lestat takes. And as a fellow white person I do genuinely feel the need to call this shit out when I see it.

This like belief that Louis is dragging Lestat’s good name through the mud talking about his abuse and his experiences. Like I’m sorry but during season one I think Louis was a bit too nice about some of that shit Lestat pulled.

Then acting like Armand is some mustache twirling villain getting between Louis and Lestat’s great love??? And all he’s done is exhibit similar fear of loneliness as Lestat and all the manipulation that comes with that???

I’ll tell you what I still haven’t seen Armand do. Beat Louis to a pulp in front of their child then drag him by the chin leaving a literal trail of blood behind. Then draining him and dropping him from miles above the ground.

And I’m what just supposed to disregard all of Claudia’s diaries as well??

Cause I’m all here for the narrative already painted “that memory is a monster.” That we’re all slaves to our memory’s and that truth lies at the abstract of feeling and unclaimed in the middle of a multi perspective story.

It’s what makes this a great show.

Like yes please give me Lestat’s perspective I’d love to be able to see him fleshed out some more. But not at the expense that every single character be made a conniving liar.

[fascinati0nstr33t]

Arcane SSB headcanons

(cus i’ve been replaying smash and the lack of arcane content is killing me-)

Jinx

mains the Inkling or Kirby

i always thought of Jinx as a splatoon player, she’d deffo enjoy the game as a whole (she probably also listens to the soundtrack)

uses the purple inkling girl cus there isn’t an inkling girl with blue hair pipipi

spams the splat bombs and the splattershot

also spams the booyah taunt

another character i think she’d main would be kirby

it’s the “cute but will beat your ass” character that she would pick

absorbs her opponents none stop

is far more insufferable with kirby than she is with the inkling

WILL rage quit if she’s defeated by a final smash

go-to stages are moray towers and gamer

Vi

started using little mac but stuck to incineroar after first use

spams the down smash where incineroar jumps in the air then body slams to the ground

says she won’t get competitive but does the complete opposite when she loses once

favourite stage is the boxing ring

gets cocky if she has the final smash

always teams up with jinx or cait if it’s a team battle

has beef with isabelle for a good reason or for no good reason

has definitely told cait that she looks like lucina from fire emblem

Caitlyn

started playing the game because of vi

varies from lucina and samus

will definitely be the cause of jinx’s rage

manages to get the most KO’s in team battle

WILL accuse jinx if she spams a side special too many times

does get competitive after a few matches

despises the wii fit trainer with every fiber of her being

go-to stage is the great plateau tower

plays classic mode every now and then

if she’s an excellent shot with her rifle, then she’s getting critical hits in the game

grabs every assist trophy that drops on the stage

Mel

has played smash rarely, but is always up for a challenge

elegant and cunning? she’s maining Bayonetta, specifically her third edit style

palutena’s temple is her favourite stage

is possibly the only calm one during a match

witch time and bullet climax are the combos she uses the most

“if you need to learn how to talk to a lady ask your mum” taunt is used at least 5 times during a match

“it was a fair game, dear” as she absolutely demolishes her opponent (probably Jayce or another councilor)

high chance that smash got her to play the actual bayonetta games-

Ekko

i headcanon him as the bigger gamer out of everyone

saw a fanart of him as twilight princess link AND IT LOOKED SO GOOD🔥

so, ye, he mains link

pirate ship and umbra clock tower are his go-to (cus, he’s the boy who shattered time-)

got splatrolled by jinx too many times

gets pissed if his final smash doesn’t hit anyone

spams the boomerang and bow

impersonates the “HYAH” depending on the combo

uses any taunt animation after defeating someone

has beef with wario and king k rool

Jayce

COCKIEST MF WHEN IT COMES TO SMASH

mains captain falcon

spams falcon punch to the point it’s annoying

just like vi, he gets competitive when he says he won’t

played world of light but made it halfway through

will team up with mel (because he loves her and he doesn’t want to get beat up by Bayo)

secretly enjoys the squid sisters songs if he’s playing moray towers

hates moving stages

made a bet with vi to see who would win a squad strike…he lost

buys everything in the shop

hates that blue gumball son of a b!tch

unironically quotes “show me ya moves” while viktor is absolutely fed up with his bs

Viktor

MY BOYYYY SJDBKDJSKXNKSHDKDKF

he mains fox, that’s it

has won three tourneys with little to no effort

bridge of eldin, final destination and halberd are his fav stages

hates ness, absolutely despises him, and definitely takes out his stress on him

possibly has said “PK FIRE my ass you little shit” at least once

he’s known to be pretty calm and calculated, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t gone absolutely livid in a match

if it’s a free for all, he’s targeting jayce, no second thoughts

has teamed up with jinx whenever vi would team up with cait (they would be a solid duo)

spirit board speedrunner

knows how to target the final smash

he’d probably build a miniature of fox’s ship after having mained him for some time

[tlonista]

Multifandom Hurt/Comfort

Everything hurts; just hope you've got somebody to hold you together when it does. My multifandom writing highlights.

Careful, I Bite (Baldur's Gate 3)

Seducere (14,000 words) - Astarion's complicated, mostly terrible 200-year relationship with seduction, and his less terrible relationship with Tav.

A Crimson Night (18,000 words) - What if Astarion's quest involved an uncomfortable proposition at a masquerade? A Ren'py visual novel with BG3 mechanics and extensive player choice.

The Jayvik Cycle (Arcane)

City of Sunlight (10,000 words) - Vignettes about classism, alienation, and Viktor adjusting to life in Piltover.

Bad Machinery (27,000 words) - An AU where Viktor never left the undercity, but he found Jayce anyway.

Burning Paper Curses (26,000 words) - Viktor's exile after the Council bombing, and the birth of a fake-enemies relationship with Jayce.

Blood and Blue Diamonds (73,000 words) - A detective!Jayce love letter to '30s Los Angeles noir.

City Slang (14,000 words) - Viktor has a terrible night in the undercity, but it's the push he needs to confess some feelings to himself.

To Gold and Redwoods (4,000 words) - A marshal!Jayce and outlaw!Viktor classic western AU.

Love and Demolition (Danger Days)

Better Living Through Anarchy (35,000 words) - Fun Ghoul is a captured zonerunner. Gerard Way is a Battery City TV showrunner. A Killjoys origin story.

Graffiti Tarot (50,000 words) - The Fab Four live... but Ghoul's in prison, Poison's in a coma, Kobra's a brainwashed killer, and Jet's raising a magical girl. A post-SING AU.

The Ship Is Isaac/Misery (Dead Space)

Apostles to the Dead (5,000 words) - EarthGov kept videos of what it did to Isaac on Titan. Ellie finds them. Set during Dead Space 3.

Vacuum Lullaby (11,000 words) - Liz Cross lives in the DS remake. After Aegis VII, she and Isaac try to patch each other up.

Miscellaneous

Ant Farming For Beginners (6,000 words, Doom Patrol) - Larry Trainor's time in the Ant Farm, leaning hard on the fourth wall.

Simulacron-12 Is Smooth Again (4,000 words, Blade Runner 2049) - K is under Niander Wallace's control. Reality is breaking down. On a couple layers of existence, Joi does what she can to help.

A Kindness of Dreams (4,000 words, Darkest Dungeon) - Before the hamlet, Baldwin comforts Sarmenti in the tyrant's court.

[woollywanderer]

Arcane AU where Viktor's "wait, this isn't my room" lie somehow works, and Jayce has to pretend to be his new boyfriend to gain access to the lab rooms at night.

. Jayce looking all smug when questioned. "You said I couldn't come back to the Academy again, you didn't say I couldn't f@#k the members."

. Viktor being asked why he's wasting his time with a disgraced member of House Tallis, and him just shrugging and casually saying, "well, we all like a bit of a bad boy," and going back to his notes.

. Heimerdinger coming across a locked lab room door with strange lights and sounds coming from within:

"You boys better not be doing illegal science in there."

"No Professor, we're ...uh... having sex. "

"Understandable, have a great day."

[newromantisc]

˛ ⠀ ⠀ ⋆ ⠀ ⠀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 ,

comente b + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com barbie.

comente e + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com elijah.

comente f + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com freya.

comente j + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com jayce.

comente k + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com kuai liang.

comente l + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com lexa.

comente m + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com miss fortune.

comente n + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com natasha.

comente r + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com rogue.

comente s + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com shaggy.

comente v + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com victor.

comente w + um prompt + um lugar para um starter com warren.

@aspenstart , o limite é de três starters por player. e como eu comentei antes, março é um mês complicado, então vou postar os starters com calma conforme respondo minhas atuais pendências. não esqueça de dizer pra qual dos seus personagens será o starter.

[rededgecitycouncil]

thoughts on jayce and sloane eloping?

Well, well, well! Good for them! It’s not like we haven’t been watching this show on repeat for years. But hey, better late than never, right? @sloaneross @tfjayceking

[rededgefashion]

Spotted: The (possibly) last round of arrivals for the masquerade ball! Jayce looking how he normally does, but he just got engaged so I'll give him that. He had to keep room for the ring, rather than worry about the ball. Archie looking adorable in a cater waiter way. Sienna looking like she's an undercover goddess in her outfit. Freya looking like she's about to get married in her white outfit. Lydia rocking the rose gold look from head to toe. Illiana also rocking a similar shade to Lydia. Hmmm, that's interesting....Elliot looking like a gray stallion in his outfit. Alejandro showing off his sexy style in his outfit. Arrow flashing his wealth with his outfit. Georgina looking like a million bucks in her beautiful red outfit. Nova looking gorgeous in her outfit. Beau showing us that surfers can clean up pretty well in his outfit. Luke looking hot in his royal blue and gld outfit. Ocean looking regal in her outfit. Valentina looking like a vampire queen in her outfit. Vinny looking decent in his outfit. Tell me Red Edge, out of every one of you who has been judged, who has been your best dressed for this event? I'll tell me mine if you tell me your's XOXO

@tfjayceking @archiexdeaton @siennaxjohnson @freyaxsmithx @lydiaxbrown @illianafuentes @elliotbooker @alejandroxfuentesx @arrowxellington @georginaxrussell @novaxrockwell @beauxwilliamsx @lukexmyersx @oceanxsimmons @valentinaxlopezx @vinnybaxter

[ladybugsimblr]

Sibling Group Chat Shenanigans

-

Text messages under the cut

Arya: Another one!!! 🔥 Killed it sis. Loved the article too. Jayce: 🔊 Might I suggest you don’t fuck with my sis. Bailey: 🥰😊Awwww stooop. My head is gonna get too big. J: OMG your fivehead? Yeah that’s big enough. But we still love you. BK: Where is that middle finger emoji? BK: But srsly very happy with how it all turned out. A: Yaaay! She back!

J: I already miss my squad. BK: Awww they miss their fave uncle. A: Wow. Spend one little weekend with the terrors and thinks he’s squad now. J: Wow. Jealousy jumped out. Not my fault they love me more than you. A: Lies and fairytales! 🙄 BK: Y’all are really giving terrors right now. Stop fighting you two lol

BK: Ooop. Lyree has spoken. She said she loves you both the same. But Auntie and Uncle are Circle of Trust and Richards Gang Gang. Squad is only for immediate family. J: Come on immediate family! Look at what a couple days without electronics does for you. BK: 😂😂 I can’t!

J: When do you land? BK: 6.30ish J: K going back to bed. I’m tired. Safe travels! A: Why are you so tired? What were you doing last night? BK: 👀 J: 😏

A: Did your gentleman caller spend the night?? J: I’m sleep but gentleman caller is sending me!! 😂 J: Dis tew much for my virgin ears. BK: Viiiirgin?! A: You haven’t done the do? J: Arya Please! I’m done with you today. A: Ugh. No one tells me anything. Keep your secrets!

BK: Don’t talk Miss RiRi. I heard about a possible diamond ring situation and I’ve been waiting for you to spill. J: Oh word?! I’m up again if there is tea 👀 A: Look at the time. I gotta get ready for work. BK: Right right. You’re lucky I’m in my peaceful era. I’ll let you rock but we need sister sister time. A: Thanks sis. Promise we’ll catch up ASAP.

A: How’s the ankle? BK: No comment until this doc visit. A: At least it’s been quiet here. No one has said anything. J: Yeah about that… BK: Uh oh. Simsta? J: Yeah your fave… BK: Welp. This will be a fun welcome back. Vacation is officially over.

[melmedarda]

@meljaymicrofics ⸻ heatwave ⸻ wc: 975 ⸻ rated G

It’s insufferable.

Air too thick in her lungs, her throat and nose close around every inhale. Rebel with every exhale. Perhaps this is how she’ll die.

The woman on the television has a pretty, plastic smile on her face, make up perfect. Face without the sheen of sweat as she announces the weather report in her perfect, near robotic voice. Mel has never hated a woman more.

Hot winds blowing up towards the isthmus from the deserts of Shurima threaten to make this summer the hottest we’ve seen. With record breaking temperatures of 311K and above, the costal cities of Krexor, Holdrum, Piltover, Rokund, Trannit, and Zaun are facing several heatwaves in the summer season. This is Lady Sempescu with PNN, live from—”

The tele blinks off, Mel’s hand tight on the remote. Held like a spear, handled like a weapon within her grip.

There’s no one she can go to. Mel has few friends enough as it is, and the few she has are busy. Elora’s gone to some convention in Noxus. She hasn’t heard from Samira for upwards of two months, which means she’s on assignment. Shoola’s gone to Camavor on vacation, and she’d jump into the Pilt before ever asking Salo for a favor. And then, there is the manor.

She entertains the idea, stripped down to the barest of clothing. Reclined on the cool tile of the apartment, she relishes the feel of it against her heated skin. Stares at the ceiling and thinks of her childhood room in her too quiet apartment. Thinks of a place that has not been home for a long while now.

They have working AC there, no doubt. Ambessa would not tolerate anything otherwise. But if Mel was to leave Midtown Heights and return home, her mother would give her the look. The look which communicated that Ambessa was right, and that Mel should have never moved out in the first place.

Mel had left home to escape her mother’s controlling hand in her life. Tolerating Ambessa was much like this heatwave. Oppressive. Suffocating and smothering. Mel had worked hard to escape; to return for any would be humiliating. Not when she worked so hard to escape her mother’s world.

Mel would never live it down.

She calls the Midtown Heights office again, bare foot tapping impatiently as the line rings. Her skin is cooler after standing in front of her open freezer for some relief. But her core temperature is rising now, and her temper with it. Finally, she gets someone.

“Good morning, Midtown Heights Luxury Apartments, how may I help you?” the operator says. The cheeriness in her voice makes Mel want to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“Hello, this is Ms. Medarda, from the penthouse suite 1004. I’m calling to inform you of a issue with the air conditioning… yes, I left a message two days ago and have not heard back. Is the maintenance man available to come up today? Yes, please do. Thank you. You too.”

She’s near peeling her skin off her body by the time she hears the doorbell. The sky is too blue outside the large floor to ceiling windows, not a cloud on the horizon. The sun blinds, unrepentant. Beside her, the box of ice cream she’d picked up from the mart is half finished, containing a pool of melted Noxian citrus ice cream.

Mel opens the door and immediately, heat swirls and builds beneath her skin. The handyman is a vision. Smoking hot, as Samira would say. He smiles at her, and she feels his eyes rove over her as well. They leave a trail of new heat in their wake.

And Mel’s not one to feel embarrassed or self-conscious, but she cannot help her acute awareness of the too short night slip she wears, and the near sheerness of the material. Of how sweaty she is. Of how far from appropriate this situation is. Of how deeply the heat has addled her brain, because she realizes she hasn’t said anything as yet.

“Jayce Talis, Miss Medarda. Admin sent me to fix the HVAC?” Golden eyes flit back to her. Mel swallows thickly and nods, something bitter in her throat. Steps back. Opens the door wider to let him enter. Keeps her eyes on the deep blue of his henley as he walks past. She nearly swoons when he removes his work boots before stepping further into the house. Thoughtful.

He turns to face her, and Mel realizes she is simply standing. Watching. “Please, call me Mel.” Miss Medarda reminds too much of Ambessa. “And yes, the unit has been out for about two days. She gestures towards the hall, and he falls her through on near silent feet.

“It really is hot. Did you not want to go to a hotel until everything was fixed?” His curiosity betrays his real question. Why are you courting heatstroke by roasting in this glorified oven, no doubt.

“I have fish to feed,” is all she says as they pass her assortment of fans lining the hallway. “It’s just in here.” Her penthouse comes with a rooftop garden, within which the body of her problem lies. Jayce nods, and wordlessly gets to work.

She checks on him about 30 minutes later. Better clothes and bearing a glass filled with water and ice cubes. His broad back is the first thing the greet her, blue henley discarded. Then the toned muscles of his arms. Her eyes drink him in, greedy. A desire to paint overwhelms her. She says nothing, leaving the glass near enough that he might see it, and retreats into the house.

Perhaps she might see if there is anything else in the penthouse that needs…fixing.

[maxineryx]

Before you follow !

English is not my first language. In shorter fics where gender isn’t specified, you may interpret the reader as anyone, however, I always write with a fem!reader in mind. I don't write character x character, or ships including the same gender. I don't post much. It might take me several days, or even weeks to post something. Sorry! This blog is not spoiler free. Some works of mine might include manga spoilers. There is no specific way the reader looks (unless it is requested). Sometimes I might refer to height, but other than that, reader does not have a description related to how they look. Some of my works may include suggestive themes, but I do not write smut. There might be dark themes used such as violence, abuse, mental illnesses etc. However all my works will contain warnings at the top if needed. I will not always reply or write what you requested, but keep in mind that I saw and noted. Might catch up to it later and will definitely let you know :)

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Fandoms and characters I am willing to write for :

Jujutsu Kaisen : Yuuji, Megumi, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, Yuuta, Nanami

Attack on Titan : Eren, Levi, Jean, Armin, Connie, Reiner, Erwin

Demon Slayer : Giyuu, Tanjiro, Inosuke, Rengoku, Tengen, Sanemi

My Hero Academia : Deku, Todoroki, Bakugou, Hawks, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima

Seraph of the end : Guren, Mikaela, Yuichiro, Crowley, Yoichi, Shiho

Bungo Stray Dogs : Dazai, Chuuya, Tecchou, Atsushi, Ranpo, Akutagawa

Genshin Impact : Diluc, Zhongli, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Xiao, Kazuha, Ayato, Alhaitham, Thoma, Albedo, Itto, Kaeya, Heizou, Childe

More : Ekko, Jayce (Arcane), Light, L (Death Note), Kaneki (Tokyo Ghoul), Vanitas, Noe (Vanitas No Carte), Tomoe (Kamisama Kiss), Saiki (Saiki K), Kurapika, Chrollo, Gon, Killua (HxH), Saitama, Genos, Garou (Opm)

[valaruakars]

Let’s Get Physical (Part 6)

Viktor/F!Reader || 8.5k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW (but getting suggestive)

Your no good, very bad day just keeps on giving, past and present. Viktor needs a favor. In the end, you finally tell the truth, but he just might wish it was a lie instead. 

Part 1 → Part 2  → Part 3 → Part 4  → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6  (Ao3 Link)

Three days come and go in bleak monotony, all the while Caitlyn’s words—no, that whole morning—still haunts you.

How seasonally appropriate you think on that fourth gray morning, walking into work with your ghost patterned mug clutched tight. Only to find that they’ve already started decorating the main lobby without you. Assholes. Maybe it could’ve taken your mind off things, if only for a little while, to set up the suggested reading display with all the saucy vampire novels of your youth; to see how long it might’ve taken for one of the smarmy old directors to clutch their pearls and complain that it isn’t educational enough. 

But probably not. Not the way you’ve been operating—which is to say, barely, when the long, lonely hours seem to pass at a crawl. Just you, your work, and your sad little soul. All sighs and staring at the clock, stuck waiting for your feelings to fuck off and quit eating you alive bit by bit. 

To your credit, you’re trying to hurry them along. You’ve tried anger, first at yourself for feeling too much, too strong, too fast yet again because, desperate for affection, you never seem to learn your lesson. Tried denial, to convince yourself it’s all just superficial; that your pathetic fascination with him is only skin deep. Tried anger, again, except at him… But that fizzles out in seconds when you find nothing to be angry about when it comes to Viktor. It’s wrong to lay blame on him when this has all been you getting your hopes up and suffering the consequences like a poor sport. 

Nothing helps. 

Well, maybe letting off some steam would’ve helped, except you’re avoiding the house right now. You’d even gone as far as to lie about a nasty headache coming on last night, all to bail on Jayce. 

Or, well… All to avoid Viktor, because since you don’t want to see him, you absolutely would if you went. That’s how it works. 

But you can’t keep it up for much longer. You miss the sweet burn in your muscles and the rush of endorphins it gives you. The guilt is growing too, a fear of losing your momentum with it. You need to face your fears. Except you aren’t scared of him so much as hurt, horribly embarrassed, and growing increasingly conflicted with each passing day.

But you file that under ‘miserable things to contemplate later’ once you realize that you’ve ridden the elevator up and walked all the way to your office, entirely on autopilot. And that the stupid fucking door won’t fucking open because you haven’t unlocked it yet… Obviously. 

You take out your key and shove it into the lock, ears burning, because a  little old lady with a cart, one of the volunteers from downstairs, has seen you fight the door and lose. You flash her a tight, awkward smile, ignoring the way your mental health is clearly in question as you duck inside.

It smells mustier than usual inside your cramped space. It’s hardly an office and more of an upscale storage closet for underpaid students—neither seen nor heard, but the work gets done. The bookshelves are overpowering and your ‘antique desk’ is just a retired study table that missed the dumpster. You’re sure, based on the crudely etched graffiti—dicks included. But at least there’s a window, and the old crown molding is classically pretty despite the water damage from some ancient leak. 

You like it here, most importantly. 

This room has always been safe and comfortable and somewhere you’re much happier to be than at home most of the time, even despite its perpetual old building smell and the world’s shittiest HVAC system retrofitted in. It feels lived in. The hum of constant activity is soothing. 

The other graduate assistants you know hate being assigned offices here. It’s a boon to be placed in the new addition, apparently, or at the science library on north campus. You’re just grateful to have an office in the first place, one that you don’t have to share, which is nice and very much because nobody else will fit. Scratch that—you can fit a student for about twenty minutes before it rapidly approaches intolerable. 

Naturally, there’s a few on the schedule for research consultations and the like. Definitely things you aren’t yet qualified for, but somehow—poor organization? underfunding?—the task got handed down to you and you’ve accepted the challenge. 

Those very human interactions take your mind off things for most of the day, even if your attention isn’t at its peak. Your sympathy certainly isn’t, which is unfortunate for the strung out freshman that bursts into tears right in front of you over Heimerdinger’s class and how they’re going to fail, apparently. 

As they sniffle into the tissue you offer, all you can think is ‘same’ and let them dip out of the appointment with whatever dignity they have left. Really, what a mood. 

Though, to be fair, you haven’t even cried that much! 

Only once in full. And no, the bouts of watery eyes that never spill over don’t count. You pride yourself on being strong; on letting the misery act as a slow spreading poison after you survived the blunt force trauma of being let down so hard and fast. You keep brushing up against that memory; keep promising yourself you won’t think about it. 

But late in the afternoon, when everything calms down and your mind starts to wander, you break that promise.

—

“Oh…” you whispered, the word but a breath on the cusp of your own hearing.

Oh, indeed, to have your heart so succinctly sucker punched into the pit of your stomach. Oh, to crash back to earth when you spent all morning on high. 

Your ears rang, shell shocked by the truth. Hope felt like a smoldering warmth gone cold in your chest and you were… numb. Very numb in a sudden, short lived vacuum of feeling before dire reality—where you were, who you were with, what was at stake—came rushing back in. 

They couldn’t know.

You could not let them know. 

And so you hit the ground running. It was part self-preservation, that constant savior when disappointment laid waste to your fragile feelings, you sensitive thing, and part luck, because Caitlyn and Vi? They gave you time for a scrabbling little recovery. 

Vi pitched her hand out into her girlfriend’s field of view—a signature what the fuck gesture, if you’d ever seen one. And yeah, you’d seen plenty. 

It snatched Caitlyn’s attention right off you as you struggled against the obvious hurt on your glassy-eyed face. Your expressions could be so traitorous; they liked to give you away.

Vi, exasperated, said, “Cait, don’t be so dramatic just ‘cause you feel bad.”

“I’m only trying to be honest.”

“Then tell her the whole story! You can’t just leave out why.”

“I was getting there,” she snapped, and did something rather unexpected. She silenced her phone as it began to ring, and turned her attention, rarely undivided, on you. 

You knew that story. Part of it, at least. It’s what landed you here, sitting on that bench, in that garage, at that house, in the first place. The beginning of an era, where you got to do what you loved with your friends; found the will to challenge yourself again, and the comfort to work at embracing your own skin. 

And then there was the part that was kept from you. The part where Caitlyn, who’d had a little too much one night, let slip just a little too much, and Jayce got—God forbid—an idea.

One that never got off the ground.

It was nothing personal, if they were to be believed. And you wanted badly to believe them: That Viktor knew nothing about you, not even what you looked like, when he refused an… introduction before you’d ever set foot in that house. That he’d expressed a firm disinterest in dating, with neither the time nor desire, before the conversation went beyond informing him that there’s this girl, she’ll be coming over to work out if you’re comfortable with that, and by the way, she’s single. 

Wink implied. 

All Jayce, of course, but Vi was guilty of abetting too. Reason unknown, but you suspected it might’ve been to watch Viktor squirm.

Whether he did or not, nobody said. You were just told that, predictably, it irritated Viktor to be baited out of his comfort zone. Jayce only succeeded at pushing him back into it—back into his room, too, that he hardly seemed to leave, according to Caitlyn. 

Though, that had to be an exaggeration. 

You saw him outside of it plenty.

You weren’t sure if they’d intended to spare your brittle confidence or to spare your feelings, telling you all that. But you were grateful, either way, for the fact that it’d given you time to think. Moreso that it’d given you ammunition, too, to shoot your shot at throwing Caitlyn off. God, did you worry what she thought. 

You lifted your chin. “Did Jayce only invite me here to throw me in front of his weird roommate?” you asked, directing all your hurt into that quiet, wounded question. Hated yourself for saying that about Viktor, but it really sold the illusion of disgust and betrayal—that you’d traded one bad gym full of prying eyes for another. Never mind that you’d make an exception for him; that you found yourself wanting him to look his fill, but that wasn’t important right now. 

What was important was Caitlyn saying, “Of course not,” with conviction, like she bought it. “Jayce is your friend, first and foremost—that was never his intention.”

“Yeah, more like a perk,” Vi added. “Don’t take it too personally, Viktor’s always been his pet project.”

Caitlyn ignored her phone vibrating for a second time, but her fingers had twitched like she wanted badly to answer. “There are nicer ways to say he cares about his friend, you know.”

“Okay, yeah, he cares, but do you wanna know what I think?”

“You’re going to tell us anyways,” you sighed, picking at your cuticles like it didn’t interest you deeply to know what Vi had picked up on. She always had good instincts and paid a little more attention than anyone ever gave her credit for. You included, sometimes. 

“I think things are getting serious with Mel,” she said, voice low. “I mean, haven’t you noticed how much time he’s spending at her place now? She even takes him to all her fancy Piltie parties, buys him nice clothes, and that ring she got him for his birthday this year?” You’d seen it a handful of times. He wore it sparingly: A heavy gold signet with his family’s hammer crest in relief—nice, and distinctly expensive. “Really committed stuff.”

“I’ve noticed. Your point, exactly?” asked Caitlyn.

“I’m just saying that it looks like he’s starting to leave Viktor behind, and he knows it. So he’s making back up plans, which is why he took it way too seriously when you joked that she likes weird little nerds, babe.” 

“I didn’t word it like that—” Caitlyn said.

Right at the exact same time you groaned, “—I do not!”

You ignored their incredibly skeptical looks. Caitlyn’s worse to weather—the pattern made of your frivolous crushes and failed relationships known to her—but it didn’t last as long. Her phone vibrated on the padded bench for a third time just as you opened your mouth, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She muttered an apology and took off like a shot out of the garage in long, urgent strides to answer, leaving Vi to slide eagerly into her place.

“You got something to say? Say it,” she encouraged.

“I’m not saying you’re right,” you said quietly, leaning forward on your knees, “But Jayce told me that he didn’t want to be Viktor’s only friend. Right before he… Well, he basically asked me to give him a chance, so I guess that was the contingency plan.” 

“Yeah, and how’s that going for you?” Vi asked. You heard it in her wry tone, that it was a challenge she knew well. 

“I don’t know, fine I guess? I’ve been trying…” You were hesitant, however, to tell her just how hard you’d been trying, and what all you’d done in pursuit of his attention. You could already imagine her teasing you for sneaking inside to talk to him, or staying up late in his room—the suspicion it might create in Caitlyn, if she passed that information along. So all you said, devoid of context, was: “He did let me hold Rio, which was probably a good sign.”

Vi shot to her feet, voice rising with her. “That prickly little bastard! He’s never let me hold her, and I’ve asked like a million times!” she shouted as you shushed her, looking like she meant to march inside and do something about the injustice. But worse, she turned to you instead, arms crossed. Smug and jealous in equal measure, she said, “Oh, I bet he actually fucking likes you.”

You had to remind her, “Not like that,” because like hell you would be the one to change his mind. Viktor had the air of someone stubborn, which you could respect, and was already in a very committed relationship with his work, which you couldn’t. 

“You want him to?” she shot back, quick like it might trip you up.

“No.”

She was easy to lie to. You could look her dead in the eye and do it unflinchingly, because the truth was this: The hardest person to lie to was only ever yourself. You said no and thought yes, yes, yes. Meant it two-fold, because you had always wanted him to like you as a friend, and then as something more. You’d never be able to hide that longing from yourself; only hope that, in time, it might dull into white noise and a bearable ache.

“Shame.” She kicked at something invisible on the ground. Hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her joggers, rolling her square shoulders like it might inspire a little fight in you. “I thought you’d be kinda cute together.”

“Disagree, sorry. Can’t really see it,” you shrugged, very tempted toward sadism—to imagine something that would never be. 

She hummed a knowing little hmph through her nose, wry smile fading out as Caitlyn hurried back in and told her to grab their things. Leaving in a hurry, but you saw it coming with the chokehold her job had on her. Any other day, you might’ve offered to take Vi home later, but the rising need to be alone saw you waving them off in Vi’s shitty old truck as they backed down the driveway.

A curdled sense of relief washed over you, that you wouldn’t have to play at strength anymore. Your heart was only made of pieced together porcelain, after all. 

They left you to tidy up and wipe down the equipment by yourself. Fine, but you were growing desperate for a wasteful, cathartic shower. One where you let the water run in scalding rivers down your body, pooling where you hugged yourself; where you could lean your temple against the cool tile and let the water wash hotter than tears down your face. The kind where you stared long and hard and listless at the drain until your feelings eased into something manageable, and you were ready to crawl into bed with pruny fingers and wet hair.

The treadmill still needed to be wiped down, but—better to ask forgiveness—the desire to go home won out. 

You needed your keys first to do that, and they were still on the side table by the couch. Or was it the kitchen island? You slung the sweated through t-shirt over your shoulder, then headed inside to look.

And promptly froze when you realized that the house smelled of fresh brewed coffee and burnt toast.

—

Your phone pings softly, buried beneath a stack of manila folders. It draws your attention back to the tender present, having poked thoroughly at your bruised little heart to find that yes, it still hurts, thank you.   

You extract it carefully, sighing for what must be the hundredth time today. It has to be Jayce, wondering how you’re feeling today. Swap headache for heartache, and you’re pretty much the same, though.

But it isn’t.

Oh fuck, it really isn’t.

The message bubble on your screen reads Viktor, and you have the sudden urge to keel over. To drop your head on the desk, then pick it up and bang it a few times as if that’ll numb you out. How can he be both the first and very last person you want to talk to?

Of course, it doesn’t cross your mind to ignore him. You don’t have the heart to. Can’t curb your curiosity to know what he wants, either. Especially when the message tone sounds again and the screen lights up in your hand.

A second text. 

You hold your breath and swipe the message right.

[Viktor, 4:01pm]: Jayce tells me you work on campus. Could I trouble you for a ride home? [Viktor, 4:01pm]: If you’re there today, and if it’s not out of the way. I understand if you cannot. Thank you.

You hate that it’s back—that excited little ache you get at the thought of seeing him. You try to temper it with the boring truth that this is just your friend asking a favor. Emphasis on friend. One with the prettiest eyes that hurt terribly to say no to. Unfair leverage, but it’s your fault for being this pathetically swayed. 

Was it even more pathetic that you don’t hesitate to respond?

[4:03pm]: Sure, I don’t mind! But I have another hour and a half before I leave, is that a problem?

Maybe he can find some else to take him home faster? Spare you the awkward ride home?

If only.

[Viktor, 4:06pm]: No. I will find somewhere nearby to work until you’re ready to leave. [Viktor, 4:06pm]: Where would that be? [Viktor, 4:07pm]: Also, thank you.

You could say something vague. Could just tell him west campus or the building alone. But somewhere deep and reckless and maybe a bit sadistically hopeful, you think: Fuck it.

[4:08pm]: Main library, second floor, #212. There should still be seating around here. 

—

Viktor slips his phone into the pocket of his coat, pulling it tighter against the rising wind, and starts the slow, stiff walk to the oldest part of campus. 

An hour and a half, hm? It isn’t a problem. There are always little things to attend to—notes to consolidate, grades to enter, the Sisyphean joy of emails—but it isn’t particularly convenient either.

Who is he, though, to complain about a favor given freely by his last resort? 

Jayce had been unavailable to pick him up first, and the lab technician, Sky, who normally offers to drive him home too eagerly, was absent today. Which leaves you, by Jayce’s suggestion, and he’s suddenly brought out of his own little world. He didn’t know you work here, let alone go here. It’s his own fault. He’s never asked you much about yourself, relying on tidbits from Jayce and his own assumptions, which are occasionally a bit off.

Well... Maybe it is a little shameful that he’d lumped you in with Vi—but nicer and prettier and much easier to talk to!—as the brawns over brains sort. But the wonderful thing about private judgment is that he’ll never have to admit to being wrong. 

How wrong, though? That’s exactly what has him curious. 

Normally he takes the bus, but walking gives him peace and quiet and, most importantly, time to think. And not about that one equation that simply will not produce the correct result, no matter what he tries. It would be preferable to think over again, but... no. If he’s going to see you, he needs to have his head on straight. He can feel himself slipping. He needs to be careful. 

Especially after that morning. 

—

The fridge door rattled shut to the sound of rubber soles treading quietly down the hallway, and there you were, rushing a greeting that was bright and breathy. Rushing, like you meant to leave in a hurry. 

He only managed an echo, a murmured, “Good morning,” as he tried to give you space. 

He didn’t mean to ignore you. It wasn’t intentional. It’s just that he was quite preoccupied with making a pitiful breakfast and denying the stinging sliver of guilt shoved right up under his ribs any legitimacy. Busy work.  

Averse to waste, he heaped on what was left of an old jar of apricot preserves to salvage the taste of his burnt toast, scraping and scraping and scraping it into the dry, blackened bread. Standing at the kitchen island, with the perfect vantage point to watch you in those little shorts and nothing but a sports bra, it was a matter of will and focus not to steal greedy glances while you straightened up the couch you’d slept on last night. Did you know you talked in your sleep?

He was very successful at keeping his eyes to himself. Right up until you asked, “Are you alright?” because he’d all but brutalized the toast. 

Viktor discarded the knife into the sink basin, immediately regretting that he forgot to lick it clean. He looked at you, finally, and shrugged. “I, eh, didn’t sleep well...” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded distant threaded around that half-truth.

You hummed a little sound of understanding since you did, in part, understand. Took to neatening the old throw pillows and folding up his favorite blanket with such polite care. 

He’d missed its added warmth last night, what with Jayce’s refusal to turn on the heat because ‘it’s not cold enough yet.’ But he could’ve never, in good conscience, left you to shiver yourself back to sleep. Couldn’t give you one of the moth eaten ones out of his closet, either, because that wouldn’t have been right. 

Your voice cut through his train of thought. “I’m sorry I kept you up,” you added, and if only you knew how true that was. 

“I—” 

Wait, fuck. 

“We,” he corrected quickly, that nasty little slip, “won’t make a habit of it.” 

And in a moment of potent self-awareness, he considered how cold that sounded. Undeserved when you’d been so attentive to Rio, so willing to lay down your own wants when you caught on to the harrowing ordeal of trusting her to someone else. And you were a good listener, too, to his great surprise, but perhaps that was unfair—people typically listen better when they’re not busy or blinded by panic. You offered no judgment for how he’d grown up; your eyes never once glazed over with disinterest, just a sweet, sleepy haze.

No, your kindness shouldn’t be met with cruelty. He’d hate to discourage you from it. It’d be nice, actually, to stay up with you again. 

So he said, entirely the truth: “But I appreciated the company, regardless.” 

You tried your best to smile as you shrugged, “Sure,” like it was no big deal. It didn’t reach your eyes, empty and tired. 

He wanted to attribute that to a strenuous workout. Not because you realized he’d been committing your half-naked body to sinful memory, or because you’d spent that shred of time with him and found it a waste. He couldn’t decide which would be worse. 

You held up his borrowed blanket and asked, “Should I put this in the wash before I go?” 

Ah. Of course. 

Now, in the light of day, you were eager to leave. Better things to do, at best. At worst, it made you just another of Jayce’s friends that never quite knew what to do with him; that never stuck around if Jayce was gone. But that was fine, wasn’t it? You would leave and his roommate would likely be gone all day, so he’d get the house to himself, which was ideal. He liked being alone. 

He liked being alone. 

“Leave it there,” he said, an absent instruction as he remembered the food growing cold and soggy on his plate. Made it easier to fold in half, though. “It will go with the rest of my laundry later,” he said before you could try to do him an unnecessary favor. 

He took a very final bite of sickly sweet toast because that was that, right? 

Wrong, and Viktor nearly choked for it. 

“Can I leave you this too?” you asked, and his eyes ticked between your pretty face, framed by stray, sweaty licks of hair, and that stupid fucking shirt of Jayce’s you were holding up. You’d traipsed inside with it draped over your shoulder, which must have meant…

Oh, you made it so easy to be the worst version of himself. You’d been wearing it, hadn’t you, out there in the garage? 

Being alone was suddenly much more enticing. 

Viktor nodded tightly against his ill-mannered excitement, reigning it in sharply. He washed down what was stuck in his throat with a mouthful of coffee and told you, deceitfully nonchalant, “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmhm.”

You folded it too and left everything piled on the back of the couch with a listless little pat and a yawn, hidden behind your hand. “Thank y—” 

Your phone vibrated in harsh pulses on the side table, and you snatched it up before it could topple over the edge. Answered it without another glance his way and started pacing the length of the couch.

The conversation was brief. He heard a no, then yes a few times over, before you finally said, “I’ll grab it,” and hung up as you started for the stairs.

The thought of doing something nice suddenly occurred to him, watching you trudge up the stairs like you had to drag your body along. He knew much about how that felt. 

Viktor clicked his way over to the dishwasher and pulled out his second favorite cup with its mismatched lid. For you, and perhaps in absolution from the things he had done and will do, he forfeited some of the coffee he’d made to drink later—either cold or microwaved, it didn’t always matter. And yes, it was a forfeit, because this was the last of it and when late afternoon rolled around, he’d have to make whatever disgusting seasonal flavor Jayce had picked out and left to rot in the cabinet. 

You came back downstairs with hardly time to spare, a charger that belonged to either Caitlyn or Violet dangling from your hand.

He held up the cup in his.

“What’s that…?” 

“Something to take with you. Unless, coffee is not your preference?”

“It is,” you answered, those two words spoken slowly. Your approach was hesitant, too, and he began to suspect that something beyond fatigue might be wrong. 

It’s fortunate that he wasn’t already preoccupied for the day, otherwise he might not have noticed. 

It was subtle, but he knew from Jayce and Vi and everyone who ever came through this house to use the gym that people typically left in a better mood than when they came. Endorphins, and whatnot. But you didn’t seem happy. No, you were a dull, listless thing, like when Jayce would constantly mope over Mel early on, or the time Caitlyn came over and sat unmoving on the couch, picking her fingers until they bled, after she’d been given desk duty for a month. The look on your face was similar. 

He didn’t care for it. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, just as you’d been kind enough to ask earlier. Sat the cup and lid on the counter for you to doctor it as you liked. You knew where everything was. 

He’d heard you laugh before. The sound you made was a dry, warped version of that, devoid of any real humor. “I’m not having the best morning,” you said quietly, snapping the lid onto coffee you left woefully black. 

His own feelings were the mess he kept neatly away—out of sight, out of mind, those sorry little fragments. So he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with yours, long out of practice when only Jayce ever bothered confiding in him. 

Really, he made such a terrible friend—if you even considered him so. Preoccupied, overburdened, and a poor choice for comfort, but somewhere along the line, he’d started hoping that you might despite the drawbacks. And last night… You hadn’t rejected his statement of interest, though poorly made given how tired and, well… agitated he’d felt at the time. 

Thankfully, though, you seemed unwilling to say anything more—tense and with a keen interest in your shoes. He certainly wouldn’t push. Didn’t have the tact for it.

Didn’t have the tact for any of this, actually. 

That became apparent when all he could think to do was murmur, “There, there,” at a loss for how to handle it. Perhaps it was a misstep, giving your shoulder a tentative little pat too. The guilt—a very real thing, no denying it anymore—lodged further between his ribs, having laid hands on the soft, feverish warmth of your skin and filed the feeling away for later. 

It all felt incredibly awkward, for his part. You looked sidelong at his hand, sighed slow and fraught, but… it worked?

Too well.

Viktor tensed unmoving, lungs frozen on the inhale, when you pulled him close in the span of a single heartbeat, your arms thrown around his shoulders. It wasn’t like Jayce giving him a quick squeeze from the side, or Violet clapping him on the shoulder. It was different, somehow, the way you hugged him, seeking comfort in your own language as if he could even speak it. 

But he wanted so badly to try, because it would be easy, wouldn’t it? To forgo the difficulty of talking and just hug you back until you were brighter in the eyes again. And if it was secretly a little selfish too, you wouldn’t have to know. 

The moment he thought to return the gesture, his free hand brushing the bare notches of your spine, you withdrew in a rush, taking your warmth and the heady scent of effort with you. Said something in such a hurry that it came out as a single word, but broke down into, “Okay, wow, I’m so sorry.” 

At least, he thought it did. 

Hard to tell when you were snatching the cup off the counter and fleeing the scene in a brisk, agitated power walk. 

“Do you… Do you feel better?!” he called after you, confused and bewildered. 

To which you replied, “Absolutely not!!” throwing up the hand clutching both keys and that forgotten charger in a grand display of frustration. The garage door slammed shut in the distance and you were gone, leaving him to stand in that empty house and wonder. 

Did you… wish he was Jayce? Were you simply taking the closet thing you could get instead, only to be disappointed? He resented the thought, but couldn’t blame you if that was the truth. Jayce was much better at this, after all; had a knack for people that he did not. 

That bitter feeling rose in him again—the very one that has plagued him all his life, watching people walk away.

The feeling that he failed. 

—

Five minutes creep by, then another ten. 

Viktor never texts back. No ‘on the way,’ or just ‘see you later.’ You have to sit there and swat away the circling thoughts of where he might be, what he might be doing. Wondering about him, as you often do, your curious little… right, friend. 

One that you’ve never been so disappointed to have. 

Your eyes catch on any movement outside your open door. It’s all students and faculty passing by in a whisper—a constant interruption that splits your attention. Means that next to nothing get done for a while, because you keep looking up and up and up again, until amber looks right back.

Deep down, you knew he’d take the bait. Knew you were baiting him in the first place, because you dearly miss the little game you made of running into him. Hidden in that sentiment, the embarrassing truth: You miss him, though he’d never been yours to miss. Not even close. 

Your heart takes off like a shot all the same, jumpstarted by the shy way he peers inside. He smiles, just a subtle quirk of the lips, to see you sitting there. 

Oh, he darkens your doorway so nicely. 

Must’ve had something important today, the way he bothered to put a smart little jacket over his sweater. It shows, too, in his wind-whipped hair that it’s still as blustery outside as when you’d gone to lunch all those hours ago. Wouldn’t it be nice to tuck it all back into place for him?

No, no, no. Get it together.

“There wasn’t anywhere to sit?” you ask in greeting, blessedly casual as you lean back in your creaky chair. 

You can’t deny that there’s a power, a certain confidence, that comes with having him in your space for a change. It can almost, almost erase the lingering embarrassment that’s creeping back in. The recollection of what you did; that you failed miserably to rob a scrap of affection from him in your unthinking little fit, desperate to know what it might feel like before you let it go and try to move on. 

Inconclusive, and very unsatisfying considering that he clearly hated it. Not a hugger: Duly noted. 

In your shoe box of an office, he’s quickly too close for comfort the moment he steps inside. “There is plenty,” he says, and keeps coming closer. All of three uneven steps, until he’s just beside your desk—beside you. “But I, eh… I wanted to see how you were feeling, first.” 

Distracted, first by the ping of an email, then his fucking fingers brushing absently at the peeling corner of your desk, you blank. “Hm?” you hum, not entirely sure you heard him right. 

“I overheard that you weren’t well last night,” he clarifies, and you’re grateful to look up and find him distracted, too, but by your shitshow of a workspace. His eyes trace over scattered folders and calendars and copious notes-to-self, which is ideal, actually.

He doesn’t have to see you remember the lie.

“Oh—Oh, right. I’m fine now. Just had a headache, that was all,” you add, quickly dismissing the topic.

Perhaps too quickly. 

“Ah, I understand.” Viktor nods in solidarity, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket. “What time should I be ready to leave?” he asks, and you could kick yourself. You didn’t mean to dismiss him. 

You check the time on your laptop, though. Best to get back to work. “Let’s say about five—”

He cuts you off with a sharp breath sucked in through his teeth, cringing as his phone hits the thin carpet. With a soft clatter, it slides beneath your desk. You already know he won’t be able to retrieve it.

“I’m sorry…” he says. Embarrassed, poor man, but you won’t make him ask.

“I’ll get it, it’s alright,” you reassure him, slipping down into a careful crouch. Lucky that your legs aren’t as painfully sore as they should be today. Lucky, too, that you don’t smack your head getting back up once you feel around and find it. Find a bunch of paperclips and that pen you really like too, but you’ll go back for those later.

You slap his phone into his waiting hand, then haul yourself up. Plopping back into your chair with a huff, you smooth your hair neatly—more or less—back into place.

And that’s that.

He simply says a pleased little, “Thank you,” and turns to see himself out. Doesn’t need to be told that he can’t stay or asked to let you finish up some work. Probably saves you from calling him a distraction, however he’d take that, but you still feel wistful to watch him go. 

Oh, wait. “Five forty five!” you call after him, which is enough to make him pause in the doorway.

“I won’t go far,” he says just above a whisper, mindful that this is, in fact, a library. Unlike you.

You find some peace after that, falling back into a rhythm that comes from the comfort of knowing where Viktor is, and that he’ll leave you alone from here on out.

And eventually, after an hour of mediocre work, your alarm softly sounds five thirty. It prompts you to dump out the rest of your coffee in the water fountain outside and pack up your things. You’re in a hurry, and of course, keep feeling like you’re forgetting something. But keys, wallet, laptop, phone—yes, you have the essentials and then some, all stuffed into your bag. You brush off that nagging feeling knowing you can always get it tomorrow. 

All the while, Viktor never shows up to leave, but you didn’t instruct him to come back. He won’t be difficult to find, though. 

So you lock your office and go along looking for him at the workstations this floor offers—mostly tables tucked into corners or stretched between gaps in the stacks, a few pretty, antique study carrels sprinkled here and there.  

You find him in short order. He’s still working away, caged into a cozy section of the ancient philosophy section. You catch him hunched over, curling the hair at the nape of his neck round and round, lost in thought. Endearing, except… 

That isn’t the only thing you catch him with.

You walk up innocently, not even trying to hide your approach, and peer over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. Realize immediately what you’re forgetting.

Because you didn’t forget it. 

No, it’d been taken and you were just too distracted to realize it.

And now there it is, your folder labeled ‘Thesis Notes (Important!!)’ in bright purple sharpie on the tab, laid open by his laptop in all its chaotic glory.

On instinct, you hiss, “Hey—!” and reach across him to snatch it back. 

He moves his hand off his keyboard just in time, holding it down. Keeping the contents from scattering, thankfully, because thought before action isn’t always your strong suit. When he laughs beneath his breath and flips the folder closed, your brain produces a slew of nasty words, but none come out of your mouth. They’re all trapped in the comically stupid puff of your angry little cheeks.

“I was looking for that!” you say harshly, leaning in to keep your voice low and considerate to any students working nearby. “How did you even—?”

“Unlike you, I am not clumsy,” he suggests, and because you aren’t stupid, just a bit unobservant, you can put it together on your own. He stuck it in his coat when you weren’t looking. Rude! And also kind of flattering that he’s curious enough to take it. But still rude!

“Can I have it back now?” you whisper, sickly sweet though you aren’t asking nicely. 

Viktor simply offers up what he took without any further bullshit or references to your very slight lack of coordination. “Fair is fair,” he whispers back, infuriatingly cute in his mischief, like this is a little inside joke between the two of you.

And it… Well, it is.

Is this so unlike what you’d done to him last week, poking through his computer? 

Oh yes, this is a taste of your own medicine, and you can’t bring yourself to be genuinely upset with him. Especially not after he adds in earnest with those honey-soft eyes turned up at you, “Very interesting, by the way.”

You snub him, ever terrible with praise, accepting your overstuffed folder back. “It’s a work in progress…” 

“You should take the compliment.”

You tuck it into your bag as you mutter, “Thank you,” as sarcastically as you can manage. The perfect excuse not to look him in the eye because it hurts, plain and simple, to see him look at you like you’re actually something interesting.

“Much better,” he hums, satisfied as he goes about gathering his things.

You help, naturally, but let him take his time. You think you’d be in a rush to get away from him, all things considered… But, turns out, you like being around him in the sickest, saddest sense. Especially like this.

You like being crammed into the elevator with him and seven other students, trying to keep out of his personal space; failing, when someone shoves you into his side and he steadies you. You like the sound of your shoes and his cane clicking in tandem on the marble tile, waving goodbye to your colleague at the circulation desk, wondering how it looks to be leaving with someone for a change. You like hearing him be the first to pick at the threads of conversation—curious about your work and the feeling is mutual, as he already knows. You like walking side by side with him to the parking lot, even if you wish the whole way that you could reach out and hold his hand while he talks about a problematic part of his dissertation. 

That lasts the whole drive home, and you’re grateful for it. 

You’re content to listen to his academic issues, even as a deaf sounding board. Can’t understand a damn thing he says, all math and physics practiced at too high a level. But, as you well know, talking things out has its benefits; sometimes it breeds new solutions.

So you sit parked in the driveway until he arrives at the beginnings of one, more lively than you’ve ever seen him. And suddenly, sooner than you’re ready, the time for pretending at happiness comes to an end.

Viktor takes off like a shot to get inside and scribble down his breakthrough, saying nothing more than a quick, “I have to go,” but at least he’s excited. 

You can’t begrudge that. 

No, you need to be happy for him, because that’s the point, right? That’s the nasty little complexity hosting your pity party as you drive home in watery silence. 

Friend, friend, fucking friend. 

You think that word—have thought it all day—over and over again until it loses meaning, but you’re desperate to internalize it. That’s what he’s become, and what you need to be for him. It’s become important to you beyond measure, because you know what it’s like to have that horrible ‘L’ word follow at your heels. It keeps you company while you eat lunch alone; it sleeps beside you in your empty bed. 

It wreaths him like an aura, and maybe he’s never said it, but like calls to like. 

So you figure: He must be lonely too. 

And you can’t have that. You care, far too much perhaps, for someone who doesn’t; for someone who seems resigned to sit alone amongst the ruins that passion wrought and let life happen to him, without him. Would it even matter that you’ve seen what he is—strange, sweet, snarky, and so very, very smart—and come to like him in every sense of the word? Would it matter, if he knew you’ve grown to worry for him?

Even if it didn’t? Too fucking bad. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, you suppose.

Ribs like a steel trap, you can shove your feelings down. No matter how many times they rise like sweet, bitter bile in your mouth, you’ll do what it takes to be a good friend to him if that’s all you’ll ever get to be. Oh yes, you’ll transmute all your worthless, pathetic longing to be someone’s first choice, by making him yours.

Because nothing can make you quit moping quite like a challenge.

—

It isn’t until nearly an hour later that the low grade adrenaline rush ebbs. It leaves behind the sweetest relief of finally, finally finding an answer to the problem that’s been plaguing him night and day lately. and so Viktor comes back to himself. He finds that his eyes have adjusted to the dim, orange light of his bedroom, the sun nearly set by now, and that the house is quiet but for its ambient hum.

But it… No, it shouldn’t be this quiet. 

There should be the steady, unobtrusive thump of the garage stereo in the distance, even with the volume set low. He can usually still hear it if he listens carefully, the bass soft and steady like a heartbeat at variable speed. For all that he struggles to live with Jayce, he’s grown to like that sound. 

Standing from the desk, joints popping their protest, Viktor takes up his cane. He starts for the kitchen, dark and empty, which becomes going out to the garage. With each step, he’s more and more certain: You aren’t here. 

It doesn’t make sense. Did he not make it clear? Why would you take him all the way home if your intent hadn’t been to stay? 

He… Well, he assumed that you would, considering you skipped out the other night. Counted on it, even, because with Jayce at Mel’s tonight, no one would steal your attention away if you came inside and lingered like you often did. 

But it’s pitch black and cold when he opens the garage door, twin to the sensation in the pit of his stomach. Just as he thought: You’ve gone home. He shouldn’t feel that way—disappointed—but he knows the feeling too intimately to ignore it. 

A disgusted noise slips from him into that darkness, and he closes the door again. Goes back the way he came in quick, irritated clicks until he’s flipping on the lamp in his room and snatching his phone from the desk. Acting, not thinking, in pulling up your contact and pressing call. 

The muted ring of the line is a sobering sound, your voice even more so when you pick up. He didn’t exactly consider what would follow. 

You don’t greet him so much as you jump into asking, “Did you forget something?”

“No,” he replies automatically. For fuck’s sake, what even is the plan, calling you like this? Think, think, think—Ah! “Well, actually, yes.”

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow,” you say simply. Exciting, but also…

“Bring what?”

“You let your cup in my car,” you remind him patiently. That’s right. You didn’t care for how he kept a half-empty cup tucked in with his laptop when you saw it. You said he was tempting fate, doing that, and he promptly took it out and stuck it in your cup holder to appease you. 

“Ah, did I? Well, I—No, that’s not what I meant.” Best to be straightforward, perhaps? Out of the corner of his eye, Rio waddles up to the glass of her tank and he takes it as a good sign. “I thought you agreed to bring me home because you had already planned to be here tonight. And you are not… here.”

He hears something thunk in the background. “Yeah, very astute of you. I went home.”

“I asked you not to go out of your way,” he reminds you, on the long route to making a point. It draws out the conversation; keeps you talking when he’ll only have the quiet house once you hang up. He’s not ready to go back to that yet.  

“Mmhm,” you hum, catching on quickly, “and are you trying to thank me for doing it anyways?”

“I am, yes,” he says carefully. 

“That doesn’t count, you know.” You’re playful as you needle him. This is nothing unkind. “You have to say it.”

So he matches your tone one to one. “Refer to our earlier texts. I already have, technically.” 

“Hm… Nope. Still doesn’t—”

“Thank you,” he cuts in, much more seriously, because he’s giving you the wrong impression. It’s not difficult to be appreciative. That, and he has a stroke of genius—an avenue to get your attention, if not your company. “I intend to return the favor, somehow. If there’s anything you can think of…”

“What, no! It’s not like you owe me something,” you say, a smile in your voice as you brush him off. He hears you breathe out, unsteady. “We’re just… We’re friends, so I don’t mind helping you out. I’d do it for anyone.” 

Wait…

Just friends, is that right?

Viktor runs that through his head the rest of the night, long after you hang up with another promise to see him tomorrow, long into the witching hours of morning. It’s one of many sleepless reasons he can’t get comfortable—that feeling blooming between the gaps of his ribs.

It’s so rare that people say exactly what they mean. He should be pleased to hear you say that—to be released from the gnawing suspicion that you only linger for Jayce. He should be happy to know that all the kind things you say aren’t platitudes, and the interest you show doesn’t come from pity. He should be grateful to have you consider him a friend despite that he’s done little to deserve it, he knows.  

So why, then, does it hurt hopelessly instead?